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castle_perraultThere'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.
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.
🍀
Date: 2019-06-17 10:58 am (UTC)...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?"
(no subject)
Date: 2019-06-29 10:19 pm (UTC)A sigh. "They don't talk to me much. For... obvious reasons."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-07-11 01:43 pm (UTC)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?"