[There it is. Even robots can be made for self-loathing, it seems.]
[Keats opens his mouth and closes it. He doesn't know what to say. To compliment Mettaton would seem empty. To confirm it would only make Mettaton feel worse. He's been here countless times before, and he knows that this is a feeling that you can't really fix with a few words. You can't erase years of this in a single instance.]
[But still, he decides he'll say something. No large statements here - he knows those will just fall flat - but he won't be silent:]
Well, I don't know about you, but I don't know many celebrities who take care of lost children, or host movies nights for their friends, or rant about The Little Mermaid, or find tweed jackets for certain reporters, or go out on their own to find out what a sleepwalking journalist is saying in his sleep.
[Mettaton steps forward, and Keats reaches out to grasp him by the shoulders, trying to catch Mettaton's eyes. Using one another for the attention. Maybe they are. Maybe this is just shallow. Maybe they're both just selfish, and needy, and they just found the perfect sucker to befriend to provide them what they need.]
[Keats isn't sure, anymore. He wants to think the contrary. He wants to believe that this is something more. He really really does, but how can he, when he hears things like this?]
[Goodness, they're both disasters, aren't they?]
If that's what you want. You can ask me questions, alright? But it's your decision. [He says, with a sigh.] Either way...I'm here for you. I'll try my best to be here for you. Just say the word.
no subject
[There it is. Even robots can be made for self-loathing, it seems.]
[Keats opens his mouth and closes it. He doesn't know what to say. To compliment Mettaton would seem empty. To confirm it would only make Mettaton feel worse. He's been here countless times before, and he knows that this is a feeling that you can't really fix with a few words. You can't erase years of this in a single instance.]
[But still, he decides he'll say something. No large statements here - he knows those will just fall flat - but he won't be silent:]
Well, I don't know about you, but I don't know many celebrities who take care of lost children, or host movies nights for their friends, or rant about The Little Mermaid, or find tweed jackets for certain reporters, or go out on their own to find out what a sleepwalking journalist is saying in his sleep.
[Mettaton steps forward, and Keats reaches out to grasp him by the shoulders, trying to catch Mettaton's eyes. Using one another for the attention. Maybe they are. Maybe this is just shallow. Maybe they're both just selfish, and needy, and they just found the perfect sucker to befriend to provide them what they need.]
[Keats isn't sure, anymore. He wants to think the contrary. He wants to believe that this is something more. He really really does, but how can he, when he hears things like this?]
[Goodness, they're both disasters, aren't they?]
If that's what you want. You can ask me questions, alright? But it's your decision. [He says, with a sigh.] Either way...I'm here for you. I'll try my best to be here for you. Just say the word.
[A pause.]
I promise.