[There is a lot to worry about. A borrowed line of dialogue that was never theirs to begin with, well, that hardly resolves anything. It doesn't mean much at all, in the grander scheme of things.
It means they talked him away from an edge he was potentially creeping toward. How good, for them. How atypically good.]
Things seldom are.
Yet as I understand it, you are not, at the present moment, dying. It may feel as such, but you are currently alive, for a certain value of "alive." Your thoughts may continue to insist otherwise, but I've found such things do not necessarily hold water.
[Unless they do.
The only person who could answer that query, of course, would be Mettaton himself.]
i suppose that you are correct. i am not really dying. that would be foolish to think.
[Mettaton can't tell Chara that they are in any way incorrect. He can't argue with them over what he's feeling, nor does he want to. He just wants it to stop. And for the moment, their advisement has indeed staved off the worst of it. Maybe not forever.
But for now, it simmers in the back of his mind, and at least for the moment...he still has the will to ACT. That's important.]
you seem very familiar with this kind of situation
[They're stalling, and it's likely glaringly obvious. But in answering in earnest rather than with something barbed and desolate, they'd opened this window, no doubt. Have no one to blame but themself, for this!
Too late to turn him aside now. To sweep the rug out from under his feet would be -
There would be a certain poetic justice, to that. Certainly, they are that cruel. But they've bared themself to this just as easily, and he could do the very same to them.
the kind where someone gives very apt advice to a very specific situation.
Chara, i will not pry.
i was just making an observation.
[Far from turning it around on them, Mettaton can't say he has the effort to do so. Rather, he'd prefer to just keep things on a peaceable level. With his mind in such a precarious state, he doesn't want to risk Chara's ire.
Their words would be less like barbs and more like heated spikes driven into every inch of his writhing body, punishing him like he rightly deserved, but hurting him all the same. He's a coward. He won't risk it.]
Then in the interest of mutually-assured observations, I suppose I will elect not to pry either.
[Easier, is it not? To circle one another warily as opposed to going for the throat, seeking, ripping, tearing, watching the inflorescence of EXP drool into LOVE and redden everything, stain it with the grain and gray of dust.
Shepard, she...
She left a mark. That which cannot be refuted, cannot be ignored, cannot be cast aside.
This is her fault. Of this they are quite certain.]
I would advise that you continue to put effort into not dying.
[Haven't you heard the saying, Mettaton, that you can't play a player?]
I trust Asriel is already on his way.
[He has grown increasingly difficult to pry from Mettaton's side, for reasons beyond their comprehension. Given Mettaton's apparent desire for validation from even those whom he's made his dislike quite transparent, they cannot say they're surprised.]
[Of course, Mettaton would never turn Asriel away. They're too close for that at this point. For the barest moment, there's a twinge of guilt, because he feels as if he's robbing the other children of their sibling.
But now...who else can Mettaton turn to?
Who else is there that he can speak to about this?
Once he has an idea set in his head, very little can sway him from it.
[They would tell him, were he inclined to listen, that it is not his moral duty to ensure that Mettaton is not self-destructing at any given moment. That for all his desire to offer out a hand to every anthropomorphized conflagration he encounters, sometimes it would be safer, for everyone, if he were to sit back and just let it burn.
[One of them more than once. The slow sink of their organs shutting down, one by one, the bloodied smears that trailed down their front, down their back, staining the sheets in every awful, disgusting fluid possible. As quickly as they'd replaced the blankets where they sat there, sweating, bleeding, retching, pissing, they would have fetch fresh ones.
How fitting, that they'd essentially drowned in their own filth.]
Amazingly, this did not do us many favors down the road.
but in my opinion, nothing that you did was for bad reasons. you were both just children.
[Perhaps that was too personal.
But personal or not, Mettaton can't erase his knowledge. He sorely wishes that he could...but such is not possible. Everything he saw was with him until the day that he was unmade.
Hah...even then, he doubted he'd forget.
The words of two children, plotting to do what their father had never once taken action on until after blood had been spilled. To free everyone.
...Funny, isn't it? How sympathetic Mettaton could be on the other side of a TAB. But it was never to Chara's face. Not because he didn't want to be, but because sympathy was a crime. They wouldn't believe it if they saw it.
They never would. It was his fault. He couldn't convey himself properly.]
Is it one favor for another? One kindness in exchange for a handful of pointless words? As though one small moment in which they did not twist the knife in deeper is worth a medal, an excuse for their actions, as though they did not deserve every inch, every mile?]
Perhaps it is nice of you to say so, but I know what I am and the extent of my crimes. I will not run from my sins.
[They will not run from their sins, nor will they run from anyone else's. That guilt cannot be supplanted, no matter how many pleasant words are pasted over the open wound.]
[But is Asriel not their victim? Subject to their manipulations, their exploitations, their toxic, venomous whims? Did they not lead him astray, commit him to ash and dirt and the destruction of their own kind? Did they not sully him, stain that snowy white fur with gray and red, just as they corrupt everything they touch?
They could argue.
He did not come to them, in any case, to argue. Accept your place, Chara. Accept every moment of it. You have learned what happens when you attempt to forge a FIGHT where none should exist.
[They're beyond argumentative impulse, beyond digging in their heels. This has...helped him, in some capacity, a concept that should be anathema but simply resolves into a dull ache in the center of their chest. Inescapable, like the breadth of their sins.
As if it were to be that easy. Apologies are meaningless; everyone knows that. What do they accomplish, truly, besides allowing the speaker to feel better about themselves for an imaginary bandage over a still-bleeding wound?]
I imagine the only inconvenience is in the fact that you felt you had to turn to me.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It means they talked him away from an edge he was potentially creeping toward. How good, for them. How atypically good.]
Things seldom are.
Yet as I understand it, you are not, at the present moment, dying. It may feel as such, but you are currently alive, for a certain value of "alive." Your thoughts may continue to insist otherwise, but I've found such things do not necessarily hold water.
[Unless they do.
The only person who could answer that query, of course, would be Mettaton himself.]
no subject
[Mettaton can't tell Chara that they are in any way incorrect. He can't argue with them over what he's feeling, nor does he want to. He just wants it to stop. And for the moment, their advisement has indeed staved off the worst of it. Maybe not forever.
But for now, it simmers in the back of his mind, and at least for the moment...he still has the will to ACT. That's important.]
you seem very familiar with this kind of situation
no subject
[They're stalling, and it's likely glaringly obvious. But in answering in earnest rather than with something barbed and desolate, they'd opened this window, no doubt. Have no one to blame but themself, for this!
Too late to turn him aside now. To sweep the rug out from under his feet would be -
There would be a certain poetic justice, to that. Certainly, they are that cruel. But they've bared themself to this just as easily, and he could do the very same to them.
It would be deserved.]
no subject
Chara, i will not pry.
i was just making an observation.
[Far from turning it around on them, Mettaton can't say he has the effort to do so. Rather, he'd prefer to just keep things on a peaceable level. With his mind in such a precarious state, he doesn't want to risk Chara's ire.
Their words would be less like barbs and more like heated spikes driven into every inch of his writhing body, punishing him like he rightly deserved, but hurting him all the same. He's a coward. He won't risk it.]
no subject
[Easier, is it not? To circle one another warily as opposed to going for the throat, seeking, ripping, tearing, watching the inflorescence of EXP drool into LOVE and redden everything, stain it with the grain and gray of dust.
Shepard, she...
She left a mark. That which cannot be refuted, cannot be ignored, cannot be cast aside.
This is her fault. Of this they are quite certain.]
I would advise that you continue to put effort into not dying.
no subject
[He's not entirely sure if that's honest, of course, but better not to tell Chara that. Bit too much fuel to the fire, isn't it?]
thank you for answering.
no subject
I trust Asriel is already on his way.
[He has grown increasingly difficult to pry from Mettaton's side, for reasons beyond their comprehension. Given Mettaton's apparent desire for validation from even those whom he's made his dislike quite transparent, they cannot say they're surprised.]
no subject
i'm sure that he'll disregard that
[Of course, Mettaton would never turn Asriel away. They're too close for that at this point. For the barest moment, there's a twinge of guilt, because he feels as if he's robbing the other children of their sibling.
But now...who else can Mettaton turn to?
Who else is there that he can speak to about this?
He's gone.]
no subject
[They would tell him, were he inclined to listen, that it is not his moral duty to ensure that Mettaton is not self-destructing at any given moment. That for all his desire to offer out a hand to every anthropomorphized conflagration he encounters, sometimes it would be safer, for everyone, if he were to sit back and just let it burn.
Fire has a penchant for spreading.]
no subject
[Mettaton quickly realizes that he's probably said something wrong, and the next message comes in immediately.]
i'm sorry. that was very rude.
no subject
Is it ever. But why should it not also be true?]
It applies. Our family resemblance extends beyond our penchant for terrible decisions, you know.
no subject
And right now, talking to Chara--yes, Chara of all people--is drawing him away from his despairing thoughts.
He'll take what he can get.]
i know. it's not exactly subtle. you two are very close, and why shouldn't you be? you're siblings. you grew together, you played together.
i can see the similarities.
[That, at least, he doesn't mean as an insult. But Chara and Asriel share several traits with each other, some fairly harmless.
Others, well...]
cw description of poisoning
[One of them more than once. The slow sink of their organs shutting down, one by one, the bloodied smears that trailed down their front, down their back, staining the sheets in every awful, disgusting fluid possible. As quickly as they'd replaced the blankets where they sat there, sweating, bleeding, retching, pissing, they would have fetch fresh ones.
How fitting, that they'd essentially drowned in their own filth.]
Amazingly, this did not do us many favors down the road.
no subject
but in my opinion, nothing that you did was for bad reasons. you were both just children.
[Perhaps that was too personal.
But personal or not, Mettaton can't erase his knowledge. He sorely wishes that he could...but such is not possible. Everything he saw was with him until the day that he was unmade.
Hah...even then, he doubted he'd forget.
The words of two children, plotting to do what their father had never once taken action on until after blood had been spilled. To free everyone.
...Funny, isn't it? How sympathetic Mettaton could be on the other side of a TAB. But it was never to Chara's face. Not because he didn't want to be, but because sympathy was a crime. They wouldn't believe it if they saw it.
They never would. It was his fault. He couldn't convey himself properly.]
no subject
Is it one favor for another? One kindness in exchange for a handful of pointless words? As though one small moment in which they did not twist the knife in deeper is worth a medal, an excuse for their actions, as though they did not deserve every inch, every mile?]
Perhaps it is nice of you to say so, but I know what I am and the extent of my crimes. I will not run from my sins.
[They will not run from their sins, nor will they run from anyone else's. That guilt cannot be supplanted, no matter how many pleasant words are pasted over the open wound.]
None of us ever can.
no subject
but to blame you is tantamount to blaming Asriel. i will never, ever blame him for what happened. you cannot expect me to put the blame on you.
or if you do, that is something i cannot agree with
i'm not saying you are a perfect person. hardly.
but having seen the things i have, i am allowed to form my own opinions.
[Hah...he's talking about this again. He shouldn't be talking about this again, because it always leads to the same thing; panic. Breaking down.
So...basically what he'd just experienced for an entirely different reason.]
no subject
They could argue.
He did not come to them, in any case, to argue. Accept your place, Chara. Accept every moment of it. You have learned what happens when you attempt to forge a FIGHT where none should exist.
Someone else receives your blame.]
If you insist.
no subject
[A few moments later, he adds:]
perhaps we can discuss this civilly another time. in more detail.
that is up to you, of course.
no subject
[They're beyond argumentative impulse, beyond digging in their heels. This has...helped him, in some capacity, a concept that should be anathema but simply resolves into a dull ache in the center of their chest. Inescapable, like the breadth of their sins.
Sitting on their back, where they belong.]
no subject
at any rate. Asriel is likely soon to arrive. i'll leave you here.
i apologize for any inconvenience. truly i do.
no subject
As if it were to be that easy. Apologies are meaningless; everyone knows that. What do they accomplish, truly, besides allowing the speaker to feel better about themselves for an imaginary bandage over a still-bleeding wound?]
I imagine the only inconvenience is in the fact that you felt you had to turn to me.
You should see to him, in any case.