headlining | FUTUROLOGY IC INBOX

[Just...stares at it.]

You look like someone with nice boots got stuck in a vending machine.

[IT'S TRUE THOUGH]

What? What do you mean, threatening to leave?

...

[That's hurtful, Keats. The leg slinks off the table and disappears, retreating back into the metal shell.]

PAPYRUS NEVER TOLD YOU ABOUT THE HUMAN THAT FELL, DID HE?

[He's only nice to a certain level, Mettaton, you should expect this.]

Wait a second. A human that fell...Frisk?

[He vaguely remembers Papyrus mentioning a name like that.]

Papyrus said he fought a child.

THAT WAS THEM.

[He isn't sure he wants to tell this story. It's not the greatest for PR, honestly.

...but. It's one of the least horrible things Mettaton has done. If Keats reacts badly to this, then...]

...THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO, HUMAN MAGES CAST A SPELL TO TRAP MONSTERS UNDER A SINGLE MOUNTAIN. THE ONLY WAY OUT WAS EITHER TO TAKE SEVEN HUMAN SOULS TO BREAK THE BARRIER FOR EVERYONE... OR JUST USE ONE FOR YOURSELF.

[He's back to tapping his fingers against his arms. You're a smart cookie, Keats. Don't make him have to spell this one out for you.]

...

[Human souls needed to cross a barrier. A child who had fallen down into the world of monsters.]

[He makes the connection, his expression turning grim. He can understand why the monsters would be desperate to leave, by any means possible. To leave their prison for good. But to use a child for that...]

[It's tragic, really.]

I wonder why humans would make a barrier like that, if the way to cross it meant a solution involving their own souls. [But he digresses...] When you were threatening to leave, did you mean leave your show, or...leave the underground?

ISN'T THAT ONE AND THE SAME?

[His show was his life. It was all he had for years. It was his place in the Underground. To leave one would be to leave them both.]

I DON'T THINK THEY EVER IMAGINED US GETTING OUR HANDS ON ANY SOULS, TO BE HONEST. OVER THE THOUSANDS OF YEARS WE'VE BEEN IMPRISONED, ONLY SEVEN HUMANS HAVE FALLEN, FRISK INCLUDED.

ASGORE, OUR KING. HE ALREADY HAD SIX SOULS.

EVERYONE IN THE UNDERGROUND KNEW FRISK WAS THE LAST ONE HE'D NEED.

[Another sigh. Shakier this time, still steeled. Keats hasn't acted in disgust yet. Mettaton can keep talking.]

...WHEN A MONSTER TAKES A HUMAN SOUL, THEY TURN INTO SOMETHING TERRIBLE. FOR ALL OF OUR MAGIC, MONSTERS THEMSELVES ARE WEAK TO EMOTION - WE WILL LITERALLY DIE WITHOUT LOVE, MERCY, OR COMPASSION. BUT HUMAN SOULS DON'T NEED ANY OF THOSE. THEY'RE STRONGER. THEY CAN SURVIVE AFTER DEATH. TOGETHER... THE POWER IS TERRIFYING.

THAT'S WITH ONLY ONE.

WITH SEVEN? ASGORE WOULD HAVE KILLED EVERY HUMAN ON THE PLANET.

WE ALL KNEW THAT. UNDYNE KNEW THAT. SANS KNEW THAT. PAPYRUS WAS OBSESSED WITH JOINING THE ROYAL GUARD; HE HAS TO HAVE KNOWN THAT. ALPHYS WAS MORE INTERESTED IN MAKING SURE THE HUMAN WAS HER NEW BEST FRIEND THAN PUTTING A STOP TO IT.

SO I DECIDED THAT IF IT STOPPED A WAR... I'D KILL THEM INSTEAD.

FINALLY HAVING AN AUDIENCE THAT MIGHT CARE WAS JUST A BONUS.

[He's silent for a long moment. That is...incredibly heavy. Sacrificing human souls to end a meaningless exile, only to take revenge in the bloodiest way possible. Monsters desperate enough to become something worse, something terrible.]

[It vaguely reminds him of the Faeries' plight, trapped in a world with realms that were slowly dying because of human beings losing their belief in the afterlife. Their need to go to the core of the Netherworld to allow consequences to occur that would benefit them but ruin every human's life for good.]

[To stop a thing like that...it wasn't like peace and love would always be there to save the way. War is war. Survival pushes people to do terrible things.]

...

If your people escaped with Frisk's soul...it's not like you would all survive the war that would've come.

[The choice - free your people and deal with loved ones dying in a possibly gruesome war, or keep them all imprisoned by killing one child and saving your people from possible destruction?]

You did what you had to for your people. I'm not going to say it was right. You were going to kill an innocent child, that's...

[He sighs.]

But I understand where you were coming from. [A huff.] You always do what you can to help others, don't you? Taking on that kind of burden...I can't even imagine doing a thing like that.

Edited 2017-04-17 17:08 (UTC)

[...there's that horrible, melting feeling again. You did what you had to. I understand. You always do what you can to help others. The mechanical hum of his fans begins to grow louder, more insistent, as his core heats up. This is so pathetic. He's a celebrity. He can't just get weak in the... well, wheel the instant someone validates his actions.

Especially actions he knows are selfish. He didn't do it for his people. He did it for himself. Because he admired humans and wanted them to live over seeing his people free. Keeping monsters safe was only a side effect.

But Keats certainly makes an appealing alternate take on those motivations.

Somehow, he's slinking into his seat, looking as modest as a giant metal box can. That heart's flashing on his screen again.]

HAHA... I THINK YOU'RE THE FIRST PERSON TO EVER TELL ME THAT.

[Anyway.]

ANYWAY.

AS YOU CAN TELL, IT DIDN'T COME TO THAT. FRISK TURNED OUT TO BE FAR STRONGER THAN I WAS AND IF THEY COULD GET PAST ME THEY COULD GET PAST ASGORE. I RAN OUT OF BATTERY AFTER THE FIGHT, SO I CAN'T TELL YOU A THING THAT HAPPENED UNTIL I WAS CHARGED AND ALPHYS FINALLY FIXED MY BODY, BUT... WELL. SOMEHOW, THEY CHANGED ASGORE'S MIND AND BROKE THE BARRIER BY THEMSELVES.

NO ONE REALLY KNOWS HOW. HAPPILY EVER AFTER, I GUESS.

[He folds his hands onto the table, drumming his fingers again.]

YOU HAVE ANOTHER INTERVIEW QUESTION, THERE?

Edited 2017-04-17 21:43 (UTC)

[If this was literally anyone else, they might have called Mettaton out, made him reconsider how his motivations were hurtful to his people, how he was making them suffer in isolation and prevent them from the freedom and revenge they deserved.]

[But this is Keats. This is a man who is selfish, incredibly so, and perfectly gets how it would be a good option. He is not a man who thinks of the goodwill of the many. He works for the people he likes and his own desires, for the most part. So this doesn't disturb him as it should disturb others.]

A child, stronger than most of you...that must be quite some soul they had. [He shakes his head.] So, wait, they broke the barrier on their own? What did they do, sacrifice themselves? I mean, you said you don't know, but still...

[It's sort of a horrifying thought.]

And goodness, Mettaton, this isn't an interview, I just...I'm getting to know you. It's good. [He reaches up to push the glasses that aren't there, and he lowers his hand with a frustrated huff.]

Anyways...did you ever get to see the surface? Back home, I mean.

[Teehee... He sees the frustration on Keats' face as habit takes over, but Mettaton's not about to give into that just yet. It's nice, being able to look at him without that hideous glass obscuring him. His eyes are bright, almost golden where the light hits them. His eyelashes are to die for, wasted behind glasses. Also wasted are the curves of his cheekbones, finally exposing just how beautiful and sculpted his face actually is...

Ugh, that's sappy. Stop it.

He flicks his wrist, dismissing any negative connotation Keats might have against the term "interview."] OH, LET ME HAVE MY FUN. IT MAKES THIS EASIER. [Interviews are rarely a pain for a real celebrity, after all.]

LET'S SEE... YES, I DID GET TO SEE THE SURFACE. IT DIDN'T LAST VERY LONG UNTIL I JOINED ALASTAIR, SADLY, BUT IT WAS NICE TO FINALLY SEE THE SUN. I DON'T KNOW HOW YOU HUMANS TAKE IT FOR GRANTED. AND THE ACTUAL STARS AT NIGHT? THEY'RE BEAUTIFUL. I'M STILL BLOWN AWAY...

AS FOR FRISK, YOU DON'T NEED TO WORRY ABOUT THEM. THEY'RE FINE. FROM WHAT I REMEMBER, THEY'RE STAYING WITH OUR QUEEN, TORIEL. SHE HAS A SOFT SPOT FOR CHILDREN. I SAID I'D VISIT THEM FROM TIME TO TIME, GIVE THEM FREE TICKETS TO THE NEXT SHOWING OF MY BAND, BUT...

WELL. YOU KNOW HOW THAT IS.

[Humans do take a lot of things for granted, don't they? They think they've got it all figured out. Not many stay forever in awe of what life gives them.]

Hmm. Well, it seemed like the whole thing had a happy ending. [He can't exactly see HOW it happened, but eh, he's probably not going to get an answer here. Keats leans back in his chair, fingers drumming on his forearms as he thinks.]

Would you ever like to go back? I mean, if ALASTAIR gave you the chance to.

...

[Ah. That question. The one that's been haunting him since he realized the gift ALASTAIR was giving him. Would you like to go back home? Would he?

Humans already have stars and idols. Monsters... they only have me.

Come on, Blooky. You know I'd never leave you behind.

The three of us performing together... It really feels overdue, doesn't it?

Mettaton's fingers curl in on themselves. His screen is dimmed.]

OF COURSE I WOULD, HONEYSUCKLE. BUT ISN'T THERE SOMETHING SO APPEALING ABOUT HAVING A WIDER AUDIENCE? YES, THESE MISSIONS ARE GODAWFUL AND I'D GIVE ANYTHING TO NOT HAVE TO DEAL WITH SOMETHING LIKE WOODHURST AGAIN, BUT...

WE SAVED THE DAY, DIDN'T WE? THINK OF ALL THE LIVES WE SAVED. THAT WE CAN KEEP SAVING. HA. WITH MY BRAINS AND YOUR BEAUTY...

Shouldn't that be the other way around?

[He says, to the last statement, a brief smile playing on his lips.]

Ah, yes, that is what we have to think about...we've abandoned our lives to serve a greater purpose. Saving the universe, quite literally. Abandon our own needs to serve the many.

[He sighs. Honestly, he doesn't know what to think about returning home, himself. Ellen could handle herself in the Netherworld Core just fine, though there's always a concern that something, anything, might happen and he won't be there to help stop it.]

Anyways. [He lets out a laugh.] If this is an interview, I guess this is the part where I ask you where you see yourself in five years.

Edited 2017-04-19 02:56 (UTC)

[He means to make some smart comment in response to the first jib - something like "don't sell yourself short," or "of course not, who solved our zombie mystery," or even "why not both?", but nothing comes out. The obnoxious hum of fans just grows louder as that heart flashes again.

He doesn't feel very beautiful lately. It's one thing to objectively know you're designed to be attractive. It's another to be able to look at yourself in the mirror and believe it.

Whatever. Flatterer.]

SURROUNDED BY ADORING FANS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF MONEY. HOW IS THAT QUESTION SUPPOSED TO BE DIFFICULT?

...WHAT ABOUT YOU? I CAN'T SEE YOU AS THE TYPE TO LET A MYSTERY GO UNSOLVED LONG. AM I STILL GOING TO KNOW YOU IN FIVE YEARS?

[He sees that reaction, and even though he lifts his hand to his chin and obscures his mouth, it's obvious he's smirking. He sees how you're reacting there, Mettaton.]

Not bad. Especially for a celebrity, that's the ultimate dream, isn't it?

[He lowers his hand, giving the other a large shrug at the question.]

What kind of question is that? You make it sound like I'm going to be some kind of adventurer and head off to uncharted waters whenever I get the chance. [He shakes his head, brushing back some strands of hair that are in his eyes.] No, I'll be chasing down stories, of course, but ALASTAIR is giving me a life time's supply of them. Maybe I'll just work on my craft and get it good enough to win a Pulitzer. Can you imagine that? Winning an award for my writing...it's practically a pipe dream.

[Uuuuugh, of course he's put two and two together when it comes to that noise. What a jerk. What an inconsiderate, stupidly handsome jerk. The last word should far outweigh the nicer adjectives, but here we are.

Maybe those comedies about people only being attracted to what's horrible for them have a point. Blegh.

Anyway. There's an audible click, like a spring releasing, as Mettaton slinks back into his chair. He wasn't tense over the answer he was going to get. Why should he care if he's put more effort into this... thing going on and the other decides to go home? It's fine. It doesn't matter.]

CONSIDERING I'VE SEEN NEITHER HAIR NOR HIDE OF YOUR WRITING, I'M GOING TO AGREE WITH YOU THERE. [Let's focus on better things. Like teasing. Teasing is easy.] YOU'VE BEEN HERE FOR WHAT, HOW LONG? HOW MANY STORIES HAVE YOU WRITTEN ABOUT YOUR ADVENTURES, HMM? [The lights on his screen flash into a smile.] OR DID YOU GET DISTRACTED STARING AT PRETTY ROBOTS ALL DAY?

Oh, come on now. It's hard to write in the middle of the world ending every single mission, you know that.

[It's a jab at him, he knows that well, but he can't really be mad. He just glances over, smile widening even though he really shouldn't give into this kind of teasing from this impossibly, frustrating robot who clearly thinks he's better than everyone else.]

[Oh, what the hell.]

But maybe I haven't been distracted enough. I need to get some kind of inspiration from somewhere, don't I? Clearly I haven't gotten as much as I would've liked.

[~~THAT'S GAY, KEATS~~]

...

[The hum gets louder, but it's not joy or flattery this time. It hurts. It's a twisting in his core that would make him throw up if he had the ability. It's like being trapped in his own body when the power runs out. Everything is empty, no matter how much you want to reach out and be apart of the same world as everyone else.

You just aren't.

This is what he gets, obviously. Blooky would say to drop it. It's not worth it. This is karma telling you to stop.]

YOU'RE SWEET...

[If he had a face right now, he'd be smiling. It'd be anything but happy.]

YOU SHOULD REALLY FIND MORE PRODUCTIVE THINGS TO DO WITH YOUR TIME THAN WRITING A TRAGEDY.

[Goodness, what's with him? He throws out compliments left and right and asks questions and the minute Keats even thinks to show him the same, Mettaton shuts down (pun intended) almost instantly.]

[He stares at Mettaton for a moment, lips pursed in thought.]

One man's tragedy is another man's comedy. [A beat.] And I mean the technical term of comedy, not the ha-ha sort of comedy.

[As in, a comedy meaning "a story with a happy ending". He leans over the table, shaking his head gently.]

Come now, Mettaton. I write what I want to write. I mean, look at me. I'm still writing for a magazine that is barely in business because I don't really care if people think it's useless to do so.

[He huffs.] The point is, Mettaton, you're not a tragedy. And even if you somehow are, does it look like I'm walking away from that?

[Keats gestures to himself.]

I mean, I'm not getting up. I like being here. [A pause.] I like being here with you. Isn't that all that matters?

[He wants to believe that.

It's not true. That's never what matters.]

FOR HOW LONG?

YOU HAVE A CRUSH, KEATS. HOW LONG UNTIL THAT STOPS?

UNTIL YOU GET TIRED OF GLITZ AND GLAMOUR? UNTIL THE NOISE ISN'T WORTH THE ATTENTION?

UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU CAN NEVER HOLD MY HAND? THAT I'LL NEVER KISS YOU? THAT THERE'S NO ROMANTIC, CANDLE-LIT DINNERS OR MEANINGFUL EMBRACES? UNTIL YOU REALIZE YOU CAN'T MAKE LOVE TO METAL?

HA... NO. YOU'RE STUBBORN. I KNOW YOU ENOUGH BY NOW TO KNOW YOU'D SAY NONE OF THAT MATTERS TO YOU. YOU FIND SOMETHING YOU SET YOUR HEART ON AND YOU CHASE IT UNTIL YOU KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT IT, NO MATTER WHAT.

IT'LL BE UNTIL YOU GET BORED. WHEN YOU REALIZE I'M JUST NOT GOING TO TELL YOU THE ONE THING I CAN'T TELL ANYONE AND IT'S JUST NOT WORTH TRYING ANYMORE.

Ah, that's a sad way to think, isn't it?

[If Mettaton is expecting him to react badly, he doesn't. In fact, his tone almost seems light, though the look on his face seems bittersweet.]

Mettaton, you know what the most fascinating thing about people is? Let me give you a guess. It's the reason why we love reading the biographies and autobiographies of people long past.

[A pause.]

Nobody will ever completely figure anyone else out.

[He reaches up again to push glasses that aren't there, letting his hand fall back to the sidearm of the chair.]

I mean, let's be hypothetical here. Let's say that I really only was doing this just to figure your grand secret, to get my scoop on just who Mettaton is. But Mettaton...even if you gave me a book about yourself, listing every single thing you've ever done, from your creation till the very second you gave it to me, you know what would happen?

[He lets out a laugh.]

Sure, yes, I would know all that you did. I could possibly surmise your motivations, get an understanding of your life story. But people aren't just scoops, Mettaton. Even if I read all that, I would never be able to completely understand you. Appreciate you from a distance, yes, analyze you, possibly, but figure you out completely? It's impossible. You have depths that are impossible to grasp, things that lie beyond consciousness. Now, how in the world could I get bored with that?

[People are practically endless in terms of just how much they have to offer. They're not two-dimensional characters who cavort around in fairy tale roles that lay out exactly who they are at a glance. They're villains and heroes and sidekicks and dragons and helpful witches and castles all in one.]

But hypotheticals aside, I don't like you because I want to illuminate every single dark corner of the metaphorical Mettaton room. That's silly. And about the physical stuff..look, you said it yourself, while physical things are a part of romance, it's not like I'm all that concerned with it. Is it good? Sure. Can I live without it? Of course I can.

[He shakes his head.]

You're nice to talk to. You somehow tolerate me, which I know is a feat in and of itself. You command the stage of the world and its many players like a true celebrity. You sing well, dance well. You have the motivation to help many, though some may think that you don't. There's a lot here I could say about you, Mettaton, that has nothing to do with seeing what makes you tick. They're just qualities I like in you as you are.

[This is it. This is where the chorus swells and the leads kiss. This is where the camera blurs and suddenly the love interest has no flaws. He feels like he's melting. Everything hurts so much. His stupid fans sound like they're a plane taking off.

This is the worst. He hates this. If he could stand to be around this poetic jerk for more than five minutes at a time, he might fall in love.]

YOU IDIOT... I CAN'T EVEN CRY... [He's talking to himself because good lord does this shaky voice sound like he's trying despite himself, but the insult stands for both of them.

This is what Giorno was talking about, Mettaton. This is that moment where you either run away and regret it or stay and just hope that you don't. It's always so much easier to go for the known regret. That's what he's always done.

Fine. Fine. Okay.

There's a burst of light and smoke, and he's back to the form Keats is definitely more used to. The cloak comes with it, automatically, to reflect tears that aren't actually there. It shudders off in an instant, leaving just... metal.

Just Mettaton.]

What if I can't? Live without it?

[Ugh, he can see himself in the mirror and it looks like he's dying. Like he's having to explain to someone that he only has one more day to live. His entire body is shaking. He didn't even think that could happen.]

...You don't understand. You can never understand what it is spend years, decades, every day pretending you'll have some happily ever after where you're finally complete and your one true love sweeps you off your feet and kisses you and every horrible thing you did and all the pain you went through ends up worth it. You don't know what it's like to never be able to interact with the world. You don't understand how suffocating it is to never touch or taste or dream or--

[He doesn't even need to breathe. Why is he acting like he needs to catch his breath?]

...I know you like me. I'm exquisite. And I... somehow like you, [he croaks out, mumbling over the words.

Okay. Okay.

Leave now and know you'll regret it. Stay and you might not.

Okay.

He's still shaking, but it's with the sort of preemptive anger that comes with revealing anything you don't want to. When you want to trust someone so much, but the fear of that coming back to haunt you (haha) turns you bitter at just the thought of it.]

...If I show you something, you have to promise me that it will never leave this room. I mean it. You will regret for the rest of your life that I trusted you and you betrayed it. I can ensure that.

Do you understand?

[Really, he shouldn't technically be able to see this. Like, literally. This should be a blur, because currently he's not wearing any glasses, and he should be as blind as a bat.]

[And yet, everything is wonderful and crystal clear to him.]

[Mettaton is shaking with emotion, and honestly, probably for the first time in his godforsaken life, there's a part of Keats that just twinges with a hard, sharp feeling of genuine concern and worry. God, what's with him. He wants to come around to the other, to break his personal space, ensure he's okay. He's been protective before, he's felt that, but this feels far different and far more confusing.]

[Confusing in a good way, probably. He doesn't know. He's not shaking himself, but his mind is currently going a mile a minute because he knows that Mettaton must be making a huge step for him and he's absolutely terrified that there's a possibility he might mess this up.]

You're right. I don't understand that. I can try my best to, though, for you... [He says, nodding, because yes, of course, he's never been a robot. He can't grasp all that Mettaton's been through. But at least, he can attempt to just take it all in, accommodate where he must.]

You somehow like me, huh? [That's...a nice feeling. Now he's feeling his cheeks warm, the terrible traitors.]

[But enough about him, this is Mettaton's moment. Keats feels like there's some kind of weight hanging over him, nerve-wracking to acknowledge. Whatever this is, it's serious. He has no doubt that the robot will pop his head off if he even makes a misstep.]

[He gulps, but nods nevertheless, his expression determined.]

I do. [He nods again.] I wouldn't dare to go against your trust. Not in a million years. My lips are sealed.

[They better be. They so better be or you will wake up and find them sewn together with cat-hair. I swear. I swear to god, I will ruin you.

Breathe. Okay. Okay. Okay.

Mettaton holds out his hands, instructing the other not to come any closer as he steps back. He pushes himself away from the chair, away from the table, until there's a soft thunk of him hitting the wall.

Okay.

There's a hiss. On his torso, where a stomach should be, lies a chamber with a pink heart. The sides of it expand and open, hydraulics forcing them apart like a mouth opening to show a set of teeth. The glass in the way drops out and away.

Okay...

His joints of his fingers are squeaking with how hard he's curling them into fists. With another unnecessary breath, the heart, his core, leaves its chamber. It floats forward, to where Mettaton had been a moment ago. It slows, as if hesitant, before resuming its path.

Once it's halfway across the table, Mettaton's body shudders and his head lolls forward, deactivating.

Okay.

Closer, close enough to be in arm's reach. Then closer, floating up and toward Keats' face. It's pink and seemingly metal like the rest of him. There's rivets on each side and vents for steam. Unlike the rest of his body, though, this seems... life-like. Like some living spirit possessed some fancy metal-work and decided to call it home.

It floats forward again and presses itself against his cheek.

...it immediately draws back because what the hell-]

i thought your face would be softer, what the hell is that, [the core squeaks, the voice filtering out of it far softer and significantly less mechanized than any other time Mettaton's spoken. It's definitely him, just... not as loud. More wispy, almost echoing.

Like a ghost.]

[He has no idea what to expect.]

[He really doesn't. Sure, he's probably the type who thinks he's savvy enough to guess the end of a mystery. But here, he has no clue. Mettaton is moving, and Keats almost stands, unsure what's going on.]

[And then, Mettaton just...opens.]

[Keats' own heart almost jumps into his throat, because for a brief moment, when he sees Mettaton's head just loll forward, he almost thinks Mettaton is dead.]

[Except as soon as the thought comes, something is moving towards him. A heart, just floating on over, metallic in nature, but hovering on its own with no discernible logical reason as to why it's doing so.]

[And then it touches his face.]

[And it speaks.]

[Keats stares at the heart. And stares. And stares, because his mind has gone completely blank. A talking heart is touching his cheek. He opens his mouth, trying to drum up any vestiges of normal though to piece together what he's seeing.]

Your soul.

[It has to be. But yet, there's something off. It's not like he comes from Mettaton's world, maybe this is normal. Maybe hearts are supposed to be like this, who knows? But the way it speaks, the way it moves, even the way it sounds...]

[Keats reaches up, gingerly, his fingertips gently brushing up against the heart.]

It isn't artificial, is it...?

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