It surprises Mettaton that he can still speak, as well, once he's thinking clearly enough to question it. But the human's words explain that quickly enough. Of course he wouldn't have found a command to turn Mettaton's voice off, there's nothing to turn off, but that means -
- and he barely has a chance to finish that thought before he's suddenly moving. No. His body is moving. On its own, without his input. A distinction that shouldn't have ever been made again.
He struggles, locked inside himself. Nothing happens. His body switches itself back into EX form, and stands, and watches fake-Barnaby with a look of dull horror fixed on its face. His face. The face he's inside of, banging on the metaphorical walls and screaming.
He can't scream out loud. Can't even open his mouth. The human really did shut it for him, a thought that would have driven him to a fit of hysterical sob-laughing if only it could.
Why why why why why how could you do this what kind of person would -
- he remembers Chara, standing at the edge of the tower. Remembers Ryoji, gazing up at him in adoration. Feels sick and cold, the realisation quelling his hysteria.
What kind of person, indeed.
"...what -" He can make his voice come from the speaker in his chest, if he tries. It sounds distant and tinny and wrong and he never wants to hear it again, and he doesn't want to know the answer to this question anyway. But he will, soon. He won't be able to prevent it, to protect himself, any more than he can even move his hands to cover up the cracked pink heart embedded in his midsection.
"...what... are you going to... use me for?"
The room lurches around him as he struggles to speak. This is not happening. He can not have just asked that question.
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Date: 2017-08-21 10:50 pm (UTC)- and he barely has a chance to finish that thought before he's suddenly moving. No. His body is moving. On its own, without his input. A distinction that shouldn't have ever been made again.
He struggles, locked inside himself. Nothing happens. His body switches itself back into EX form, and stands, and watches fake-Barnaby with a look of dull horror fixed on its face. His face. The face he's inside of, banging on the metaphorical walls and screaming.
He can't scream out loud. Can't even open his mouth. The human really did shut it for him, a thought that would have driven him to a fit of hysterical sob-laughing if only it could.
Why why why why why how could you do this what kind of person would -
- he remembers Chara, standing at the edge of the tower. Remembers Ryoji, gazing up at him in adoration. Feels sick and cold, the realisation quelling his hysteria.
What kind of person, indeed.
"...what -" He can make his voice come from the speaker in his chest, if he tries. It sounds distant and tinny and wrong and he never wants to hear it again, and he doesn't want to know the answer to this question anyway. But he will, soon. He won't be able to prevent it, to protect himself, any more than he can even move his hands to cover up the cracked pink heart embedded in his midsection.
"...what... are you going to... use me for?"
The room lurches around him as he struggles to speak. This is not happening. He can not have just asked that question.