The smallest things can still set him off, sometimes. A figure standing over him, a trace of amusement in their tone. Mettaton stands and whips round into a defensive pose in one movement, braced for an attack that he realises in the next moment isn't coming.
Not yet?
Or not ever. He's just on edge today, looking through all these boxes of scrap. It's alright. It's alright.
(He should be over this by now, shouldn't he?)
He steps back a little, lowering his hands, tries to brush off the reaction with a soft laugh, though it's the last thing he feels like doing. "Ha... I think so?"
He looks down at the little robot in the crate. It's a pale blue, boxy thing that seems to be having trouble lifting itself out. Mettaton reaches down to give it a hand, still not taking his eyes off Guardian. Just in case.
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Date: 2017-12-11 11:58 pm (UTC)Not yet?
Or not ever. He's just on edge today, looking through all these boxes of scrap. It's alright. It's alright.
(He should be over this by now, shouldn't he?)
He steps back a little, lowering his hands, tries to brush off the reaction with a soft laugh, though it's the last thing he feels like doing. "Ha... I think so?"
He looks down at the little robot in the crate. It's a pale blue, boxy thing that seems to be having trouble lifting itself out. Mettaton reaches down to give it a hand, still not taking his eyes off Guardian. Just in case.