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Given I am fairly certain she is entirely the source of Emet-Selch's ongoing peculiarly hostile behavior, I care not what her opinion is. Though I must wonder if upon revealing yourself, her attitude toward you changed rather quickly into pointless pettiness.
She does appear to be keeping some matter of import from me. After going out of her way to stage a... relatively elaborate invitation, she seemed quite adamant that I then contrive to pull the illusion back over her eyes as though nothing had occurred.
[There is a pause.]
I could see why you have such difficulty in handling her nature. Though I did think to suggest that perhaps she should cease such behavior when addressing you.
[There is a pause.]
I could see why you have such difficulty in handling her nature. Though I did think to suggest that perhaps she should cease such behavior when addressing you.
[A quiet tap, like claws against a tabletop.]
She will not alter her behavior. We are after all the enemy, and though she speaks in sweet words about wishing to understand us she only uses it to cause harm. Any information she's kept dangling is likely some contrivance intended to keep her feeling in control and little else, so we must come a-beggaring information from she who claims to have rendered us extinct. Beware such inelegant manipulations.
She will not alter her behavior. We are after all the enemy, and though she speaks in sweet words about wishing to understand us she only uses it to cause harm. Any information she's kept dangling is likely some contrivance intended to keep her feeling in control and little else, so we must come a-beggaring information from she who claims to have rendered us extinct. Beware such inelegant manipulations.
Yes. Her efforts were... clumsy at best. I gave no quarter to her request for delusion. I suspect she wishes me to fall in line with her perceived reality of what the Warrior of Light should be.
[There is a slight pause. One might think it was a moment of cynical humor indulged if it weren't Elidibus.]
She is not one for nuance. I wonder how my counterpart of your timeline found dealing with her. Regardless, I will wait and see if she decides to divulge her 'secret'. We shall continue to deal with one another, as whatever other failings she has, this Warrior of Light is proficient in craftsmanship.
[There is a slight pause. One might think it was a moment of cynical humor indulged if it weren't Elidibus.]
She is not one for nuance. I wonder how my counterpart of your timeline found dealing with her. Regardless, I will wait and see if she decides to divulge her 'secret'. We shall continue to deal with one another, as whatever other failings she has, this Warrior of Light is proficient in craftsmanship.
...Are you not already doing so? Aiding the helpless masses, meddling in affairs to improve lives around you in your act? What else could you possibly be doing?
[This brings a longer delay before an answer arrives. Elidibus clearly reviewed the scenario in his head. The words are slowly spoken.]
The way she spoke suggested she wanted me to be Ardbert.
[He sounds utterly perplexed. It is clear he finds the theory utterly preposterous no matter how it seems to fit. He also doesn't get what she really wanted, however. Irhya didn't want him to BE Ardbert... His voice smooths out once again.]
It matters little. We have a truce and it is unlikely she will act to publicly denounce me for the time being. And as I am known, a Bond with Emet-Selch will only seem a natural step. We will be capable of exploring a Bond's capacity further and provide more... adequate support in times of need.
[It's a general 'we', probably applying to the Unsundered in general.]
I intended to continue to visit Emet-Selch and his companion while they recover. I'm certain the opportunity to bring the matter up will present itself.
The way she spoke suggested she wanted me to be Ardbert.
[He sounds utterly perplexed. It is clear he finds the theory utterly preposterous no matter how it seems to fit. He also doesn't get what she really wanted, however. Irhya didn't want him to BE Ardbert... His voice smooths out once again.]
It matters little. We have a truce and it is unlikely she will act to publicly denounce me for the time being. And as I am known, a Bond with Emet-Selch will only seem a natural step. We will be capable of exploring a Bond's capacity further and provide more... adequate support in times of need.
[It's a general 'we', probably applying to the Unsundered in general.]
I intended to continue to visit Emet-Selch and his companion while they recover. I'm certain the opportunity to bring the matter up will present itself.
[Of all the idiotic--]
As that's rather impossible, tis best she and her notions be put aside. Bring the matter up quickly, lest he find some other mortal to attach himself to.
As that's rather impossible, tis best she and her notions be put aside. Bring the matter up quickly, lest he find some other mortal to attach himself to.
Interesting. Elidibus can do interesting at least. Though a small frown mars his features briefly as he ponders over 'interesting not vital'. The Ascian's expression clears and he nods. "Alright." He'll do it. In a way, Lahabrea's suggestion to view it with an eye for art or inspiration helps make up the Emissary's mind. It gives it a 'use', even if it is not 'vital'.
That Bomb. A large part of Elidibus' lack of schooling the creature's behavior is indifference. Pants can be mended, especially now he's learned basic spells. A hole or two in his pants because the beast acts on its nature. The proper emotions just aren't there to drive him to discipline the Cherry Bomb. Even when the creature had managed to make it into the chest, it had made Elidibus note to be more aware when closing the lid; another thing to check on a list of routine.
The Bomb is given a light nudge with a foot to shift it away from the safe path across the cage floor. And it seems the Ascian is more aware of the possibility of obsidian shards underfoot, for he picks a safe path to the door. There is a moment's pause as Elidibus considers the reason Lahabrea intends to stay in the cage. It doesn't quite... align with his observations of when they were first waking. But one five or ten minutes of 'peace' gives no context. Anyway, the Ascian has no intention of remarking on the difference right now, even if he had a better understanding to go by. "Very well." The door is unlocked, opened, and sealed again.
"I did not say the bars were worthless." Those bars are very important. For Lahabrea, it has been, until last night perhaps, a way to keep the beast in one place when he lost his sense of self on the full moons. To Elidibus, they seem a physical representation of what his fellow Unsundered is fighting against. To dismiss them at this point would be detrimental to his goal of aiding Lahabrea.
And yes. If he's on the far side of the bars should a feral attack occur, he would indeed have a few seconds to react.
It seems he'll leave matters at that, at least for as long as it takes to mend his pants and wash up. Though before he leaves, he'll ask, "Shall I bring the dustpan before I go?" He will if so. Otherwise, he'll just bring one back. Because he does plan on returning.
That Bomb. A large part of Elidibus' lack of schooling the creature's behavior is indifference. Pants can be mended, especially now he's learned basic spells. A hole or two in his pants because the beast acts on its nature. The proper emotions just aren't there to drive him to discipline the Cherry Bomb. Even when the creature had managed to make it into the chest, it had made Elidibus note to be more aware when closing the lid; another thing to check on a list of routine.
The Bomb is given a light nudge with a foot to shift it away from the safe path across the cage floor. And it seems the Ascian is more aware of the possibility of obsidian shards underfoot, for he picks a safe path to the door. There is a moment's pause as Elidibus considers the reason Lahabrea intends to stay in the cage. It doesn't quite... align with his observations of when they were first waking. But one five or ten minutes of 'peace' gives no context. Anyway, the Ascian has no intention of remarking on the difference right now, even if he had a better understanding to go by. "Very well." The door is unlocked, opened, and sealed again.
"I did not say the bars were worthless." Those bars are very important. For Lahabrea, it has been, until last night perhaps, a way to keep the beast in one place when he lost his sense of self on the full moons. To Elidibus, they seem a physical representation of what his fellow Unsundered is fighting against. To dismiss them at this point would be detrimental to his goal of aiding Lahabrea.
And yes. If he's on the far side of the bars should a feral attack occur, he would indeed have a few seconds to react.
It seems he'll leave matters at that, at least for as long as it takes to mend his pants and wash up. Though before he leaves, he'll ask, "Shall I bring the dustpan before I go?" He will if so. Otherwise, he'll just bring one back. Because he does plan on returning.
Elidibus knows not what horrors of shortened syllables await his title. He misses the nuance that Mettaton's deliberation imparts and thus surely, whatever the robot puca's decision will be on the matter of addressing the Emissary, will come as a complete surprise.
Let us hope there is no fallout.
The Ascian doesn't mind that the apology is not directed toward him. Emet-Selch is the one wronged, so it stands to reason that the Puca rightly should think to turn to his beloved in this manner. Not having to resolve the discussion with further participation lets the Emissary get about his business of untangling bodies and deciding how he's going to go about the matter of cleaning.
It might occur to Elidibus to cover Emet-Selch again should it be pointed out. But the sheets are filthy and there are parts of bedside manner which remain elusive. Right now, he's considering the steps needed to make his task the most efficient. Because yes, he does have a plan on how he's going to wash two bodies which are laying in filthy bedding.
"Yes, it should be a simple matter, then." And it will begin with dry cloths being used to wipe away the largest chunks of gore and fur and the like. Never fear, Mettaton, proper warm and moist towels will follow later, but dry is the best for the initial pass. And like with his fellow Unsundered, Elidibus is dutifully mindful that bodies should not be scrubbed like they were weapons or leather armor. Even the metal bits!
It will be evident early on that the Emissary has ulterior motives for this task besides Emet-Selch's well-being. He would not, even were he not under his fellow Ascian's watchful eyes, do anything construed as horrible to Mettaton during this inspection. But inspection it is underneath the body care; not just for hidden injuries but the puca as a whole. "Fascinating," he muses almost in rhetoric, though a glance at both Emet-Selch and Mettaton actually indicates that he might be making a remark that welcomes response. "The metal seems to have become genuine flesh." After the towel brushes clean most of the gore, the Ascian's fingers draw a line from metal to flesh and fur along one of the puca's forearms. A pity it's so clinical, right? "And this is how this star has affected you?"
Keen eyes are also noting other matters. The way the fur is patchy. Some with the wholly explainable existence of sores where the cwyld infection had been manifest but others... well bare, as if the fur had been torn out. Or fallen out? Hm. Elidibus's expression could be considered interesting to watch as it does show some signs of shifting. Little frowns. Tiny, quizzical moments. Not emotion per se, but a sign that he's focused on his observations.
For Emet-Selch, it might be an echo of memories long past. A younger Elidibus in his study, wholly absorbed into the study of some book or report or another to the point where he's lost track of time. A very very faint echo. There was so much more passion back then.
At some point, Elidibus will reach a place where there might be damage to metal components of the robot turned puca. Here he pauses, carefully studying it after wiping away the gunk and asking, "Do you feel pain from this damage?" But he looks for signs that there has been a breach which might cause the soon-to-come pass of proper water-soaked cloth to be detrimental. "...Will this need a spell of mending or healing, I wonder?"
But all of this has been build-up for the main event. Once the blankets have been pulled away from Mettaton's body. Once the full dry wipe has been completed and finally Emet-Selch has gotten his sheet back (if not by request, then by the way it was folded back by Elidibus when it was removed from Mettaton's body), the Emissary cleans his hands, soaks the first of many warm towels, and begins the process of proper bathing.
But the question that had been long left unasked is suddenly brought forth. "Tell me what circumstances led to your demise, Emet-Selch?"
Let us hope there is no fallout.
The Ascian doesn't mind that the apology is not directed toward him. Emet-Selch is the one wronged, so it stands to reason that the Puca rightly should think to turn to his beloved in this manner. Not having to resolve the discussion with further participation lets the Emissary get about his business of untangling bodies and deciding how he's going to go about the matter of cleaning.
It might occur to Elidibus to cover Emet-Selch again should it be pointed out. But the sheets are filthy and there are parts of bedside manner which remain elusive. Right now, he's considering the steps needed to make his task the most efficient. Because yes, he does have a plan on how he's going to wash two bodies which are laying in filthy bedding.
"Yes, it should be a simple matter, then." And it will begin with dry cloths being used to wipe away the largest chunks of gore and fur and the like. Never fear, Mettaton, proper warm and moist towels will follow later, but dry is the best for the initial pass. And like with his fellow Unsundered, Elidibus is dutifully mindful that bodies should not be scrubbed like they were weapons or leather armor. Even the metal bits!
It will be evident early on that the Emissary has ulterior motives for this task besides Emet-Selch's well-being. He would not, even were he not under his fellow Ascian's watchful eyes, do anything construed as horrible to Mettaton during this inspection. But inspection it is underneath the body care; not just for hidden injuries but the puca as a whole. "Fascinating," he muses almost in rhetoric, though a glance at both Emet-Selch and Mettaton actually indicates that he might be making a remark that welcomes response. "The metal seems to have become genuine flesh." After the towel brushes clean most of the gore, the Ascian's fingers draw a line from metal to flesh and fur along one of the puca's forearms. A pity it's so clinical, right? "And this is how this star has affected you?"
Keen eyes are also noting other matters. The way the fur is patchy. Some with the wholly explainable existence of sores where the cwyld infection had been manifest but others... well bare, as if the fur had been torn out. Or fallen out? Hm. Elidibus's expression could be considered interesting to watch as it does show some signs of shifting. Little frowns. Tiny, quizzical moments. Not emotion per se, but a sign that he's focused on his observations.
For Emet-Selch, it might be an echo of memories long past. A younger Elidibus in his study, wholly absorbed into the study of some book or report or another to the point where he's lost track of time. A very very faint echo. There was so much more passion back then.
At some point, Elidibus will reach a place where there might be damage to metal components of the robot turned puca. Here he pauses, carefully studying it after wiping away the gunk and asking, "Do you feel pain from this damage?" But he looks for signs that there has been a breach which might cause the soon-to-come pass of proper water-soaked cloth to be detrimental. "...Will this need a spell of mending or healing, I wonder?"
But all of this has been build-up for the main event. Once the blankets have been pulled away from Mettaton's body. Once the full dry wipe has been completed and finally Emet-Selch has gotten his sheet back (if not by request, then by the way it was folded back by Elidibus when it was removed from Mettaton's body), the Emissary cleans his hands, soaks the first of many warm towels, and begins the process of proper bathing.
But the question that had been long left unasked is suddenly brought forth. "Tell me what circumstances led to your demise, Emet-Selch?"
How strange it was, to experience somebody else's touch. Despite being a touchy person, Mettaton's far more accustomed to touch on his powerful terms. The only chances he has to let other people touch him was when permission is granted: repairs, invitations, or even the force of his will exerting itself upon an unfortunate victim. Most of the time it's eyes only.
Mettaton truly fits being a rabbit. He likes to be touched, but only when he wants it.
So he hums, leaning back, permitting Elidibus the full of his body, even though he refuses to lose touch with Emet-Selch at his side. And he watches Elidibus with a piercing, golden stare, observant and interested, trying to fit his own curiosity together piece by piece. While he gives Elidibus a slow tilt of his head, Elidibus is clearly ogling his body for reasons not sensual, but of clinical interest. Oh well. Mettaton doesn't care either way: as far as he cares, interest is interest. He hums, slightly jutting out his hip salaciously in offering.
"Yes," is his simple reply. "Real flesh, that grows fur and bleeds. Before coming here, I looked quite different. Emet-Selch can testify to that."
Idly, Mettaton stretches his legs. Wiggles his toes. Stares at his entire legs, which are just... very, very different. Thicker, more muscular (?!??!?) thighs. Long, furry rabbit feet have even replaced the pink heels he once wore. Elidibus pauses around his waist, where Mettaton's sustained damage that has yet to be repaired—after all, the Coven's already written him off in the realm of care. It's not in their wheelhouse, machines. Mettaton gazes down at his injury, remembering all too well where it must have come from, but not how it came about.
And so he smiles softly, sadly, and remains quiet for a spell. But he follows up with a nod. "I do feel pain. I am c— alive, you know." Mettaton huffs as a cover-up. And seamlessly, he moves his hand to rub at the area metal's been rent, a steel blade against a steel body. He considers it fortunate that his body gave in first.
"Healing doesn't repair metal. That's for mechanics! Or... transmutation spells. Do you know any, Lidi-darling?"
And Mettaton smiles at Elidibus with a bright fondness, eagerness. But he wouldn't be disappointed one way or another. Emet-Selch's gotten good at transmutation: once he heals up, he knows his Bonded would be glad to help him. As for the name of endearment... Mettaton doesn't flinch at having used that, either. Elidibus is giving Mettaton a sponge bath. Mettaton has a lingering, misplaced memory where the Emissary's a consideration. This warrants a shortening of his name.
But as soon as the question is posed to Emet-Selch, Mettaton volunteers an answer with immediacy, his expression falling, eye wide, forthright and earnest.
"I attacked him." Attacked is a kind word. Mettaton swallows, only barely able to keep his expression from falling with restraint, keeping his face stiff. "I killed him."
Mettaton truly fits being a rabbit. He likes to be touched, but only when he wants it.
So he hums, leaning back, permitting Elidibus the full of his body, even though he refuses to lose touch with Emet-Selch at his side. And he watches Elidibus with a piercing, golden stare, observant and interested, trying to fit his own curiosity together piece by piece. While he gives Elidibus a slow tilt of his head, Elidibus is clearly ogling his body for reasons not sensual, but of clinical interest. Oh well. Mettaton doesn't care either way: as far as he cares, interest is interest. He hums, slightly jutting out his hip salaciously in offering.
"Yes," is his simple reply. "Real flesh, that grows fur and bleeds. Before coming here, I looked quite different. Emet-Selch can testify to that."
Idly, Mettaton stretches his legs. Wiggles his toes. Stares at his entire legs, which are just... very, very different. Thicker, more muscular (?!??!?) thighs. Long, furry rabbit feet have even replaced the pink heels he once wore. Elidibus pauses around his waist, where Mettaton's sustained damage that has yet to be repaired—after all, the Coven's already written him off in the realm of care. It's not in their wheelhouse, machines. Mettaton gazes down at his injury, remembering all too well where it must have come from, but not how it came about.
And so he smiles softly, sadly, and remains quiet for a spell. But he follows up with a nod. "I do feel pain. I am c— alive, you know." Mettaton huffs as a cover-up. And seamlessly, he moves his hand to rub at the area metal's been rent, a steel blade against a steel body. He considers it fortunate that his body gave in first.
"Healing doesn't repair metal. That's for mechanics! Or... transmutation spells. Do you know any, Lidi-darling?"
And Mettaton smiles at Elidibus with a bright fondness, eagerness. But he wouldn't be disappointed one way or another. Emet-Selch's gotten good at transmutation: once he heals up, he knows his Bonded would be glad to help him. As for the name of endearment... Mettaton doesn't flinch at having used that, either. Elidibus is giving Mettaton a sponge bath. Mettaton has a lingering, misplaced memory where the Emissary's a consideration. This warrants a shortening of his name.
But as soon as the question is posed to Emet-Selch, Mettaton volunteers an answer with immediacy, his expression falling, eye wide, forthright and earnest.
"I attacked him." Attacked is a kind word. Mettaton swallows, only barely able to keep his expression from falling with restraint, keeping his face stiff. "I killed him."
An investigation that was for the sake of information, rather than anything like concern: Emet-Selch expected no different. But there were the slightest signs of interest, of something other than neutral observation- curiosity, of a sort. Nothing like that earnest, youthful kind that Emet-Selch could recollect, even now, something that had been both genuine and unhidden. It wasn't as though it were a guarded emotion now, but instead so very faint, so very detached, that he couldn't decide whether it was better or worse to see it at all. It might've been easier to have there been nothing, nothing to remind him of what had used to be.
Of course, he says nothing on it; in addition to investigating, Elidibus was cleaning up his Bonded, which was the desired result. And he leaves Mettaton to comment on the transformation his body had undergone, on arriving to this star. While every monster had their form altered, were made to grow fur, feathers, scales- or some combination thereof- on top of skin, it was perhaps a change most apparently on someone who hadn't had skin to begin with. But the star had made do, the star had adapted, provided a network of something to feed the growth of fur, of living tissue.
The inevitable shortening of Elidibus' title- it gets a flicker of something like amusement. While he certainly didn't like his own title being turned into less of a mouthful, it was fine when it happened to someone else. He could tell Mettaton meant it affectionately, anyway (Even if he wondered a bit as to why; it wasn't as though the puca knew the other Ascian very well at all, he thought. But Mettaton was quick to take to people... he assumed it was something like that. Neither of them had yet worked out what memories had been displaced, what memories had been added.).
But that amusement dies at Elidibus' question- one that Emet-Selch had known would be coming, but which he was no more eager to address than he'd been to start. It distracts from the chill, or from anything other than this.
Mettaton's response to it- honest and direct as it was- has Emet-Selch sigh, low and soft. Well, there wasn't any other way to put it, really, and it was perhaps better to be blunt (not that Emet-Selch truly considered it an attack... to him, that implied something more aggressive than what had occurred, a deliberation towards harm, rather than hunger and instinct). That the pair of them remained together, with no discomfort apparent save for that of the physical persuasion- that they were, indeed, reluctant to part from one another at all- at least seemed to indicate that whatever had occurred wasn't something that had damaged their attachment to one another.
"We were both infected with the cwyld," is what he chooses to add, evenly, glancing from Elidibus' face to his hands upon the robot's body. To the body itself, and the damage to it. "With Mettaton also influenced by that cult. And in his madness, this was the result."
Of course, he says nothing on it; in addition to investigating, Elidibus was cleaning up his Bonded, which was the desired result. And he leaves Mettaton to comment on the transformation his body had undergone, on arriving to this star. While every monster had their form altered, were made to grow fur, feathers, scales- or some combination thereof- on top of skin, it was perhaps a change most apparently on someone who hadn't had skin to begin with. But the star had made do, the star had adapted, provided a network of something to feed the growth of fur, of living tissue.
The inevitable shortening of Elidibus' title- it gets a flicker of something like amusement. While he certainly didn't like his own title being turned into less of a mouthful, it was fine when it happened to someone else. He could tell Mettaton meant it affectionately, anyway (Even if he wondered a bit as to why; it wasn't as though the puca knew the other Ascian very well at all, he thought. But Mettaton was quick to take to people... he assumed it was something like that. Neither of them had yet worked out what memories had been displaced, what memories had been added.).
But that amusement dies at Elidibus' question- one that Emet-Selch had known would be coming, but which he was no more eager to address than he'd been to start. It distracts from the chill, or from anything other than this.
Mettaton's response to it- honest and direct as it was- has Emet-Selch sigh, low and soft. Well, there wasn't any other way to put it, really, and it was perhaps better to be blunt (not that Emet-Selch truly considered it an attack... to him, that implied something more aggressive than what had occurred, a deliberation towards harm, rather than hunger and instinct). That the pair of them remained together, with no discomfort apparent save for that of the physical persuasion- that they were, indeed, reluctant to part from one another at all- at least seemed to indicate that whatever had occurred wasn't something that had damaged their attachment to one another.
"We were both infected with the cwyld," is what he chooses to add, evenly, glancing from Elidibus' face to his hands upon the robot's body. To the body itself, and the damage to it. "With Mettaton also influenced by that cult. And in his madness, this was the result."
Punishing a bomb is a delicate process even if one were so inclined to do so. When prodded with a foot it makes indignant motions with its tiny hands and floats to the side, though whether by its own volition or helped along by a nudge is hard to tell when the creature in question doesn't walk.
"Ah, but you did." He coils around himself as best as he's able to, though he lacks the flexibility some have with their reptilian tails. "Though you may know it not." Important to him ... before Elidibus had gone out of his way to point out that they would hold neither against a dragon's strength nor contain a small shapeshifted form. Useless - and puncturing an illusion he'd been hesitant to weigh for too long simply in the hopes that if he ignored it, the dragon wouldn't think to test it. But he no longer could, and he was aware of how steel fared against a beast of his ilk, which meant the dragon would be too.
Lahabrea doesn't explain this, he turns his thoughts mostly towards unraveling what he might do to otherwise secure some semblance of safety for others now that this was no longer suitable. It would delay only, and then not for long .. and then woe betide anyone he came across in such a state. "... No. I will be returning to such work soon enough."
A focus. Something to do. "..Mayhap it would be advisable you tend to other needs once you are clean than sitting around down here."
"Ah, but you did." He coils around himself as best as he's able to, though he lacks the flexibility some have with their reptilian tails. "Though you may know it not." Important to him ... before Elidibus had gone out of his way to point out that they would hold neither against a dragon's strength nor contain a small shapeshifted form. Useless - and puncturing an illusion he'd been hesitant to weigh for too long simply in the hopes that if he ignored it, the dragon wouldn't think to test it. But he no longer could, and he was aware of how steel fared against a beast of his ilk, which meant the dragon would be too.
Lahabrea doesn't explain this, he turns his thoughts mostly towards unraveling what he might do to otherwise secure some semblance of safety for others now that this was no longer suitable. It would delay only, and then not for long .. and then woe betide anyone he came across in such a state. "... No. I will be returning to such work soon enough."
A focus. Something to do. "..Mayhap it would be advisable you tend to other needs once you are clean than sitting around down here."
When did he? For a brief moment, it is clear Elidibus casts around for a memory of saying it. For once, he's certain it is not a problem with his failing memories and he is rewarded for his persistence with a pieced-together answer. It may not be the correct one, but it is an answer. After a little more time, he finally chooses a response. "My apologies."
But the.... dragon? Lahabrea? Had shown no sign of interest in leaving the cage that night. The Emissary wonders if he should bring the matter up now, to see to his ablutions and return with the conversation on his lips. Or leave for errands and bring up the matter that night when he returns. For his fellow Ascian had a point that he did not need to stay around all day. A balance of attendance and keeping an ordinary, such as it got here, routine. It had merit.
"There are a few matters I can see to," Elidibus agrees. "Mayhap when I return this evening, you would tell me how your day progressed. If the effects of having a Bonded sleep in your care it is notated for reference, it can be compared to the successive days and previous iterations of the full moon's sway you have experienced."
The Ascian nods. No dustpan or broom. He'll wait long enough to hear Lahabrea's response on the suggestion that they continue this 'experiment' this evening before he departs. As for his errands? Well, he'll certainly be willing to stop by long enough to make sure Lahabrea doesn't want him to pick up something while he's out.
He would later wonder why he had made it and not simply expected Lahabrea to tell him before he'd left the room earlier.
But the.... dragon? Lahabrea? Had shown no sign of interest in leaving the cage that night. The Emissary wonders if he should bring the matter up now, to see to his ablutions and return with the conversation on his lips. Or leave for errands and bring up the matter that night when he returns. For his fellow Ascian had a point that he did not need to stay around all day. A balance of attendance and keeping an ordinary, such as it got here, routine. It had merit.
"There are a few matters I can see to," Elidibus agrees. "Mayhap when I return this evening, you would tell me how your day progressed. If the effects of having a Bonded sleep in your care it is notated for reference, it can be compared to the successive days and previous iterations of the full moon's sway you have experienced."
The Ascian nods. No dustpan or broom. He'll wait long enough to hear Lahabrea's response on the suggestion that they continue this 'experiment' this evening before he departs. As for his errands? Well, he'll certainly be willing to stop by long enough to make sure Lahabrea doesn't want him to pick up something while he's out.
He would later wonder why he had made it and not simply expected Lahabrea to tell him before he'd left the room earlier.
As this is the first time Elidibus has been allowed to examine Mettaton in full, some of the details will be missed if changes have occurred since they last spoke. But now he's obtaining a nice catalog of data. Efforts to maintain touch with Emet-Selch will not be thwarted as it does not impede the Ascian's examination or his efforts.
For now.
"Of course. Yet it does not simply overlay the metal." Keen eyes wander over the patchy fur and tender skin. "It seems to be no fusion either. I would liken it to a transmutation akin to alchemical. Have you ever witnessed its like, Emet-Selch?" Indeed even while the Puca refers to his bed-ridden fiancee as a reference to how much the transformation has impacted the robot, Elidibus's gaze shifts to regard his contemporary. The physical regard is brief since there is work to be continued. But the Emissary is obviously interested in what Emet-Selch might have to say on the matter.
'I am c-- alive...' The subtle hesitation warrants a speculative look. Huffing will not help cover that slip of the tongue from a man who deals frequently with words. He might have considered asking later and yet... Lidi-darling happens. Elidibus narrows his eyes slightly. "My title is Elidibus. I have familiarized myself with mending spellwork. So if this is merely cosmetic and specifically will not cause you pain you cannot endure, I can deal with it this day." The area is given a more detailed examination to see if it is truly cosmetic or if there would be a more complex problem with... well, wiring or such underneath. "What were you about to say, aside from 'alive'?" he adds in an offhand way. As for Metatton's sudden sense of finding the Ascian endearing, it is met with a curious look of inquiry toward Emet-Selch again, as if to say 'is this normal for the puca?'.
Ah yes, and should the metal fatigue be solely aesthetics, spellwork will be wrought with surprisingly random expertise to bring it back to its original shape. [No small thanks to Tataru Taru's teachings and the regular cloth-burning machinations of a certain cherry Bomb.]
Now, there might not be any sensuality involved, but Elidibus does appear to be showing signs of being capable of handling the matter of grooming. His tools are limited to towels, water, and fingers right now and the patient's fur isn't in the best condition, but there is a sense of technique behind the way he checks for what's ready to fall out or is careful about matting. There may be little fur to detangle in the front, but upon the puca's backside, where he could not so easily reach in his madness?
Elidibus is wise. When he seeks to turn Mettaton on his side, it is so the robot faces Emet-Selch. "It seems it would be best to cut these away and allow the fur to regrow." No doubt for all the care the Emissary does show, there's at least a slight tugging sensation at the matting for the puca to feel and know what's being talked about. Now it is ascertained this is indeed flesh and blood and real growing fur that need not be replaced by artificial means, the Ascian feels confident in saying that. "If you will permit me." He has a very sharp knife somewhere on his person for utility and other matters. It will surely do the trick and be brought out and set to the task if permission is given.
Which, given this occurs not long before his question is posed regarding what occurred to put them in this state and Mettaton's subsequent answer, may add an interesting element to the distinct stillness which falls upon the mortal shell. An observer unfamiliar with Elidibus might suspect an odd lack of shock or emotional reaction, given the tight rein of control the Emissary has over his emotional state. But his contemporary will know the signs. And there is a shocking amount of what could only be termed anger being slowly brought under control (a tightening grip, incited emotion lingering in the Ascian's gaze) before Elidibus turns to reasoned thought and calms himself. And returns to the task, just as gently as before.
It would not have mattered before, what happened to Emet-Selch's mortal shell. The body dies, find another body. But he is armed with the knowledge of his contemporary's message. And... knowing what it is like to truly lose both of his fellow Unsundered. It is no wonder he was for a moment truly outraged.
"A pity I was unaware of the Circle's grasp upon your companion, Emet-Selch." He seems somewhat... vexed. In truth, it does irritate him to discover his limited ability toward investigating the cult had resulted in missing a matter of such key importance as Mettaton's infection and the subsequent attack upon his Bonded. Elidibus shifts his attention between the two subjects of interest. "Were you a victim of their kidnappers and experiments, or one of those who were ensorcelled to believe their righteous cause?"
Yes, the Emissary is quite familiar with the details of what happened. People listening might expect that since this is the aftermath, it is only a given the details are out. That is far from the case, though it would suit Elidibus if they continue to presume that.
Inspection, cleaning- both dry and wet- and structural repairs where applicable are finished upon the puca. He had not missed the damage to Mettaton's right ear either. A fully clean cloth and water had been used to gently soak the crusted scab away to reveal the wound underneath. A very minor form of healing spell murmured; something which would stop the bleeding and attend to infection though not completely close it. That is why further antiseptic and bandages are applied. And far be it that Elidibus would simply let him lie in the dirty sheets again. "I will need to move you to a seat until I finish with Emet-Selch and tend to the bedding." Do not worry. Seats in the room are facing and close to the bed. But it will require separation if only by a few inches. And no doubt, it will require being carried by Elidibus. Whose expression is... unreadable, if someone were trying to discern whether this is a practical matter or some form of petty vengeance. Probably the former.
"And this is what you refer to by experiencing Cwyld infection first-hand, I presume?" It is clear, for now at least, the Ascian is going to skirt around the core of the matter. The real issue which probably brought him here. The matter of the depth of their ties to their mortal body in this world. Well, it's not a matter you discuss amongst outsiders, no matter what the possibility is that Mettaton knows the laissez-faire attitude Ascians tend to have toward their mortal host.
For now.
"Of course. Yet it does not simply overlay the metal." Keen eyes wander over the patchy fur and tender skin. "It seems to be no fusion either. I would liken it to a transmutation akin to alchemical. Have you ever witnessed its like, Emet-Selch?" Indeed even while the Puca refers to his bed-ridden fiancee as a reference to how much the transformation has impacted the robot, Elidibus's gaze shifts to regard his contemporary. The physical regard is brief since there is work to be continued. But the Emissary is obviously interested in what Emet-Selch might have to say on the matter.
'I am c-- alive...' The subtle hesitation warrants a speculative look. Huffing will not help cover that slip of the tongue from a man who deals frequently with words. He might have considered asking later and yet... Lidi-darling happens. Elidibus narrows his eyes slightly. "My title is Elidibus. I have familiarized myself with mending spellwork. So if this is merely cosmetic and specifically will not cause you pain you cannot endure, I can deal with it this day." The area is given a more detailed examination to see if it is truly cosmetic or if there would be a more complex problem with... well, wiring or such underneath. "What were you about to say, aside from 'alive'?" he adds in an offhand way. As for Metatton's sudden sense of finding the Ascian endearing, it is met with a curious look of inquiry toward Emet-Selch again, as if to say 'is this normal for the puca?'.
Ah yes, and should the metal fatigue be solely aesthetics, spellwork will be wrought with surprisingly random expertise to bring it back to its original shape. [No small thanks to Tataru Taru's teachings and the regular cloth-burning machinations of a certain cherry Bomb.]
Now, there might not be any sensuality involved, but Elidibus does appear to be showing signs of being capable of handling the matter of grooming. His tools are limited to towels, water, and fingers right now and the patient's fur isn't in the best condition, but there is a sense of technique behind the way he checks for what's ready to fall out or is careful about matting. There may be little fur to detangle in the front, but upon the puca's backside, where he could not so easily reach in his madness?
Elidibus is wise. When he seeks to turn Mettaton on his side, it is so the robot faces Emet-Selch. "It seems it would be best to cut these away and allow the fur to regrow." No doubt for all the care the Emissary does show, there's at least a slight tugging sensation at the matting for the puca to feel and know what's being talked about. Now it is ascertained this is indeed flesh and blood and real growing fur that need not be replaced by artificial means, the Ascian feels confident in saying that. "If you will permit me." He has a very sharp knife somewhere on his person for utility and other matters. It will surely do the trick and be brought out and set to the task if permission is given.
Which, given this occurs not long before his question is posed regarding what occurred to put them in this state and Mettaton's subsequent answer, may add an interesting element to the distinct stillness which falls upon the mortal shell. An observer unfamiliar with Elidibus might suspect an odd lack of shock or emotional reaction, given the tight rein of control the Emissary has over his emotional state. But his contemporary will know the signs. And there is a shocking amount of what could only be termed anger being slowly brought under control (a tightening grip, incited emotion lingering in the Ascian's gaze) before Elidibus turns to reasoned thought and calms himself. And returns to the task, just as gently as before.
It would not have mattered before, what happened to Emet-Selch's mortal shell. The body dies, find another body. But he is armed with the knowledge of his contemporary's message. And... knowing what it is like to truly lose both of his fellow Unsundered. It is no wonder he was for a moment truly outraged.
"A pity I was unaware of the Circle's grasp upon your companion, Emet-Selch." He seems somewhat... vexed. In truth, it does irritate him to discover his limited ability toward investigating the cult had resulted in missing a matter of such key importance as Mettaton's infection and the subsequent attack upon his Bonded. Elidibus shifts his attention between the two subjects of interest. "Were you a victim of their kidnappers and experiments, or one of those who were ensorcelled to believe their righteous cause?"
Yes, the Emissary is quite familiar with the details of what happened. People listening might expect that since this is the aftermath, it is only a given the details are out. That is far from the case, though it would suit Elidibus if they continue to presume that.
Inspection, cleaning- both dry and wet- and structural repairs where applicable are finished upon the puca. He had not missed the damage to Mettaton's right ear either. A fully clean cloth and water had been used to gently soak the crusted scab away to reveal the wound underneath. A very minor form of healing spell murmured; something which would stop the bleeding and attend to infection though not completely close it. That is why further antiseptic and bandages are applied. And far be it that Elidibus would simply let him lie in the dirty sheets again. "I will need to move you to a seat until I finish with Emet-Selch and tend to the bedding." Do not worry. Seats in the room are facing and close to the bed. But it will require separation if only by a few inches. And no doubt, it will require being carried by Elidibus. Whose expression is... unreadable, if someone were trying to discern whether this is a practical matter or some form of petty vengeance. Probably the former.
"And this is what you refer to by experiencing Cwyld infection first-hand, I presume?" It is clear, for now at least, the Ascian is going to skirt around the core of the matter. The real issue which probably brought him here. The matter of the depth of their ties to their mortal body in this world. Well, it's not a matter you discuss amongst outsiders, no matter what the possibility is that Mettaton knows the laissez-faire attitude Ascians tend to have toward their mortal host.
There are no changes: Mettaton has been here for well over a year. Aside from the damage sustained from his recent encounter with death, Mettaton is a completely transformed Puca, as far as his body will go. The biggest difference is how ratty he looks in comparison to the shimmering, silver-furred robot he looked like before.
Being cleaned of dried blood will be a vast improvement, no doubt.
At all of Elidibus' observations of his body, he can only hum. Alchemical? Mettaton doesn't quite understand what that means, and he watches his body wherever Elidibus looks, stretching his legs and leaning this way and that to show himself off. Mettaton smiles.
"My condition is a thing of magic, isn't it? Yes. You're not alone in thinking so, darling."
This is an unhelpful comment of self-preening. He also nods along: yes, his title is Elidibus, he knows this well. But Elidibus is just too many syllables. His gaze is challenging, daring the Ascian to make him change his already-settled course. If he wants to hyphenate a -darling onto his name, Lidi it is. But then... he asks for clarification on his stumble in words. C- alive. Mettaton glances to the far side of the room. Silence falls between the three, even though Mettaton smiles.
"Hmm... Who knows? Some synonym, maybe! Ha-ha." It's decidedly unimportant. Moving along. Mettaton's lips are pursed tight.
Good thing Elidibus suggests he turn, and Mettaton has no qualms with this, nor the suggestion of trimming down his fur. He smiles, sultry and inviting as he caresses his hip and tilts to the best of his ability. (Weak as he is, he might need a bit of help turning the rest of the way.)
"Oh my." He bats his lashes. "You're so charmingly forward. You're so lucky, given this chance to touch my supple... skin! Yes, do what you must." Mettaton shrugs with the arm furthest from Emet-Selch. "My fur grows back astonishingly quick."
Every single full moon, he's bound to grow some of it back. It would be no time at all before he recovered fur, of all things. The Puca labors to lay on his side, to face Emet-Selch, careless about the impression of a knife or anything of that ilk. If Elidibus has a knife, he trusts him to use it kindly. He smiles Emet-Selch before letting his dark-painted lids flutter shut, making himself comfortable while he's further cleaned and rid of matting and blood. Elidibus is free to work, and even freer to find unease in their deaths, pertaining to their woefully mortal condition.
Facing Emet-Selch as he is, his smile softens, a bit sorrowful. It was an overall pity that nobody knew of his condition... and that they were neither the types to rely on anybody outside of themselves. Could their deaths have been prevented? Emet-Selch had already tried to coerce Mettaton into being seen for the Cwyld, he knew, but the Puca was a stubborn sort. Mind controlled as he was, he saw even less reason to be cured of the Cwyld, and nothing Emet-Selch could argue would make him feel any more inclined to deal with it. He doubted very much that anybody could have swayed him. He'd have to be taken there by force, and that was a very difficult feat to perform for the flighty, feisty Puca. He'd make a right show of his staunch denial.
Elidibus prompts Mettaton more directly, and he's dragged from his own thoughts. His eye doesn't open.
"The latter," Mettaton comments simply, unembellished. Maybe even a bit tired, though his voice is smooth and pleasant. He even wears a smile by default. "I'd been attending meetings for weeks. They revered my condition."
And that was enough for him.
Elidibus touches Mettaton's ear. For the first time, the Puca flinches, every joint in his body stiffening as the muscle in his thighs tense. His eye flies open in wide shock at the sensation, and a memory slips in, the memory of gaining this wound at all. It... doesn't disturb as much as it ought to, perhaps. Maybe it was because he never saw it or registered it all that much in the moment. But he remains still and compliant as Elidibus heals and treats the wound, reminding himself that this would help to repair what could be... though he had yet to see what his ear looked like at all. It was a pulsing pain enough to make him wince if he thought about it too hard, but he knows it's there because he and Emet-Selch were starving.
He only realizes seconds delayed that Elidibus wants him to move, and Mettaton reflexively growls low, curling closer to Emet-Selch. His ears would move, but they can't. But his rationale occurs to him second. To finish with Emet-Selch, then to make their bed... The thought of having a clean, niceer bed was appealing. Mettaton gazes gently upon Emet-Selch, loosening up his posture and inquiring without words how his fiancé feels about them splitting for any duration of time or length of space.
All Mettaton says at Elidibus' request is: "Hmm..."
Being cleaned of dried blood will be a vast improvement, no doubt.
At all of Elidibus' observations of his body, he can only hum. Alchemical? Mettaton doesn't quite understand what that means, and he watches his body wherever Elidibus looks, stretching his legs and leaning this way and that to show himself off. Mettaton smiles.
"My condition is a thing of magic, isn't it? Yes. You're not alone in thinking so, darling."
This is an unhelpful comment of self-preening. He also nods along: yes, his title is Elidibus, he knows this well. But Elidibus is just too many syllables. His gaze is challenging, daring the Ascian to make him change his already-settled course. If he wants to hyphenate a -darling onto his name, Lidi it is. But then... he asks for clarification on his stumble in words. C- alive. Mettaton glances to the far side of the room. Silence falls between the three, even though Mettaton smiles.
"Hmm... Who knows? Some synonym, maybe! Ha-ha." It's decidedly unimportant. Moving along. Mettaton's lips are pursed tight.
Good thing Elidibus suggests he turn, and Mettaton has no qualms with this, nor the suggestion of trimming down his fur. He smiles, sultry and inviting as he caresses his hip and tilts to the best of his ability. (Weak as he is, he might need a bit of help turning the rest of the way.)
"Oh my." He bats his lashes. "You're so charmingly forward. You're so lucky, given this chance to touch my supple... skin! Yes, do what you must." Mettaton shrugs with the arm furthest from Emet-Selch. "My fur grows back astonishingly quick."
Every single full moon, he's bound to grow some of it back. It would be no time at all before he recovered fur, of all things. The Puca labors to lay on his side, to face Emet-Selch, careless about the impression of a knife or anything of that ilk. If Elidibus has a knife, he trusts him to use it kindly. He smiles Emet-Selch before letting his dark-painted lids flutter shut, making himself comfortable while he's further cleaned and rid of matting and blood. Elidibus is free to work, and even freer to find unease in their deaths, pertaining to their woefully mortal condition.
Facing Emet-Selch as he is, his smile softens, a bit sorrowful. It was an overall pity that nobody knew of his condition... and that they were neither the types to rely on anybody outside of themselves. Could their deaths have been prevented? Emet-Selch had already tried to coerce Mettaton into being seen for the Cwyld, he knew, but the Puca was a stubborn sort. Mind controlled as he was, he saw even less reason to be cured of the Cwyld, and nothing Emet-Selch could argue would make him feel any more inclined to deal with it. He doubted very much that anybody could have swayed him. He'd have to be taken there by force, and that was a very difficult feat to perform for the flighty, feisty Puca. He'd make a right show of his staunch denial.
Elidibus prompts Mettaton more directly, and he's dragged from his own thoughts. His eye doesn't open.
"The latter," Mettaton comments simply, unembellished. Maybe even a bit tired, though his voice is smooth and pleasant. He even wears a smile by default. "I'd been attending meetings for weeks. They revered my condition."
And that was enough for him.
Elidibus touches Mettaton's ear. For the first time, the Puca flinches, every joint in his body stiffening as the muscle in his thighs tense. His eye flies open in wide shock at the sensation, and a memory slips in, the memory of gaining this wound at all. It... doesn't disturb as much as it ought to, perhaps. Maybe it was because he never saw it or registered it all that much in the moment. But he remains still and compliant as Elidibus heals and treats the wound, reminding himself that this would help to repair what could be... though he had yet to see what his ear looked like at all. It was a pulsing pain enough to make him wince if he thought about it too hard, but he knows it's there because he and Emet-Selch were starving.
He only realizes seconds delayed that Elidibus wants him to move, and Mettaton reflexively growls low, curling closer to Emet-Selch. His ears would move, but they can't. But his rationale occurs to him second. To finish with Emet-Selch, then to make their bed... The thought of having a clean, niceer bed was appealing. Mettaton gazes gently upon Emet-Selch, loosening up his posture and inquiring without words how his fiancé feels about them splitting for any duration of time or length of space.
All Mettaton says at Elidibus' request is: "Hmm..."
Edited (learn 2 spell "says") 2021-03-20 07:20 (UTC)
I finished the other saddle. You can come get it if you still want it.
I apologize that it was held up this long.
I apologize that it was held up this long.
Edited 2021-03-26 07:09 (UTC)
I did not plan to renege on our bargain. I will be there within a bell. You need not apologize. I realize this past moon has been eventful.
It was a simple response and probably to be expected from Elidibus now that he is not trying to fumble through an impression of Ardbert when speaking to Irhya. And punctual as ever he arrives at her home, astride Filia who is in turn wearing the more practical of the two saddles the Ascian had commissioned.
Once securing the amaro's reins the Emissary approaches the door. She might be surprised that he doesn't show up fully armed and armored today. It's... a calculated decision. With the streets quiet again- for now- and their truce in place, it seemed more fitting to arrive without looking as though he were going to battle.
So there is Ardbert's body dressed in a close-knit brown turtleneck with long sleeves, a pair of black slacks. Dark boots and gloves, the latter thin and mostly meant as a barricade to direct contact. Those ancient sensibilities, you know. A red scarf is wrapped around his neck like a splash of color. Yet one could liken the color to the red mask or sigil which serves as an identity of the Ascian's office.
Without much preamble, Elidibus knocks.
It was a simple response and probably to be expected from Elidibus now that he is not trying to fumble through an impression of Ardbert when speaking to Irhya. And punctual as ever he arrives at her home, astride Filia who is in turn wearing the more practical of the two saddles the Ascian had commissioned.
Once securing the amaro's reins the Emissary approaches the door. She might be surprised that he doesn't show up fully armed and armored today. It's... a calculated decision. With the streets quiet again- for now- and their truce in place, it seemed more fitting to arrive without looking as though he were going to battle.
So there is Ardbert's body dressed in a close-knit brown turtleneck with long sleeves, a pair of black slacks. Dark boots and gloves, the latter thin and mostly meant as a barricade to direct contact. Those ancient sensibilities, you know. A red scarf is wrapped around his neck like a splash of color. Yet one could liken the color to the red mask or sigil which serves as an identity of the Ascian's office.
Without much preamble, Elidibus knocks.
At first, the enchanted ring idea seemed great, until she went to try and take it off. Ever since, she's been holing herself up in the house to try and figure out a way to take it off without also removing the finger along with it, but to no avail.
Which is why she didn't want to summon Elidibus, but she'd already taken longer than planned on the second saddle due to getting kidnapped. And though she could've probably told herself he could wait a little longer, it didn't seem right. Business is business, and he knows that, too...
Okay. Get it together.
Irhya puts a hand on the knob and opens the door. She looks a little flushed, but it's hard to tell when vampires have little need to sweat most of the time. There's a faint sense of heat coming off her, just barely detectable when one draws close enough, but she's quick to ease back in the hopes he doesn't catch it.
"Hi," she says, raspy, then clears her throat and tries again. "Ah... It's in the same place as before. Should I--"
An odd pause. Something like recognition sparks on her face; alternatively, it could also be another bad idea of hers.
"Actually, why don't you come in for a few minutes? The weather's warmed a bit, but I can put down a blanket for your amaro if you want."
Which is why she didn't want to summon Elidibus, but she'd already taken longer than planned on the second saddle due to getting kidnapped. And though she could've probably told herself he could wait a little longer, it didn't seem right. Business is business, and he knows that, too...
Okay. Get it together.
Irhya puts a hand on the knob and opens the door. She looks a little flushed, but it's hard to tell when vampires have little need to sweat most of the time. There's a faint sense of heat coming off her, just barely detectable when one draws close enough, but she's quick to ease back in the hopes he doesn't catch it.
"Hi," she says, raspy, then clears her throat and tries again. "Ah... It's in the same place as before. Should I--"
An odd pause. Something like recognition sparks on her face; alternatively, it could also be another bad idea of hers.
"Actually, why don't you come in for a few minutes? The weather's warmed a bit, but I can put down a blanket for your amaro if you want."
Elidibus has only book learning when it comes to the study of vampires. This means while he is aware of Irhya's transformation because she informed him (unwittingly or not), he is not, in fact, versed with what functions they retain in truth, versus claimed fact.
It is more the raspy voice which draws his attention than any hint of heat or flushed cheeks. That and the Warrior of Light's sudden shift in tack, obvious as it is for better or worse. To say the least, any effort at more than the barest civil courtesy might have given the Emissary pause, given past circumstances. It is clear the Ascian senses something amiss.
Whatever it is, Elidibus cannot fathom it by staying on the front step and studying Irhya. "Filia is fine." Indeed the Amaro seems happily settled in the last light of the afternoon. "If there is a matter you wish to discuss beyond our current business, I can spare a few minutes. But I will not trouble you for simple pleasantries. Particularly if you are recovering from recent events?" The lilt of a question ends words spoken in the Ascian's tone of voice. It could not be called concern, but there is at least a certain judicious courtesy in his tone which comes close enough.
It is more the raspy voice which draws his attention than any hint of heat or flushed cheeks. That and the Warrior of Light's sudden shift in tack, obvious as it is for better or worse. To say the least, any effort at more than the barest civil courtesy might have given the Emissary pause, given past circumstances. It is clear the Ascian senses something amiss.
Whatever it is, Elidibus cannot fathom it by staying on the front step and studying Irhya. "Filia is fine." Indeed the Amaro seems happily settled in the last light of the afternoon. "If there is a matter you wish to discuss beyond our current business, I can spare a few minutes. But I will not trouble you for simple pleasantries. Particularly if you are recovering from recent events?" The lilt of a question ends words spoken in the Ascian's tone of voice. It could not be called concern, but there is at least a certain judicious courtesy in his tone which comes close enough.
"I'm--"
She's about to start her routine denials when he mentions "recent events," and it forces her to cut off. He's already figured it out, even if the cause is slightly off-base, and presumably because she's acting funny. Is she acting that funny...? She must be, for him to have asked at all. And he's just being courteous, sure, but...
"It's not that, I just did something stupid. It's fine, I--"
As she approaches the table, she ends up smacking her hands onto it, gripping the edge hard. Her mind absolutely will not stop thinking, conspiring against him and herself both, and that is a problem. She groans, then casts him a furtive glance over her shoulder.
"...Hells. Listen. Either I need you to figure out how to break a curse really damn quickly, or I need you to do me a favor and have sex with me. There, those are your options if you want to help. Though I'll hardly blame you to just take what's yours and leave, in this case."
She's about to start her routine denials when he mentions "recent events," and it forces her to cut off. He's already figured it out, even if the cause is slightly off-base, and presumably because she's acting funny. Is she acting that funny...? She must be, for him to have asked at all. And he's just being courteous, sure, but...
"It's not that, I just did something stupid. It's fine, I--"
As she approaches the table, she ends up smacking her hands onto it, gripping the edge hard. Her mind absolutely will not stop thinking, conspiring against him and herself both, and that is a problem. She groans, then casts him a furtive glance over her shoulder.
"...Hells. Listen. Either I need you to figure out how to break a curse really damn quickly, or I need you to do me a favor and have sex with me. There, those are your options if you want to help. Though I'll hardly blame you to just take what's yours and leave, in this case."
"Mm, I've not come across anything like him, no." Slightly dryly spoken, even if he is mostly referring to Mettaton's physical composition. "The world spared no effort in adapting him to a monster's life, even though it would have been far easier just to render him a witch and be done with it."
Inconveniences of monsterhood aside, Emet-Selch was glad that his companion was a monster- as he doubted they would've ever Bonded otherwise, the puca having been looking for a witch of particular requirements.
Elidibus' look of questioning towards him, as though inquiring whether this was typical Mettaton behavior- is met with a faint shrug against the bed, and a fainter quirk of lips. None of it seemed to strike him as at all unusual, and if the puca had taken it upon himself to view the other Ascian favorably, Emet-Selch wasn't about to dissuade him of it. His life in general would be much easier if his compatriots and his Bonded could all get on with one another, though he'd settle for anything greater than active animosity.
(If only they were all the Amaurotines they had once been. Then there would have been no question of them all getting along at least reasonably well. Amaurotine disapproval or dislike had never carried with it the risk of violence, at least.)
Leaving the pair of them to decide on the shearing of what was left of Mettaton's fur to facilitate cleaning, the Emissary's response to the culprit of their fatalities arrived. The stillness on Elidibus' part was telling, and while Emet-Selch doesn't tense at it, he watches closely at this version of his compatriot's anger. So controlled, so... unexpressed, but there. That there was an emotion at all to be felt- he supposed it could be taken as a good sign, though it had been a long time since he'd found any measure of hope in those flickers of sentiment. But that a version of fury was one of those things that yet survived in its way, rather than anything positive or kind... it didn't surprise him, but it did depress him that touch more.
Not that there's any sign of this, just an idle staring as he looks between his fiancé and his fellow unsundered. Calmed anger aside, Emet-Selch didn't think Elidibus would deliberately harm the puca, especially not right in front of him. That would require too much passion, and not enough rationality; it wasn't as though Mettaton had intended to kill him, and any attempt at vengeance would accomplish less than nothing.
Letting Mettaton explain that the complication had been mind control on the puca's part, rather than captivity, he sighs at the reminder of the experience of infection. Even though they'd both died technically of something other than that (hence the ability to have been revived), it wasn't as though the cwyld hadn't played its part. Been responsible, in its way, for this specific pattern of injury.
"You could say that, I was... well infected by the end of it. It felt pointless to have it cured before seeing my Bonded cured with me."
He would've just been reinfected. By the time it had progressed enough to warrant seeing it fixed anyway, Mettaton had been housebound, and the Ascian refused to leave him. And then Elidibus touches Mettaton's bitten ear, causing a sharp, clearly pained reaction, a flinch that has Emet-Selch tensing with the puca, as though to defend him somehow from it. Expression turning slightly drawn, he maintains a focus on his fiancé's face, even though he'd rather look aside. He didn't... entirely remember biting him. Not that hard, not enough to have actually removed a piece from his ear.
It's a dwelling interrupted by the sound of growling, Emet-Selch also only belatedly realizing that Elidibus had suggested that they part (briefly), for the sake of a cleaner bed, and his own response is to nudge closer, protectively, defensively. Considering the effort it had taken to get the two of them placed together and concurrently alive, it was reflex to want to see that maintained. But the rationale arrives some seconds later, along with the imagining of being able to rest on a clean bed, having also been cleaned off... it did appeal. They both valued that sort of thing, and it would probably help with feeling like things were getting back to some sort of normal, which didn't involve lying in a nest of old blood.
"...You could still reach me, couldn't you?" he asks Mettaton first, tone quiet. If he could keep his hand, perhaps... he would tolerate it.
Inconveniences of monsterhood aside, Emet-Selch was glad that his companion was a monster- as he doubted they would've ever Bonded otherwise, the puca having been looking for a witch of particular requirements.
Elidibus' look of questioning towards him, as though inquiring whether this was typical Mettaton behavior- is met with a faint shrug against the bed, and a fainter quirk of lips. None of it seemed to strike him as at all unusual, and if the puca had taken it upon himself to view the other Ascian favorably, Emet-Selch wasn't about to dissuade him of it. His life in general would be much easier if his compatriots and his Bonded could all get on with one another, though he'd settle for anything greater than active animosity.
(If only they were all the Amaurotines they had once been. Then there would have been no question of them all getting along at least reasonably well. Amaurotine disapproval or dislike had never carried with it the risk of violence, at least.)
Leaving the pair of them to decide on the shearing of what was left of Mettaton's fur to facilitate cleaning, the Emissary's response to the culprit of their fatalities arrived. The stillness on Elidibus' part was telling, and while Emet-Selch doesn't tense at it, he watches closely at this version of his compatriot's anger. So controlled, so... unexpressed, but there. That there was an emotion at all to be felt- he supposed it could be taken as a good sign, though it had been a long time since he'd found any measure of hope in those flickers of sentiment. But that a version of fury was one of those things that yet survived in its way, rather than anything positive or kind... it didn't surprise him, but it did depress him that touch more.
Not that there's any sign of this, just an idle staring as he looks between his fiancé and his fellow unsundered. Calmed anger aside, Emet-Selch didn't think Elidibus would deliberately harm the puca, especially not right in front of him. That would require too much passion, and not enough rationality; it wasn't as though Mettaton had intended to kill him, and any attempt at vengeance would accomplish less than nothing.
Letting Mettaton explain that the complication had been mind control on the puca's part, rather than captivity, he sighs at the reminder of the experience of infection. Even though they'd both died technically of something other than that (hence the ability to have been revived), it wasn't as though the cwyld hadn't played its part. Been responsible, in its way, for this specific pattern of injury.
"You could say that, I was... well infected by the end of it. It felt pointless to have it cured before seeing my Bonded cured with me."
He would've just been reinfected. By the time it had progressed enough to warrant seeing it fixed anyway, Mettaton had been housebound, and the Ascian refused to leave him. And then Elidibus touches Mettaton's bitten ear, causing a sharp, clearly pained reaction, a flinch that has Emet-Selch tensing with the puca, as though to defend him somehow from it. Expression turning slightly drawn, he maintains a focus on his fiancé's face, even though he'd rather look aside. He didn't... entirely remember biting him. Not that hard, not enough to have actually removed a piece from his ear.
It's a dwelling interrupted by the sound of growling, Emet-Selch also only belatedly realizing that Elidibus had suggested that they part (briefly), for the sake of a cleaner bed, and his own response is to nudge closer, protectively, defensively. Considering the effort it had taken to get the two of them placed together and concurrently alive, it was reflex to want to see that maintained. But the rationale arrives some seconds later, along with the imagining of being able to rest on a clean bed, having also been cleaned off... it did appeal. They both valued that sort of thing, and it would probably help with feeling like things were getting back to some sort of normal, which didn't involve lying in a nest of old blood.
"...You could still reach me, couldn't you?" he asks Mettaton first, tone quiet. If he could keep his hand, perhaps... he would tolerate it.
Well, there was the raspy voice and the sudden shift of the conversation. It's hard not to know that something is up. Elidibus's relationship with the Warrior of Light is, after all, a fairly distinct one. But 'recent events' refer to something more simple than guessing the real reason for her current plight. There had, after all, been a rash of kidnappings, deaths, mind-control, and cultists around the city.
The Emissary is at least reasonably certain that Cwyld infection is not the issue. As Irhya rambles on in regards to doing something 'stupid', there is a brief look that almost seems to suggest he's not surprised.
He has followed because in the end he is here for the saddle. The Ascian idly cants his head with interest as another wave of... what? Dizziness maybe, causing Irhya to steady herself on the table while it passes through her. There was certainly some small measure of satisfaction deep within of seeing this proxy of the Warrior of Light he knows showing some signs of suffering. When she finally bursts out with a very unique pair of conditions for the matter of 'other business' she seems to indicate a need to discuss with him... Well, even the eons-old Ascian is given some pause.
...
Elidibus studies the miqo'te vampire carefully. No, he did not hear wrong. Nor did she seem to be joking. At first, he opens his mouth briefly to deliver a statement of correction. He did not necessarily express a desire to 'help'. He simply agreed to listen to whatever other business she had. He was rarely at a loss for words. But this time it takes him a moment to adjust.
Finally, the Emissary composes himself. Mentally, he sizes up the distance between himself and Irhya, as though assessing whether this curse has driven her to the edge of taking desperate action. That she has asked Elidibus of all people to 'do her a favor and have sex' is every indication he needs to take some precaution against the chance that she is not in her right mind.
"I believe it safe to presume this curse and your outlandish request are connected." The Ascian's cold tone is every indication of the firm 'No.' response to her second option. "And thus I will not advise you upon the very obvious solution of seeking a professional in such services."
It is clear the man is not going to relax. Another matter he's well aware of; she's been a vampire in this world for far longer than he's been a witch. Pale blue eyes convey a frosty warning that Irhya should not try to move any closer than she already is.
"My focus has been enchantments in learning this star's lackluster form of magic. But primarily upon objects." But thoughts are turning and from what he offhandedly mentioned earlier, something seems to have occurred to him. Rumors he'd heard... Perhaps she had run into something while seeking services... "...Though if you were foolish enough to stray too close to the brothels during this 'Eostre' celebration, I am afraid I will be of little aid. You would be best served by those who have focused their studies in the healing arts, for such magics as are tied to those enchanted eggs were released upon their impact and you will likely need to wait out the limits of its effect."
The Emissary is at least reasonably certain that Cwyld infection is not the issue. As Irhya rambles on in regards to doing something 'stupid', there is a brief look that almost seems to suggest he's not surprised.
He has followed because in the end he is here for the saddle. The Ascian idly cants his head with interest as another wave of... what? Dizziness maybe, causing Irhya to steady herself on the table while it passes through her. There was certainly some small measure of satisfaction deep within of seeing this proxy of the Warrior of Light he knows showing some signs of suffering. When she finally bursts out with a very unique pair of conditions for the matter of 'other business' she seems to indicate a need to discuss with him... Well, even the eons-old Ascian is given some pause.
...
Elidibus studies the miqo'te vampire carefully. No, he did not hear wrong. Nor did she seem to be joking. At first, he opens his mouth briefly to deliver a statement of correction. He did not necessarily express a desire to 'help'. He simply agreed to listen to whatever other business she had. He was rarely at a loss for words. But this time it takes him a moment to adjust.
Finally, the Emissary composes himself. Mentally, he sizes up the distance between himself and Irhya, as though assessing whether this curse has driven her to the edge of taking desperate action. That she has asked Elidibus of all people to 'do her a favor and have sex' is every indication he needs to take some precaution against the chance that she is not in her right mind.
"I believe it safe to presume this curse and your outlandish request are connected." The Ascian's cold tone is every indication of the firm 'No.' response to her second option. "And thus I will not advise you upon the very obvious solution of seeking a professional in such services."
It is clear the man is not going to relax. Another matter he's well aware of; she's been a vampire in this world for far longer than he's been a witch. Pale blue eyes convey a frosty warning that Irhya should not try to move any closer than she already is.
"My focus has been enchantments in learning this star's lackluster form of magic. But primarily upon objects." But thoughts are turning and from what he offhandedly mentioned earlier, something seems to have occurred to him. Rumors he'd heard... Perhaps she had run into something while seeking services... "...Though if you were foolish enough to stray too close to the brothels during this 'Eostre' celebration, I am afraid I will be of little aid. You would be best served by those who have focused their studies in the healing arts, for such magics as are tied to those enchanted eggs were released upon their impact and you will likely need to wait out the limits of its effect."
Irhya sputters, the hairs on her tail sticking up. "That's-- I didn't go anywhere near those eggs! Don't you think I'd know that kind of thing happens by now!?"
She exhales, then takes in a calming breath again, smoothing a hand into her bangs. "No, the explanation is more simple than that. I bought it off someone who was peddling enchanted jewelry last moon. It ended up being cursed on top of being enchanted. Short of a cursebreaking spell, I can't get it off."
Tapping the toe of her boot against the ground anxiously, she turns halfway and takes a defensive posture, then glances at him again, sulking this time. One would think Emet-Selch would be reaping all the benefits of this arrangement, but she's already worried about calling upon him too much. Curses aren't in his wheelhouse, apparently... much less breaking them. All she can do is relieve it for a while as she pursues other options.
"I'm trying to keep it together, but it creeps up on me at the worst times. And I'd rather not find out what happens if I ignore it for too long..."
She exhales, then takes in a calming breath again, smoothing a hand into her bangs. "No, the explanation is more simple than that. I bought it off someone who was peddling enchanted jewelry last moon. It ended up being cursed on top of being enchanted. Short of a cursebreaking spell, I can't get it off."
Tapping the toe of her boot against the ground anxiously, she turns halfway and takes a defensive posture, then glances at him again, sulking this time. One would think Emet-Selch would be reaping all the benefits of this arrangement, but she's already worried about calling upon him too much. Curses aren't in his wheelhouse, apparently... much less breaking them. All she can do is relieve it for a while as she pursues other options.
"I'm trying to keep it together, but it creeps up on me at the worst times. And I'd rather not find out what happens if I ignore it for too long..."
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