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castle_perraultEverything'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.
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.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-27 10:54 pm (UTC)But he doesn't want to offer any comfort. Even in the face of the way his double doesn't quite recoil in horror, the way his hand lingers and his SOUL resonates. Compassion. Did it ever come so easily to him, the way it does to this version? It can't have, can it?
(Mettaton, your show made us so happy!)
"I will never. Be desperate enough. To need your help."
His voice is low, and cold, and almost doesn't crack, until. Until he can't hold back the next three words, the emotion in them.
"You've done enough."
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-28 12:42 am (UTC)If he had arrived here prior to meeting Frisk, none of this would be happening. Who would have guessed a human child could help such a narcissitic, selfish monster like him become a better person? Well, slightly better, at least. He still has a way to go.
What his twin says deals a small blow. He knows what he said is true: He'd never ask for help - even when it came to himself. The newer bot purses his lips.
"I know you're too proud to accept it. I'm only going to this ammount of trouble because... you're me."
Besides, who ever said he needed to accept it? Mettaton grabs his twin's wrist and attempts to drag him out of the room. Should he be able to, he'll lead him back to his (this MTT's) room.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-28 11:13 pm (UTC)But that's all driven out of his mind when his double grabs hold of his wrist. He tries to twist his arm away, but his heels skid in the mess on the floor and the other one manages to drag him for a few stumbling steps before he rights himself.
"Get off me!" he snarls, bringing the side of his free hand down hard on his counterpart's own wrist. He's not aiming to cause any real harm - he can't afford another fight after what happened with Chara earlier - just break the other robot's grip. But it'll sting more than it ought to, for such a harmless blow...
(no subject)
Date: 2017-03-29 05:35 pm (UTC)The thought makes his SOUL sink.
But if there's one thing all Mettatons have is that they're good at being passive-aggressive. He pushes all pitying thoughts aside, giving his double a far more serious expression than he's ever really given anyone before.
"Do you realize how pathetic your little display is? I thought we out grew temper-tantrums."
Ignoring the throbbing sting, he puts his hands on his own hips, attempting to stand taller and leer down at his twin.
"And if you're aren't even willing to let your own self help you... well, that's even more pathetic. But if you'd rather be known as the Mettaton that fell from grace, I'll be taking my leave. I have far better things to do that are more deserving of my time and attention, sweet heart."
and the narration finally spells out what his problem is because he's sure as heck not cooperating
Date: 2017-03-31 12:00 am (UTC)The words feel like slaps in the face, but they disturb him far less than the kindness did. Finally things are going the way they should be. How long did that take, a few minutes? He didn't even have to accuse this one of being an impostor, or insult his beloved nibling.
He draws himself up to match his twin's height, steps forward to put himself firmly in the other's space, gives him a mirthless grin. "Finally stopped playing nice? Makes you sick to know I'm ruining the brand, doesn't it? Ever so sorry for tainting your perfect happy ending, darling."
He's already fallen from grace in this awful castle. Down the waterfall, into the abyss, with the rest of the trash. His double can go right ahead and rub it in his face all he wants. The idea that that might not be what the other wants to do doesn't even occur to him.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-04-07 05:53 pm (UTC)"I don't care, personally. You aren't from my timeline so the brand is as successful as it's always been," he shrugs. It's the truth. His time on the Surface has been amazing. Far better than he had expected. And the only person who could ruin his reputation now would be himself. Not his doubles.
Then it dawns on him. One of the Charas mentioned him being a king and that they had shoved the child off some tower. ... This must be that Mettaton. The other one is far too nice for it to be them. What happened in this one's timeline to cause such a shift in personality? Yes, he's not perfect either but... he's been trying to make himself better.
Mettaton turns on his heel and starts walking towards the door, glancing over his shoulder at his twin.
"I'm done here. Should you wisen up and actually want some company or help, I'll be in the garden."