[The thought of Mettaton- patchy fur, recently deceased- causing a riot to be let back into the hospital- has him attempting a snicker against his neck, though he quickly stops it, as it just made his chest hurt. But the puca sounded so smug, utterly pleased with himself in a way that he didn't have to look at him to imagine, and Emet-Selch had no trouble believing whatsoever that Mettaton would invade the hospital if he decided to. The puca was lucky and stubborn; there was no doctor, no door or window that would be able to deny him access to this room, this bed, this witch.
Mettaton nuzzles the top of his head, and the Ascian answers with a brush of lips to his neck, and a soft exhalation to follow, slowly calming again. He even smiles a little at his fiancé's stated desires towards kissing him excessively (as though excess was possible between them), and hums softly both at the kiss and the drama of his sigh. Nestled together this way, it was... nice. It was very nice, even with all of the horror that they'd experienced just behind them. Even knowing that they would continue to revisit it- it didn't change the sort of safety he felt now, wrapped up in arms and blankets, warm and not alone.
It would have been easy enough to settle down like this, as easy as settling could ever be, while sore and fatigued in more than body. But he could tell that Mettaton wasn't quite through, that there was something else he had in mind, and as he guides his weakened hand to a particular location on his core, Emet-Selch goes still again at the undeniable feeling of a crack. Of a piece being gone entirely, the edges rough. It was small, but it was broken.
His only movement is to tilt his head, open his eyes to look down upon it, on the inverted container. It yet glowed, as he could feel- further proof that his lover was, indeed, completely alive. It wasn't like when he'd found him in that room, the light completely gone from him, with nothing to warm a surface left bloodstained.
For a moment he wants to protest this careless removal of a damaged core from the glass of his waist that had... already failed to protect it (even if that was a good thing ultimately, though it was a bitter thing to think- that Mettaton being killed then had saved him, had left him in a condition resurrectable). What if his soul was only just able to persist, to cling to a casing not wholly intact? The damage didn't feel extensive... but they already had proof that this was enough to kill him.
(At least, it was enough to kill him when he was already soul-sick from the cwyld? Or would this always be lethal damage?)
Even if Mettaton claimed to be alright, and was clearly alive, even improving... it made him uneasy not only to know his soul's casing was damaged (especially in light of what he now knew of his soul's native condition), but to have it resting against his hand like this.]
Was it necessary to remove it?
[It's quiet, tone reflecting that disturb. ...He's still ultimately too unsettled to have the core denied what added protection its spot in Mettaton's body afforded it. Hand twitching, he shifts, trying to nudge it back down where it belonged, the nuzzling doing little to ease his mind or distract his thoughts. Even if the case was functional as it was, its overall integrity had to be reduced. A careless jolt at the wrong angle could deepen those cracks. And if he died again without this being repaired, would any resurrection have a chance of succeeding?]
You know I'll repair it. There was- there was no need to show me.
no subject
Mettaton nuzzles the top of his head, and the Ascian answers with a brush of lips to his neck, and a soft exhalation to follow, slowly calming again. He even smiles a little at his fiancé's stated desires towards kissing him excessively (as though excess was possible between them), and hums softly both at the kiss and the drama of his sigh. Nestled together this way, it was... nice. It was very nice, even with all of the horror that they'd experienced just behind them. Even knowing that they would continue to revisit it- it didn't change the sort of safety he felt now, wrapped up in arms and blankets, warm and not alone.
It would have been easy enough to settle down like this, as easy as settling could ever be, while sore and fatigued in more than body. But he could tell that Mettaton wasn't quite through, that there was something else he had in mind, and as he guides his weakened hand to a particular location on his core, Emet-Selch goes still again at the undeniable feeling of a crack. Of a piece being gone entirely, the edges rough. It was small, but it was broken.
His only movement is to tilt his head, open his eyes to look down upon it, on the inverted container. It yet glowed, as he could feel- further proof that his lover was, indeed, completely alive. It wasn't like when he'd found him in that room, the light completely gone from him, with nothing to warm a surface left bloodstained.
For a moment he wants to protest this careless removal of a damaged core from the glass of his waist that had... already failed to protect it (even if that was a good thing ultimately, though it was a bitter thing to think- that Mettaton being killed then had saved him, had left him in a condition resurrectable). What if his soul was only just able to persist, to cling to a casing not wholly intact? The damage didn't feel extensive... but they already had proof that this was enough to kill him.
(At least, it was enough to kill him when he was already soul-sick from the cwyld? Or would this always be lethal damage?)
Even if Mettaton claimed to be alright, and was clearly alive, even improving... it made him uneasy not only to know his soul's casing was damaged (especially in light of what he now knew of his soul's native condition), but to have it resting against his hand like this.]
Was it necessary to remove it?
[It's quiet, tone reflecting that disturb. ...He's still ultimately too unsettled to have the core denied what added protection its spot in Mettaton's body afforded it. Hand twitching, he shifts, trying to nudge it back down where it belonged, the nuzzling doing little to ease his mind or distract his thoughts. Even if the case was functional as it was, its overall integrity had to be reduced. A careless jolt at the wrong angle could deepen those cracks. And if he died again without this being repaired, would any resurrection have a chance of succeeding?]
You know I'll repair it. There was- there was no need to show me.
[Just being told would have sufficed.]