Mettaton stops struggling altogether once the human holds him down, fighting back another cry of terror. No no no. Please not again. It's that smile more than anything else that drains the strength from him. That vicious, awful grin, the embodiment of the malevolence thick in the air.
He knows exactly what a smile like that means.
...he's been the one behind a smile like that.
The human picks up the bow and Mettaton doesn't understand for a second and then he does (or he assumes, at least). A weapon that does less damage. That takes longer.
(After what you have done. I want you to suffer.)
Please. He doesn't say it out loud, some final scrap of pride remaining, along with the cold certainty that pleading for mercy won't do him any good.
(Normally they'd start beggin' by now.)
The bow pierces straight through his hand, cruel intentions lending it strength. How far it goes into the floor is another question, but Mettaton doesn't dare try to move that hand to find out. So much intricate machinery in hands. So vulnerable. Pain shoots all along his arm and he lets out a strangled whimper, despite himself.
"W-what are y-you - what do you want?" Better question than what are you going to do to me? Sounds less helpless - as though there's any possibility the answer will involve anything Mettaton can do to save himself. Still means more or less the same.
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it is hard to find a suitably terrified-looking box though
Date: 2017-06-05 06:00 pm (UTC)He knows exactly what a smile like that means.
...he's been the one behind a smile like that.
The human picks up the bow and Mettaton doesn't understand for a second and then he does (or he assumes, at least). A weapon that does less damage. That takes longer.
(After what you have done. I want you to suffer.)
Please. He doesn't say it out loud, some final scrap of pride remaining, along with the cold certainty that pleading for mercy won't do him any good.
(Normally they'd start beggin' by now.)
The bow pierces straight through his hand, cruel intentions lending it strength. How far it goes into the floor is another question, but Mettaton doesn't dare try to move that hand to find out. So much intricate machinery in hands. So vulnerable. Pain shoots all along his arm and he lets out a strangled whimper, despite himself.
"W-what are y-you - what do you want?" Better question than what are you going to do to me? Sounds less helpless - as though there's any possibility the answer will involve anything Mettaton can do to save himself. Still means more or less the same.