[post deaging] what if your hinges all are rusting

[mettaton_rex]

Everything's back to normal.

The hallways are as run-down as ever, the decorations and the music all gone. Mettaton wanders through them, not clear on where he's headed, only knowing he can't bear to keep still. His mind catches up with him, if he tries.

He's himself again. Why doesn't he feel like it?

He made it back to his room last night, after coming to himself again where he'd been stargazing out in the gardens, and after the ensuing bout of hysterical cackling finally wore itself out. At least he's dressed now, ruffled shirt hiding the cracks in his core. More or less - it's buttoned up wrong, letting little glimpses of pink show through. His crown isn't on straight either (the new one, the diamond-studded circlet he found abandoned in a dusty bedroom, not the one he gave up for lost in the library months ago). He's aware of all this. He doesn't plan to fix it.

A door looks familiar. He opens it, and finds himself stepping into the ballroom. There it is, same as ever - grand and empty, tables piled high with confections. Mettaton pauses by one of them, looking up at the massive tiered cake in its centre. And then further up, to a dusty spiderweb hanging from a corner of the ceiling.

"Not so young and beautiful yourself, now, are you?" he hisses, to the room, to the whole awful castle, something hot and vicious boiling up inside him. He raises a leg, braces his foot against the edge of the table. "Nobody wants you any more, darling! Nobody wants to be here! Nobody cares!"

His voice rises to a shout as he kicks, hard, flipping the table over. Cakes and pastries smash against the floor, plates shattering. Mettaton strides into the wreckage, grinding his heel into anything he sees left intact. There's frosting all over his boots. It doesn't matter.

None of it matters now.

Comments

[dustless]

Don't think the castle cares, either.

They don't say that. They don't think they need to. If anything, Frisk thinks he needs this.

So instead, when they come across him, leaning against the ballroom doorway, they just cross their arms and suggest "You can do the throne room next."

[lawofcycles]

[ Madoka hears the commotion and comes running. There's always a part of her, a part Homura would chide as silly and naive, that wouldn't let her leave well enough alone. Somebody is screaming something awful at somebody and Madoka isn't about to allow that!! She turns a corner, see's the man standing in the middle of the wreckage and thinks Oh.

This man, (prince? king? a crown can mean a lot!) looks so angry and sad she can barely help herself. ]

"U-um. Mister? Are you alright?" [ Its so pathetically little to say, but she doesn't know what else to do with a stranger. ]

[lostinmyway]

Someone is shouting; their voice echoes down the hallways. It's easier to hear now that the singing is gone.

Grune is already moving toward them before she registers just how upset they sound, or recognise who's speaking. Their voice is distorted enough that it takes peeking into the ballroom for her to realise it's....

"Mettaton?"

He's standing in the middle of a lot of smashed sweets. ...He doesn't look very good.

"Are you all right?"

[trombones]

"I'm all for letting off some steam..."

As always, Sans is there. Behind him, a good distance away, sitting on a table at the opposite end. He dangles his legs, chin in his hand, watching.

"... but I was gonna eat some of that."

He brings his free hand up in a lazy shrug. Eh. Oh well, it says. His expression is unmoving, unchanging, same as ever, but there's something watchful to it. He doesn't make a move to stop Mettaton, much less say otherwise. Just watching.

[einspine]

Papyrus knows that voice. He does not recognize the body- his Mettaton has yet to show his second form, still a box, albeit spikier, with a stylish cape and exaggerated, anime shades thanks to Undyne. But still, Papyrus knows the voice. It's enough to draw him in, despite the shouting, despite the chaos.

It's... worrisome.

So he approaches, albeit with a bit less pep in his step than usual. For all his exuberance, Papyrus isn't so naive as to overlooked blatant unhappiness.

Still, he clears his throat. "Excuse me for intruding, but why would you say such terrible things about yourself? I'm sure that there are many who think you're absolutely great! Perhaps even the greatest!"

late

[voidster]

One can hardly blame him for getting this Mettaton confused with the other one, the one he's somewhat fond of. A crown and a different outfit hardly make someone a completely different person, and. It's MTT. Not changing his clothing every day would be what's truly out of character.

So when he sees the man pass by, he raises a hand in silent greeting. And when he hears shouting from inside the room, followed by a table crashing to the floor, of course he's going to hurry in. He stares for a shameful amount of time, wondering what set this off. This--doesn't seem right.

Snap. Snap. Click. He snaps his fingers over and over, preferring this over his own broken 'voice' when it comes to getting someone's attention. So many questions to ask, perhaps comfort to give?

hey bruh i got the starbucks also cw child abuse hhh

[itstheend]

So guess who was under the table.

This place seems to be the main place people go to for food in the Castle, although the number has probably waned as people get sick of treats and attempt to cook actual food in the kitchens - they're mainly using late night brushes with Death here as a barometer.

Therefore, the thinking went, they are unlikely to be disturbed, and even if someone does come into the room, what are the chances they look under the tablecloth? Not as low as Chara would like, of course, but they aren't boxed in and could easily bolt if that happened, eating chocolate cupcakes in peace until then.

Or so they thought.

There's the clacking of boots and they roll their eyes, their mood already increasing in darkness. They'd know the sound of those heels anywhere. They don't feel particularly inclined to deal with him, or anyone, at the moment, so they decide to just wait for him to do what he came in here for and go.

Apparently he came in here to shout, and what he shouts... does he know they're there? These sorts of things are things both fallen children have heard, in tone if not in exact words, and it's hitting Frisk hard especially - Chara already knows they'll never be wanted, but Frisk had had a hard-worked-for moment of hope in the past.

And then the table gets kicked away, and Chara expects a found you, you little brat from Mettaton's mouth and their body freezes like they've been doused in ice water before they fumble for the sharpened stake at their side because never again.

[aghostinthemachine]

Like a pesky conscience or a guardian angel, the newest Mettaton always seems to show up at all the appropriate times. He watches the display, calm and collected as ever, wondering if this is the ghost he bumped into during his arrival and a few days later. That sad little ghost that he used to be. Unhappy with himself, with his lot in life, with... everything.

But even reliving that, why would this Mettaton be so unhappy still? It breaks his heart to see anyone he cares about upset: especially himself.

There's that familiar clicking of heels echoing through the hall and drawing closer to the royal twin. Even if he bothers to look, he still approaches, only stopping short of the ruined food in the floor. His expression is one of concern but there's no judgement behind his eyes. How could there be? It's him. He simply looks around, then down to his twin'd heels, and back up to his face.

"You're going to ruin a perfectly good pair of boots, darling."

His tone isn't sarcastic or annoyed. The other glambot can tell it's just an ice breaker - and he'll wait until the other has said whatever he needs to before he interjects again.