[He was taken by surprised, taken in by Sans's words and now he has to cover. Mirrorton's hand stays on his. It's nice. It feels nice.]
I didn't mean to imply that at all. I do not like the idea that he thinks he owns me when that couldn't be farther from the truth.
[And Sans mentions this "his" thing again and Mettaton feels a twist somewhere inside of him. Mirrorton's grip tightens just a little. ...It doesn't feel quite as nice as it did before.]
I mean, to be fair, he is me, just a mirror version.
[He's as real as him. He won't say otherwise. It isn't fair to his friend.
He squirms a little as Sans continues. Frisk... yes they are like that, aren't they? Taking people's words and using it to shred their own heart to pieces. So does Alphys. And Napstablook takes the cake in that department. Then Sans mentions Chara and Mettaton speaks.]
They may seem sturdier in that aspect, but they do it too. They take all the worst things people say and use it as an excuse to demonize themselves. The poor sweetling.
[Chara... he misses them. He doesn't talk to them nearly enough. His fingers relax in his mirror's hand, starting to slip away.]
I suppose you have a point. But as I said, my mirror isn't that dangerous. [He's not that bad.] He may speak oddly here and there but really Sans, you're getting worried over nothing.
[He smiles a little gently. It's sweet that Sans is worrying about him. It makes his soul swell a little with a feeling he doesn't want to think on as he tries to reply in a way that won't alarm him more.
The mirror grabs and pulls Mettaton's hand back into his. His fingers clench over the back of Mettaton's hand, gripping tightly into the metal. Mettaton's fingers are flat against the glass and he sees his own wide eyes in the reflection. He hadn't noticed he was starting to let go.]
Sans...
[He pauses again, thinking.]
I think you're being paranoid. I know mirrors make you nervous, but this is nothing to fear. He's just a bit strange, as all mirrors are. It's sweet of you to worry. You've always been so sweet.
[He winces when he says that. He shouldn't have said that. Not with his mirror right there. He's showing weakness. He looks to the writing unraveling itself across the glass again.
Mettaton. End this.]
Now, I apologize, but I must get going. I have so many things to do today.
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[He was taken by surprised, taken in by Sans's words and now he has to cover. Mirrorton's hand stays on his. It's nice. It feels nice.]
I didn't mean to imply that at all. I do not like the idea that he thinks he owns me when that couldn't be farther from the truth.
[And Sans mentions this "his" thing again and Mettaton feels a twist somewhere inside of him. Mirrorton's grip tightens just a little. ...It doesn't feel quite as nice as it did before.]
I mean, to be fair, he is me, just a mirror version.
[He's as real as him. He won't say otherwise. It isn't fair to his friend.
He squirms a little as Sans continues. Frisk... yes they are like that, aren't they? Taking people's words and using it to shred their own heart to pieces. So does Alphys. And Napstablook takes the cake in that department. Then Sans mentions Chara and Mettaton speaks.]
They may seem sturdier in that aspect, but they do it too. They take all the worst things people say and use it as an excuse to demonize themselves. The poor sweetling.
[Chara... he misses them. He doesn't talk to them nearly enough. His fingers relax in his mirror's hand, starting to slip away.]
I suppose you have a point. But as I said, my mirror isn't that dangerous. [He's not that bad.] He may speak oddly here and there but really Sans, you're getting worried over nothing.
[He smiles a little gently. It's sweet that Sans is worrying about him. It makes his soul swell a little with a feeling he doesn't want to think on as he tries to reply in a way that won't alarm him more.
The mirror grabs and pulls Mettaton's hand back into his. His fingers clench over the back of Mettaton's hand, gripping tightly into the metal. Mettaton's fingers are flat against the glass and he sees his own wide eyes in the reflection. He hadn't noticed he was starting to let go.]
Sans...
[He pauses again, thinking.]
I think you're being paranoid. I know mirrors make you nervous, but this is nothing to fear. He's just a bit strange, as all mirrors are. It's sweet of you to worry. You've always been so sweet.
[He winces when he says that. He shouldn't have said that. Not with his mirror right there. He's showing weakness. He looks to the writing unraveling itself across the glass again.
Mettaton. End this.]
Now, I apologize, but I must get going. I have so many things to do today.