Mettaton attempts to raise his hand to his mouth to cover it daintily, scandalized, but his arm just... flops sadly. He's having a real rough time using his body. "Weight! Of course I need more consideration than that. But they could just ask! You can't just dunk me in a tub, for example..."
In other words, no: they hadn't ascribed much respect to the robot. Even being told that he had a soul didn't seem to convince him that he could speak to them about his needs. But before he can continue very far, Elidibus stalls, then gives him quite the pointed look. The use of his own name is expected, and after a time, he'd get quite irritated if Elidibus avoided using it for very long: he deserves respect, after all. But when he realizes the mistake he's made...
He tries again to cover his mouth in more drama, but this is more reflex than acting. His arm fails him again. Not even his ears can stand, but his face is screwed up, lips tight and eye wide. He glances to Emet-Selch with a sheepish smile.
"Oh," he breathes, but it's... reassuring that the door's closed. Already, Mettaton's aware that he's slipped a few times in not using Emet-Selch's title... Being freshly revived would obviously scramble his head and make him behave uncontrollably. To Emet-Selch alone, "Sorry, my dearest. That was careless of me..."
Hades is just his name. Mettaton recognizes that Emet-Selch is an important title, but he views his fiancé as Hades, the man behind the mask in all respects. ...He is also decidedly not Amaurotine, and fails to truly grasp this society's inclination toward upholding titles and conforming to proper reservation. But his apology is made, and it's directed entirely at Emet-Selch, not at all at Elidibus. He'd told Emet-Selch that he'd use his title in the presence of others, after all, and he'd erred.
As soon as Elidibus is on the move, Mettaton nods with as much exuberance as his tired body can manage, practically squirming with excitement. "Please do," he beckons, still sidling comfortably against Emet-Selch's hip. But he wouldn't dare go any further from him than this, no matter how much assistance he received. "Anyway, what was I saying...? Oh, yes. This body can tolerate anything short of submersion, darling. So you can do your worst! I'm sick and tired of smelling like old blood, and it's not doing Selchy any favors."
This really would be the best, and only, offer he'd receive. Comfort wasn't a priority for a robot, not by the Coven's staff. Mettaton presents himself to Elidibus' attention—and for Elidibus' intervention and interest, Mettaton's body is caked in old, flecked blood, mostly from his hips, up. Dirt remains caked in nails and mixed with blood; gnarls of thick, dark fur sticks to him in places still, but not nearly as much as when he'd woken up. It looks like he had a little tussle in a fur-lined subterranean burrow or something, and absolutely reamed his opponent and bled them dry.
But he wears for Elidibus and Emet-Selch a bright, eager smile, glancing between them.
"Finally! I've wanted this simple pleasure for too long. You're making dreams come true, Elidibus-darling. —....."
...That name. Those syllables. Mettaton has the sort of heavy deliberation after saying it that Emet-Selch alone might recognize: he is dissatisfied with affixing -darling to so many syllables, and seeks to remedy this. Terrible. Mettaton has finally had it with Elidibus-darling.
no subject
In other words, no: they hadn't ascribed much respect to the robot. Even being told that he had a soul didn't seem to convince him that he could speak to them about his needs. But before he can continue very far, Elidibus stalls, then gives him quite the pointed look. The use of his own name is expected, and after a time, he'd get quite irritated if Elidibus avoided using it for very long: he deserves respect, after all. But when he realizes the mistake he's made...
He tries again to cover his mouth in more drama, but this is more reflex than acting. His arm fails him again. Not even his ears can stand, but his face is screwed up, lips tight and eye wide. He glances to Emet-Selch with a sheepish smile.
"Oh," he breathes, but it's... reassuring that the door's closed. Already, Mettaton's aware that he's slipped a few times in not using Emet-Selch's title... Being freshly revived would obviously scramble his head and make him behave uncontrollably. To Emet-Selch alone, "Sorry, my dearest. That was careless of me..."
Hades is just his name. Mettaton recognizes that Emet-Selch is an important title, but he views his fiancé as Hades, the man behind the mask in all respects. ...He is also decidedly not Amaurotine, and fails to truly grasp this society's inclination toward upholding titles and conforming to proper reservation. But his apology is made, and it's directed entirely at Emet-Selch, not at all at Elidibus. He'd told Emet-Selch that he'd use his title in the presence of others, after all, and he'd erred.
As soon as Elidibus is on the move, Mettaton nods with as much exuberance as his tired body can manage, practically squirming with excitement. "Please do," he beckons, still sidling comfortably against Emet-Selch's hip. But he wouldn't dare go any further from him than this, no matter how much assistance he received. "Anyway, what was I saying...? Oh, yes. This body can tolerate anything short of submersion, darling. So you can do your worst! I'm sick and tired of smelling like old blood, and it's not doing Selchy any favors."
This really would be the best, and only, offer he'd receive. Comfort wasn't a priority for a robot, not by the Coven's staff. Mettaton presents himself to Elidibus' attention—and for Elidibus' intervention and interest, Mettaton's body is caked in old, flecked blood, mostly from his hips, up. Dirt remains caked in nails and mixed with blood; gnarls of thick, dark fur sticks to him in places still, but not nearly as much as when he'd woken up. It looks like he had a little tussle in a fur-lined subterranean burrow or something, and absolutely reamed his opponent and bled them dry.
But he wears for Elidibus and Emet-Selch a bright, eager smile, glancing between them.
"Finally! I've wanted this simple pleasure for too long. You're making dreams come true, Elidibus-darling. —....."
...That name. Those syllables. Mettaton has the sort of heavy deliberation after saying it that Emet-Selch alone might recognize: he is dissatisfied with affixing -darling to so many syllables, and seeks to remedy this. Terrible. Mettaton has finally had it with Elidibus-darling.