"Hmm. Even a non-machine would know that my recovery time is entirely dependent on how cared for I am."
At this, he flutters his lashes. He must be Cared For to recover. Just, lovingly and constantly tended to and served... Mettaton smiles sweetly.
Mettaton was never deeply insulted. If anything, he was only behaving snappishly because he had something to hide. There was no duration of time it'd require to recover entirely. As for his battery... He'd been sleeping well enough so as to reduce the possibility of unpredictable power-offs. Because it's true: Mettaton has absolutely no way of handling diagnostics. He could tap into some features of his body, sure, but he was no better than a person piloting around a machine, blindly groping around for dysfunctional parts and using his best guesses to diagnose his issues.
But Elidibus continues, and Mettaton grows momentarily bashful, glancing away. He doesn't mean to growl... He even knows that Elidibus and doctors alike are often tending to Emet-Selch's well-being, not hurting him. But the very moment a shock of pain makes its way through Emet-Selch, the Puca's on the defense, and it's nothing short of an instantaneous reaction that requires higher thought to soothe. It's a quality he's gained as a Monster, he's sure. There was no other explanation.
There's more to digest, though Mettaton's brow begins to knit. This wouldn't be the first time during his stay where he is advised that there's something questionable about his... lifestyle. Or that he and Emet-Selch had a lesson to learn from all of this, but the Puca has a hard time figuring out what that lesson's supposed to be. To express his frustration with this notion, he unconsciously stomps the ground with a furry rabbit foot. It's not as strong as a full kick would be, so its not anything worth terrible concern.
Yet he considers what he's said, trying to find meaning. Elidibus works on helping Emet-Selch, and Mettaton watches patiently. And despite the advice to do anything other than growl... Any time, if at all, Emet-Selch experienced pain, even incidentally—the Puca's upper lip would stiffen, and he would tilt back his chin, stifling his defensiveness. Even though their Bond was weaker than before, it was returning to its full strength with speed. He could see it in his Bondmate's stiffened posture besides, and this was disturbing to him at his core.
But rationally speaking, he knows it's all required. There would be no clean recovery without a bit of pain and discomfort for everyone, including Emet-Selch, no matter how much he wished to protect him from it.
The next time Mettaton's given even a moment where Emet-Selch's not experiencing any shocks of pain, he heaves a sigh. And on his cheery voice, past a mellow smile, he glances away.
"I'm afraid I don't know where you think we've erred," Mettaton responds simply. "I was mind controlled. We were sick. We tried to recover... And unfortunately, oh my! My condition took a turn for the worst! The rest is... history."
There was a personal issue in there. The fears of being in love in a place that encourage ephemeral visitors, made manifest. But Mettaton thought this something they could work on between each other. While he speaks, Mettaton watches as Elidibus cleanses the bed in something that resembles transmutative magic... but there were many disciplines that could achieve such a result. Perhaps this was even considered a general pursuit. He'd smile and clap at it, but he's busy reflecting over their deaths, gazing off into the air with his head tilted vaguely down, focusing on nothing. He revisits the memories he could barely remember of their deaths, anyway. It was all so dark, and he felt the only thing he could recall with any clarity was the excruciating sense of loneliness, and the sight of Emet-Selch staring at him, unseeing. It would still his heart, if he had one.
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At this, he flutters his lashes. He must be Cared For to recover. Just, lovingly and constantly tended to and served... Mettaton smiles sweetly.
Mettaton was never deeply insulted. If anything, he was only behaving snappishly because he had something to hide. There was no duration of time it'd require to recover entirely. As for his battery... He'd been sleeping well enough so as to reduce the possibility of unpredictable power-offs. Because it's true: Mettaton has absolutely no way of handling diagnostics. He could tap into some features of his body, sure, but he was no better than a person piloting around a machine, blindly groping around for dysfunctional parts and using his best guesses to diagnose his issues.
But Elidibus continues, and Mettaton grows momentarily bashful, glancing away. He doesn't mean to growl... He even knows that Elidibus and doctors alike are often tending to Emet-Selch's well-being, not hurting him. But the very moment a shock of pain makes its way through Emet-Selch, the Puca's on the defense, and it's nothing short of an instantaneous reaction that requires higher thought to soothe. It's a quality he's gained as a Monster, he's sure. There was no other explanation.
There's more to digest, though Mettaton's brow begins to knit. This wouldn't be the first time during his stay where he is advised that there's something questionable about his... lifestyle. Or that he and Emet-Selch had a lesson to learn from all of this, but the Puca has a hard time figuring out what that lesson's supposed to be. To express his frustration with this notion, he unconsciously stomps the ground with a furry rabbit foot. It's not as strong as a full kick would be, so its not anything worth terrible concern.
Yet he considers what he's said, trying to find meaning. Elidibus works on helping Emet-Selch, and Mettaton watches patiently. And despite the advice to do anything other than growl... Any time, if at all, Emet-Selch experienced pain, even incidentally—the Puca's upper lip would stiffen, and he would tilt back his chin, stifling his defensiveness. Even though their Bond was weaker than before, it was returning to its full strength with speed. He could see it in his Bondmate's stiffened posture besides, and this was disturbing to him at his core.
But rationally speaking, he knows it's all required. There would be no clean recovery without a bit of pain and discomfort for everyone, including Emet-Selch, no matter how much he wished to protect him from it.
The next time Mettaton's given even a moment where Emet-Selch's not experiencing any shocks of pain, he heaves a sigh. And on his cheery voice, past a mellow smile, he glances away.
"I'm afraid I don't know where you think we've erred," Mettaton responds simply. "I was mind controlled. We were sick. We tried to recover... And unfortunately, oh my! My condition took a turn for the worst! The rest is... history."
There was a personal issue in there. The fears of being in love in a place that encourage ephemeral visitors, made manifest. But Mettaton thought this something they could work on between each other. While he speaks, Mettaton watches as Elidibus cleanses the bed in something that resembles transmutative magic... but there were many disciplines that could achieve such a result. Perhaps this was even considered a general pursuit. He'd smile and clap at it, but he's busy reflecting over their deaths, gazing off into the air with his head tilted vaguely down, focusing on nothing. He revisits the memories he could barely remember of their deaths, anyway. It was all so dark, and he felt the only thing he could recall with any clarity was the excruciating sense of loneliness, and the sight of Emet-Selch staring at him, unseeing. It would still his heart, if he had one.