Of course he's going to want to be carried! Only if Elidibus showed some sign of dropping him would Mettaton have demonstrated his ability to amble along, or at least help. It's much more glamorous to be princess carried. He'd say he looks gorgeous in a dress.
"I hadn't even thought about shapeshifting," admits the Puca, gazing ceilingward. And though the thought of becoming a compact hare is now there for the consideration, he dismisses it just as easily. "Oh well. Elidibus here is perfectly capable of carrying me! There are no problems!"
He even princess carried him. Mettaton is pleased. He squeezes Emet-Selch's fingers, smiling smugly as though they didn't just spend the last few days dying and whatnot. Mettaton has a knack for glossing over the worst of issues in this way.
Mettaton stares at Elidibus wide-eyed as soon as the other Witch makes his request. Self-diagnostics... For some reason, he hadn't thought such words would escape Elidibus' mouth. It's always hard to gauge how technologically savvy someone is, and the phrasing suggests that he needs to play his role more carefully. It's perhaps a boon to the Puca that his ears are so damaged that they can't emote, for they might have risen in shock then folded back in unease if they could. But they do nothing, and his face is only wide and blank.
A canvas which he uses, morphing surprise into utter emptiness. Incredulity. Then, Mettaton puts forth his best robot impression, gaze vacant and voice tinny and monotonous.
"3... 2... 1... Self-diagnostics: complete." His brow knits, drawing his expression into one of ire that he points at Elidibus. Monotonous quality is lost as he continues, though it's still spoken through a synthesized, robotic filter. "My analysis suggests that your eyes are functioning just fine, sweetheart!! You can see my damage clear as day! Use them!!!"
He clutches onto Emet-Selch's hand with both of his own now, giving Elidibus a smile sharp as knives. His voice returns to normal: abnormally silky and very emphatic as ever, riding the waves of inflection to draw attention to his every word. And though he speaks sweetly, the challenging darkness of his expression doesn't depart, as though affronted that he'd ask him to perform (gasp) a robotic function.
"Or you can ask me how I'm doing. To which I'll reply: splendidly, now that I'm finally clean! Though I have a few repairs to endure, from both my creator and Emmy... I'll be bouncing back before you can count the letters of my name." Which, as anyone true fan would know, is as long as he would like for it to be. "Thank you for the concern, Lidi-darling."
The host Elidibus took was rather strong, the Ascian had to admit to himself. As would be expected from both an adventurer and a former/current Warrior of Light. Emet-Selch knew he would have had a much harder time picking up the heavy robot at all, especially in the ever-dashing princess-carry position (he was normally the one being princess-carried).
The request for the robot to demonstrate a basic robot function- Emet-Selch could feel a bit of the puca's startle and unease through their recovering Bond, but he can't help but permit himself a brief, amused smile at how the ostensible machine chooses to respond. The offense at being asked to do something robotic... yes, this is about what he might have expected from him. He knew perfectly well Mettaton could do nothing of the sort. Even his battery life seemed to be something he only had a general sense of.
And technically, it did count as some sort of diagnostics check, only filtered through Mettaton's particular personality. Content with the solid grip on his hand, Emet-Selch glances back to Elidibus. "I told you he was alive. 'Tis more straightforward to treat with him as such."
Rather than treating the robot as a... robot.
Diversion as it all was, it only briefly distracted from the inevitability of more Washing. There was a bit of steeling to be done between them, he knew. Emet-Selch wasn't shy, nor modest, but he was ultimately more of a private sort, and what was more personal than one's body? Except, of course, this was just a host, no different than a bit of clothing, something fleshy to wrap around the soul. Any body would be viewed that way after so many years without, an object that was his but not him. So in that regard, why did it matter? Even if this was a bit of fabric that could no longer be readily removed and replaced with a fresher piece.
It was both more and less awkward for Elidibus to be the one performing the task. It wasn't as though Emet-Selch weren't already fully aware as to how many others had seen his body. It felt like half the hospital had been involved in his necromancy and healing, and subsequent efforts to both reach Mettaton and ensure that he was likewise resurrected. And why would that bother him, or even so much as register? Any thoughts those people might have (especially considering the amount of older, non-fatality-related markings his body possessed) never occurred to him, because he still didn't see the average mortal as much of a person. If pressed, he might hesitantly agree that they were alive, but it would also be clear that he didn't think of them that way.
Elidibus, though, was one of the very few of the city that he definitely considered as completely alive, a whole entire person (no matter the state of his memories) and someone who he knew besides. That part especially just made it awkward.
It's also obvious that Elidibus has taken good care of the host body. Good diet, plenty of exercise, and practice at combat. The hyur frame definitely has muscle. Mettaton's frame was not any real trouble especially with such a short distance involved and a willing individual.
And Emet-Selch. Did it occur that your turn to be princess carried by Elidibus will be coming soon?
But first, the distress which a simple query created. Elidibus would need to be blind not to discern the unease despite the lack of real body language in the form of the puca's ears. The Emissary looks between both Mettaton and Emet-Selch. He's listening to the explanation and ire, as well as the defense his fellow Ascian raises for his Bonded's sake.
In response, Elidibus closes his eyes momentarily and his expression is very, very close to an exasperated equivalent of 'Zodiark give me strength.'
He will continue taking care of Emet-Selch because there is a lot to do between washing, cleaning wounds, and rebandaging. But very patiently he offers an explanation. "Yes, I am aware you are a creature with a soul. I trust Emet-Selch's judgment in this and, as it has been pointed out you would hardly be capable of Bonding were it not true. Regardless I apologize for any perceived insult." A glance is given Mettaton's way. Sincerity could be construed if only by the fact the apology is being honestly offered.
"My intention was not to treat you as an object but to determine whether you are capable of accurately calculating the amount of time it will take you to recover from your weakened state and any remaining injury. Given you have both recently returned from the dead and given Emet-Selch's own condition, I would not leave you both in the sole care of one another."
Briefly, he pauses his ministrations of the bedridden Ascian's form and turns to focus fully upon the puca with narrowed eyes. "And before you growl at me again, I would remind you that your desire to protect Emet-Selch and the collective capacity of judgment from both of you while one or the other are compromised has led you to the current state I found you in upon arrival." He glances back at Emet-Selch to include him in this statement. Then he turns around fully to go back to the washing task.
"I have no particular desire to interrupt your lifestyle but given these developments, I will be at least stopping by from time to time in the near future. How little or much that is will depend on how much thought you put into the words I have just spoken. I would like to think this latest incident has been a learning experience for the two of you."
There is a lot to take from Elidibus's small lecture. For one, pieces of it were directed at one, the other, or both depending on what he was addressing. And another, he was sincere when he mentioned he does not consider Mettaton an.... inanimate thing. But like Emet-Selch, how much of a soul the puca has is up for debate. The important part to take from this is as he did trust his brethren when it came to the claim that Mettaton was... well 'alive'.
Another matter suspect is how Elidibus is upset. Not the briefly frustrated moment of asking for patience from his God but honest distress and concern. For all his lecture had a great deal of sense involved it was also made in earnest. In the frame of mind both seem to have recently experienced and- to some extent- are still in, they seem to be their own worst enemies. And he's balking at the idea of leaving them both to their own devices until they're both fully healed.
This probably isn't doing much for the awkwardness of Ascian intimacy but at least both seem capable of communicating a certain level of resolute determination to the other. The Emissary's bedside manner has improved greatly ever since the last time he treated an injury on Emet-Selch but he seems to be going the extra mile to be gentle. So perhaps this too is a way to determine just how concerned Elidibus truly is under that calm mask.
After all, there was only a touch of magic used on Mettaton. Probably one of the largest pieces Elidibus has reserved for Emet-Selch, though eminently practical, is a flat barrier between the Ascian and the bed. It serves a dual purpose of keeping the body separated from gore-soaked sheets but with minor manipulation can aid in supporting the injured during upright moments. For Emet-Selch there's no suggestion to cut mats out of the tangled hair. Muttered words see it untangled and clean with a burst of magic. Certain bandaged cuts are left uncovered- the ones that are scratches and smaller bites - if these are there - but all of those will be given a blanket spell much as applied to Mettaton's ear. Some might heal completely others only slightly and those will have their gauze replaced. The most serious are treated with a strict regimen of both water and anti-septic and are certainly beyond the Witch's current abilities. But he does what he can. At least he's already aware of what caused the harm.
Once all is said and done on caring for Emet-Selch's body, there is a brief look of inquiry as if to give the Ascian a chance to determine how he'll be carried to the chair while Elidibus takes care of the bed. Or maybe it's an indirect apology since the Emissary will likely insist on doing so.
Why he had not simply used magic for everything involving the cleaning of bedding and person- because as he is about to prove he somewhere gained spellwork and expertise in such daily lifestyle magic- will become clear soon enough. His hand gesture is familiar enough. A hand and fingers outstretched. Though he still requires words; ones which spill out of his mouth in an energy-infused description of the task at hand. It could be likened a little to a program of sorts but to listen to it is to develop an accurate picture of the task performed. For his magic now is as though it sought to establish understanding between a perfect mental picture and the desire for the bedding to be cleansed of the contaminants down to the very bedframe.
It is a pity this world twists all spoken languages to sound like its common native tongue. In Elidibus's heart and mind, he uses the ancient language. Though effective as the gore disappears as though it were never there, there is still something lost in the recital.
And for magic, it seems to be nearing his limits. It is the latter half of the month and the new moon is long past. It's not as if he had expected to do this much today and his technique? Well, it's hardly the most efficient of things after a bare three months of learning. But it is done and at least he hasn't collapsed from the effort. Also, the room is clean, sans the pile of stained towels used to clean both Mettaton and Emet-Selch.
With any luck, they'll have saved their critique- both for his spellcasting and his lecture- until he had reached the end. But he can probably handle it even if neither do.
"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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no subject
"I hadn't even thought about shapeshifting," admits the Puca, gazing ceilingward. And though the thought of becoming a compact hare is now there for the consideration, he dismisses it just as easily. "Oh well. Elidibus here is perfectly capable of carrying me! There are no problems!"
He even princess carried him. Mettaton is pleased. He squeezes Emet-Selch's fingers, smiling smugly as though they didn't just spend the last few days dying and whatnot. Mettaton has a knack for glossing over the worst of issues in this way.
Mettaton stares at Elidibus wide-eyed as soon as the other Witch makes his request. Self-diagnostics... For some reason, he hadn't thought such words would escape Elidibus' mouth. It's always hard to gauge how technologically savvy someone is, and the phrasing suggests that he needs to play his role more carefully. It's perhaps a boon to the Puca that his ears are so damaged that they can't emote, for they might have risen in shock then folded back in unease if they could. But they do nothing, and his face is only wide and blank.
A canvas which he uses, morphing surprise into utter emptiness. Incredulity. Then, Mettaton puts forth his best robot impression, gaze vacant and voice tinny and monotonous.
"3... 2... 1... Self-diagnostics: complete." His brow knits, drawing his expression into one of ire that he points at Elidibus. Monotonous quality is lost as he continues, though it's still spoken through a synthesized, robotic filter. "My analysis suggests that your eyes are functioning just fine, sweetheart!! You can see my damage clear as day! Use them!!!"
He clutches onto Emet-Selch's hand with both of his own now, giving Elidibus a smile sharp as knives. His voice returns to normal: abnormally silky and very emphatic as ever, riding the waves of inflection to draw attention to his every word. And though he speaks sweetly, the challenging darkness of his expression doesn't depart, as though affronted that he'd ask him to perform (gasp) a robotic function.
"Or you can ask me how I'm doing. To which I'll reply: splendidly, now that I'm finally clean! Though I have a few repairs to endure, from both my creator and Emmy... I'll be bouncing back before you can count the letters of my name." Which, as anyone true fan would know, is as long as he would like for it to be. "Thank you for the concern, Lidi-darling."
no subject
The request for the robot to demonstrate a basic robot function- Emet-Selch could feel a bit of the puca's startle and unease through their recovering Bond, but he can't help but permit himself a brief, amused smile at how the ostensible machine chooses to respond. The offense at being asked to do something robotic... yes, this is about what he might have expected from him. He knew perfectly well Mettaton could do nothing of the sort. Even his battery life seemed to be something he only had a general sense of.
And technically, it did count as some sort of diagnostics check, only filtered through Mettaton's particular personality. Content with the solid grip on his hand, Emet-Selch glances back to Elidibus. "I told you he was alive. 'Tis more straightforward to treat with him as such."
Rather than treating the robot as a... robot.
Diversion as it all was, it only briefly distracted from the inevitability of more Washing. There was a bit of steeling to be done between them, he knew. Emet-Selch wasn't shy, nor modest, but he was ultimately more of a private sort, and what was more personal than one's body? Except, of course, this was just a host, no different than a bit of clothing, something fleshy to wrap around the soul. Any body would be viewed that way after so many years without, an object that was his but not him. So in that regard, why did it matter? Even if this was a bit of fabric that could no longer be readily removed and replaced with a fresher piece.
It was both more and less awkward for Elidibus to be the one performing the task. It wasn't as though Emet-Selch weren't already fully aware as to how many others had seen his body. It felt like half the hospital had been involved in his necromancy and healing, and subsequent efforts to both reach Mettaton and ensure that he was likewise resurrected. And why would that bother him, or even so much as register? Any thoughts those people might have (especially considering the amount of older, non-fatality-related markings his body possessed) never occurred to him, because he still didn't see the average mortal as much of a person. If pressed, he might hesitantly agree that they were alive, but it would also be clear that he didn't think of them that way.
Elidibus, though, was one of the very few of the city that he definitely considered as completely alive, a whole entire person (no matter the state of his memories) and someone who he knew besides. That part especially just made it awkward.
But his look, when gazing back upon the other Ascian, is something resolute (and with a touch- only a touch, as it was about all he could scrape up- of performative exasperation, as though this were all just a dreadful hassle, but one which he would stoically be made to endure). He was ready to be washed, handled, observed, and otherwise banded around in a too-small room while his fiancé also observed.
no subject
And Emet-Selch. Did it occur that your turn to be princess carried by Elidibus will be coming soon?
But first, the distress which a simple query created. Elidibus would need to be blind not to discern the unease despite the lack of real body language in the form of the puca's ears. The Emissary looks between both Mettaton and Emet-Selch. He's listening to the explanation and ire, as well as the defense his fellow Ascian raises for his Bonded's sake.
In response, Elidibus closes his eyes momentarily and his expression is very, very close to an exasperated equivalent of 'Zodiark give me strength.'
He will continue taking care of Emet-Selch because there is a lot to do between washing, cleaning wounds, and rebandaging. But very patiently he offers an explanation. "Yes, I am aware you are a creature with a soul. I trust Emet-Selch's judgment in this and, as it has been pointed out you would hardly be capable of Bonding were it not true. Regardless I apologize for any perceived insult." A glance is given Mettaton's way. Sincerity could be construed if only by the fact the apology is being honestly offered.
"My intention was not to treat you as an object but to determine whether you are capable of accurately calculating the amount of time it will take you to recover from your weakened state and any remaining injury. Given you have both recently returned from the dead and given Emet-Selch's own condition, I would not leave you both in the sole care of one another."
Briefly, he pauses his ministrations of the bedridden Ascian's form and turns to focus fully upon the puca with narrowed eyes. "And before you growl at me again, I would remind you that your desire to protect Emet-Selch and the collective capacity of judgment from both of you while one or the other are compromised has led you to the current state I found you in upon arrival." He glances back at Emet-Selch to include him in this statement. Then he turns around fully to go back to the washing task.
"I have no particular desire to interrupt your lifestyle but given these developments, I will be at least stopping by from time to time in the near future. How little or much that is will depend on how much thought you put into the words I have just spoken. I would like to think this latest incident has been a learning experience for the two of you."
There is a lot to take from Elidibus's small lecture. For one, pieces of it were directed at one, the other, or both depending on what he was addressing. And another, he was sincere when he mentioned he does not consider Mettaton an.... inanimate thing. But like Emet-Selch, how much of a soul the puca has is up for debate. The important part to take from this is as he did trust his brethren when it came to the claim that Mettaton was... well 'alive'.
Another matter suspect is how Elidibus is upset. Not the briefly frustrated moment of asking for patience from his God but honest distress and concern. For all his lecture had a great deal of sense involved it was also made in earnest. In the frame of mind both seem to have recently experienced and- to some extent- are still in, they seem to be their own worst enemies. And he's balking at the idea of leaving them both to their own devices until they're both fully healed.
This probably isn't doing much for the awkwardness of Ascian intimacy but at least both seem capable of communicating a certain level of resolute determination to the other. The Emissary's bedside manner has improved greatly ever since the last time he treated an injury on Emet-Selch but he seems to be going the extra mile to be gentle. So perhaps this too is a way to determine just how concerned Elidibus truly is under that calm mask.
After all, there was only a touch of magic used on Mettaton. Probably one of the largest pieces Elidibus has reserved for Emet-Selch, though eminently practical, is a flat barrier between the Ascian and the bed. It serves a dual purpose of keeping the body separated from gore-soaked sheets but with minor manipulation can aid in supporting the injured during upright moments. For Emet-Selch there's no suggestion to cut mats out of the tangled hair. Muttered words see it untangled and clean with a burst of magic. Certain bandaged cuts are left uncovered- the ones that are scratches and smaller bites - if these are there - but all of those will be given a blanket spell much as applied to Mettaton's ear. Some might heal completely others only slightly and those will have their gauze replaced. The most serious are treated with a strict regimen of both water and anti-septic and are certainly beyond the Witch's current abilities. But he does what he can. At least he's already aware of what caused the harm.
Once all is said and done on caring for Emet-Selch's body, there is a brief look of inquiry as if to give the Ascian a chance to determine how he'll be carried to the chair while Elidibus takes care of the bed. Or maybe it's an indirect apology since the Emissary will likely insist on doing so.
Why he had not simply used magic for everything involving the cleaning of bedding and person- because as he is about to prove he somewhere gained spellwork and expertise in such daily lifestyle magic- will become clear soon enough. His hand gesture is familiar enough. A hand and fingers outstretched. Though he still requires words; ones which spill out of his mouth in an energy-infused description of the task at hand. It could be likened a little to a program of sorts but to listen to it is to develop an accurate picture of the task performed. For his magic now is as though it sought to establish understanding between a perfect mental picture and the desire for the bedding to be cleansed of the contaminants down to the very bedframe.
It is a pity this world twists all spoken languages to sound like its common native tongue. In Elidibus's heart and mind, he uses the ancient language. Though effective as the gore disappears as though it were never there, there is still something lost in the recital.
And for magic, it seems to be nearing his limits. It is the latter half of the month and the new moon is long past. It's not as if he had expected to do this much today and his technique? Well, it's hardly the most efficient of things after a bare three months of learning. But it is done and at least he hasn't collapsed from the effort. Also, the room is clean, sans the pile of stained towels used to clean both Mettaton and Emet-Selch.
With any luck, they'll have saved their critique- both for his spellcasting and his lecture- until he had reached the end. But he can probably handle it even if neither do.
no subject
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.