upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand ['canon' update]

[mettaton_rex]

There's a robot in the gardens.

It might not be obvious which Mettaton this is. The crown's long gone, of course. The thin web of cracks running through his heart-shaped SOUL container, those are gone too. No more scars, not on the outside. The castle put him back in the same condition it found him. When it sent him home.

He never thought he'd see this place again. How long has he been gone, from its perspective? This whole past year, or less than that? Days, weeks, months? Or more?

He's in no hurry to find out. Part of him's hoping that if he sits quietly under this tree for as long as he can, the castle will despair of getting anything interesting out of him and send him straight back to the RUINS.

Which might give away who he is, to anyone who knew him. That uncharacteristic quietness. The thoughtful look as he runs a finger along the thick silver band wrapped around his left wrist, pausing to tap the steady red light glowing at its centre. It should be flashing and blaring the alarm by now, shouldn't it? He couldn't be further away from where he ought to be...

...well, he supposes he's still technically in exile, at least.

He leans back against the trunk of the fruit tree, looking up at the sunlight through its branches. Better appreciate that while he can, this time around.

Comments

[dustless]

There's a kid somewhere in the garden. (Like always.) Gross coughing announces them before they end up where he can actually see them. (...Like always.)

They're not paying attention to that, or almost anything around them. Once they extract themselves from an overgrown wall of hedge, Frisk's far too preoccupied with stomping a straight line to where a bunch of old graves sunflowers are, standing tall. They're holding a rope, sort of coiled but with a lot of it trailing on the grass behind them.

Sick of sickness and being mad or always sad. They're going to do something enjoyable if it kills them.

[mettaton_rex]

He remembers that cough, even after so long. It's an ugly sound, stirs even uglier memories up for a moment - but no, he isn't there, he's out here in the light with grass beneath him and he's fine, and there's Frisk, and they're fine too. Aside from the obvious.

They've clearly got a purpose in mind. They look - well. Determined. And they don't seem to have noticed him yet.

He hesitates, briefly, then gives them a little wave. "Hi, darling."

Just that. No big announcements, look who's back, nothing like that. They can say hello back, or not, or they can ask him to leave - it's a big garden, he can find another spot. At least they're not likely to flee in terror, or spit at him.

(It's normally spiders who do that last one. And no, he hadn't realised they even could.)

[dustless]

Frisk stops so suddenly they nearly fall right over. They really hadn't noticed someone was there at all. "Hi," they answer, turning to look at the same time.

...And then they stop, uncertain. So single-mindedly focused on their self-appointed silly task, they weren't expecting anyone to interrupt except maybe some of their closest people, and Mettaton's not one of them. They aren't even sure they know this one--with how different he feels, sitting there.

Sitting there. "...You okay?" Are his legs messed up?

[mettaton_rex]

Just sitting, not even really posing at all. He does shift position as he speaks, but only to sit up a little straighter.

"I'm all right." He - is, really. He's just having a lot of feelings. There's a hesitation before he says what he says next. He'd considered pretending to be new, even come up with a backstory - enslaved by ruthless humans, forced to battle in an arena, something to explain the tracking device and the high LOVE and the trauma all at once -

- but he's lived too many lies, in his life. The castle wouldn't let him keep it up anyway.

"It's been a long time since I saw this place, is all."

[dustless]

Frisk takes him in again. Sitting down. Looking...tired. Something on his wrist that probably isn't jewelry.

"...oh?"

There's a twang of guilt in their chest. They didn't even realize he was gone.

Then again, they didn't see him lots in the first place. And they know from horrible experience (if not firsthand) that people can go home and stay there longer than the castle lets them know.

Frisk lifts some of the rope higher, tangling it up their arm like it'll help, and alters their path to make their way beside him. Yeah, they had a thing to do, but it can probably wait.

...It's rare they're not dealing with him while they're angry.

[mettaton_rex]

"Oh, don't let me interrupt you." Not that he doesn't want their company. But if they haven't realised who he is yet - well, he doesn't need anything from them, he's fine, they should feel free to go if they want to.

He's fine. He's just - well, yes, tired.

"All I wanted to say was that I took your advice, darling. About, well, confessing." He tangles his fingers through the grass beside him, pulling up a few blades without meaning to. "I ...thought you ought to know."

suicide ment

[dustless]

They half-toss the rope to the side, only afterwards hoping it doesn't get all knotted up. "'S okay." If they did decide to ignore him and go on their way, thoughts would fester and ruin their weird game anyway. It can wait.

Yes. It can definitely wait.

Their mouth doesn't quite drop open, but the look they give him (from straight on--they're still so short he's almost eye-level) is absolutely startled. He is the one they sort of thought, and he's also not someone they actually expected to listen...

...not back when they suggested it, at least. A long time ago. Before a lot of awful and changes.

"Oh." Not a situation they were expecting to encounter today. "That's--good..." They are glad, 'cause that means the monsters left are safe. Safer.

Frisk rocks on their heels, eyes sliding down to the band on his wrist again. If that's there, presumably a mob didn't kill him. Or he didn't kill himself first. "That--you didn't...answer," they tell him. Bringing up a confession isn't an agreement of being 'okay'.

[mettaton_rex]

He wonders ruefully whether they're surprised to realise it's him, or just surprised that he told the truth after all. This isn't what he'd expected their reaction to be to the news, but then, he's not sure what he did expect. They don't seem to know how to respond.

(Which isn't unfamiliar. He'd never imagined confessing to murder would be as awkward as it so often was.)

He follows their gaze to the tracker. "I - really, I'm all right," he tells them, a little more firmly, though he doubts they'll let him get away with just that. "I just - I never thought I'd see the castle again, or... sunlight, or, haha, or anything outside of the RUINS, probably -"

He raises a hand to his mouth for a second, steadying himself. Closes his eyes.

"...it's a little overwhelming."

[dustless]

They came out here to shake off anger and sadness, and now they're completely off-balance without those. They're not used to this. His being this quiet. His being this...sad, himself.

What were they expecting?

...Nothing, really. They weren't sure if he'd ever tell. Sure, they hoped he's stop, settle everything back down, but not...that. Give up.

Giving up isn't always bad, they remind themselves. Not in this case. This is what they wanted, even if it went beyond their wildest hopes.

"...how long were you gone--back?"

[mettaton_rex]

Truthfully, he's spinning it for them, just a little. I took your advice, as though it had been a considered decision, not the self-destructive impulse that tore through him when he saw the world he'd made after so long, saw all the cracks in its facade, the desperation and fear and denial in the faces he'd thought adored him. Not so much of a confession as a meltdown, loud and hideous and public.

...but he doesn't see a need to explain that.

"It's been about a year. The kingdom is - recovering, from what I've heard. The new queen is... well, she's holding things together." That's what they'll care about, isn't it? All those innocent monsters. The ones who might have been their friends.

pokes this after a goddamn year, feel free 2 ignore

[dustless]

He's not...entirely wrong. They're definitely worried about everyone, not just him.

Not to mention-- "Queen?" Something like hope flickers in their chest alongside the endless ache. Did Toriel actually live? Did she come out of hiding?

"You live in the RUINS now?" They did suggest that, didn't they. It's a little weird they were listened to.

pokes own RP drive with a stick

[mettaton_rex]

He nods, in response to both questions. Not realising at all what their hopes are with that first one. "You might have met her. She used to run the general store in Snowdin. ...and, apparently, a resistance movement I hadn't heard about."

🍀

[dustless]

Their shoulders drop slightly. Oh.

...Oh! "The bunny lady? Yeah, bought stuff from her." Mainly an absurd amount of cinnamon bunnies on their second try.

"Anybody else in the RUINS, too? Are they still kinda nice?"

[mettaton_rex]

"Some monsters still live there. A lot of them used the tunnels the rebels made to move out, though. The ones who stayed..."

A sigh. "They don't talk to me much. For... obvious reasons."

[dustless]

"...oh. Okay."

Things might get better for him, eventually. Monsters are nice. Only that's if he goes back at all. He might not. That might be nicer. For him. Maybe.

They could ask about Toriel. Say her name outright. It's not nice they're thinking about her instead of everyone else, is it? She's gone or gave up, which isn't the same thing, but close enough.

They're pretty tired, lately.

With another rough cough, Frisk tries to catch the rope with their foot. Somehow, they don't want to keep asking about back there anymore. If he wants to talk, he can. If he doesn't, he can stop.

"D'you want to help me build...um, a flower tent?"

[unriddling]

The jury's in; Edward hates this place. A fast discovery, with the place filled with nothing but assorted antiques that even he, with his genius, can't cobble together some kind of communications device with, or something to help him rappel down the mountain with. (It must be a mountain. A floating island? Absurd and impossible. There isn't even an engine keeping it up.)



He keeps getting lost. He has an excellent sense of direction and a perfect memory, so this shouldn't be happening so consistently.

He doesn't even want to be in the garden. He's already found himself stumbling into the sunlight three times, trying to scavenge. Something useful. Anything.

And Mettaton is shiny-modern-metal enough to immediately draw Edward's eye. He turns from the direct route he'd been stomping to head towards the machine instead.

[mettaton_rex]

Mettaton's on his feet in one motion, as the unfamiliar human comes closer. Not that the stranger's done anything threatening, not yet, besides appear to be having a bad day. But he isn't about to be caught off-guard. Not again.

He smiles, pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

[unriddling]

Not only functioning, but functioning well! That's already a step in a better direction, though the dread squeezing Edward's chest isn't lessened by much.



"Yes," he says tersely, slowing to a stop a few steps away. Pink isn't a color for defense, so he doubts he's about to be riddled with bullets or lasers, but he might as well assess what this is for first. "I have questions. What are your programmed parameters and functions? Who built you? When and how did you get here?"

[mettaton_rex]

The smile drops, instantly, replaced with a look of disdain that doesn't give away any of the creeping apprehension inside him. Maybe the human is just having a bad day - or maybe he's expecting the thing he's addressing to do as it's told without complaint. Maybe machines don't warrant any kind of courtesy.

Either way. Mettaton's not just going to take that.

He folds his arms, raising an eyebrow. "Please, darling. If I knew the answer to that last one, I wouldn't be here myself."

tries to get this dork's voice back

[unriddling]

That was not the response he wanted. Edward grits his teeth--no, he doesn't have time to get angry. It's a machine. A machine that has much greater AI or remote control actions than he was expecting, but still only that.



"To the rest, then," Edward says, tapping his fingers together in the air in front of his chest. "I have limited time."

[dunwhale]

Daud likes the gardens. They remind him less of Dunwall Tower's extravagant displays, or the sickly-sweet perpetual bloom of the Brigmore Manor. They're a more understated sort of growth; lichen crawls along the ground and between the stones of the path that Daud's walking down.
Daud is not familiar with clockwork; it's not happened yet when he's come from. They are bogged down in whale oil and crackling walls of light. Mettaton doesn't look much like a clockwork soldier either. It-- he?-- is sitting under an apple tree. Daud has gotten into the habit of snagging one off the branch as he wanders back inside after his morning routine.
Two months (it's been months?) ago he would have curled his lip and quietly avoided the tree. Now, though, he approaches the dismal-looking automaton.
"What in the Void are you?"

[mettaton_rex]

Mettaton stands quickly as the human approaches, on edge even before he's taken in any details about the stranger, and hating that he is. Another dream that came true in the worst way - he met humans, and one of them broke him.

He doesn't feel much better once he has taken in the details, although the 'what' instead of 'who' bothers him more than whatever weaponry Daud might have on him. Better than hiding the danger behind a smile, like some people. (Present company included, yes.)

He plants one boot against the trunk of the tree, striking a pose that both shows off his legs and should let him transition quickly into a high kick if the human does try anything. Tosses his hair back. His self-belief might still lie in tatters, but he's at least got back the will to fake it, for a little while.

"Really, darling, haven't you ever seen a celebrity before?" A hand pressed to his chest, in mock dismay.

[dunwhale]

Daud likes to be blunt. He's not a member of the elite who finds meaning and fulfillment in frustrating everyone around them.

The robot swivels into a ridiculous pose. Daud sees threat behind it, but it's still ridiculous. There’s two types of threat he concerns—concerned—himself with, the first because one wanted a fight and the second because of the exact opposite. This, he feels, is the second. He crosses his arms and resists the urge to tilt his head.

“I don't care what you are.” Blunt. Too blunt. He eases off a little bit and reminds himself that he hasn't had to talk sharply to anyone for quite some time and that it's a bad habit to cling to.

“Whatever you were before this place doesn’t concern me.” Better? Not really. “What I mean is—“ He clears his throat. “You don’t look like a human.” Normally he’d say person, but Frisk has told him about monsters, and they’re pretty adamant that monsters are people too.

[mettaton_rex]

Hmm. That's - still far from polite, but a better reaction than he was expecting. (Even if it leaves that dull ache of regret in his SOUL. You wouldn't say that if you knew what I was before, darling....)

Mettaton reassesses the situation, calming a little, and decides that he doesn't have anything to gain from seeming too hostile, himself. He relaxes his pose just a bit.

"Well, no. I'm a robot. Metal and magic, expertly crafted into the being you see before you." He makes a sweeping gesture to himself. Maybe not one with quite so much pizazz as his old self would have given it, back in the days when he actually was a star. But enough. In a bittersweet way, it's nice to play at showing off.