Mettaton tries as hard as he can to shoot a venomous glare at his captor. Oddly enough, he doesn't buy for a second that Barnaby is the one in the wrong here.
(He never did this. He's been cruel, he's lashed out for petty reasons, taken his bitterness out on anyone who dared get in his way at the wrong time, but... but he never had anyone tortured. There were lines he didn’t cross -
- oh, were there? Remember Frisk? Remember your hand at their throat?)
"You..." It's deeply uncomfortable to talk like this, still, like writing with the wrong hand. If that hand was the only part of your body that still belonged to you. Everything inside him feels defiled. "You think... I'm going to help you? Without question?"
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(He never did this. He's been cruel, he's lashed out for petty reasons, taken his bitterness out on anyone who dared get in his way at the wrong time, but... but he never had anyone tortured. There were lines he didn’t cross -
- oh, were there? Remember Frisk? Remember your hand at their throat?)
"You..." It's deeply uncomfortable to talk like this, still, like writing with the wrong hand. If that hand was the only part of your body that still belonged to you. Everything inside him feels defiled. "You think... I'm going to help you? Without question?"