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[When the feed clicks on, Mettaton is at the camera, perfectly poised and smiling wide.]

Hello, Wonderland! Sorry for that little hiccup earlier!

[He fluffs his hair a bit, which definitely looks disheveled; an unusual deviation from his usual picture perfect looks.]

I had a small incident with Wonderland's local dream demon BUT! There's no need to fear, darlings, because your strong, amazing hero Mettaton repelled the evil doer! Wonderland is safe and so are the rest of you!

[He smiles, though it falters for just a brief second before he continues.]

Now, let's put this silly incident behind us, shall we? There's no need to worry about any of these shenanigans or torment yourself with worry over me (unless you want to, of course! ♥). I'm sure you'll see my shining face on the network sometime in the future again (minus any and all unauthorized uses of my brand) so I shall let you all return to your daily lives. Bye, darlings~!

[He pauses for a moment, blinks, and then hurriedly gives a cutesy wave and wink to the camera, though it's clear his heart isn't in it. The feed ends there.]

((ooc: Mettaton may respond to network responses but it will probably be sporadic due to the fact that he's feeling really rough right now. For anyone wanting to personally come and check on him, the door will have many latches and locks and Mettaton will not be opening his door for anyone other than close CR, if that. But he's fine. Absolutely fine! Totally.))

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No, I like it. I just...

[Can't. Can't let you too close. Can't let people in anymore because it's distracting him from his goal. His mirror knows not to talk about Chara but he knows that they fall under the line.

Break attachments. They'll only hold you back from the stardom you deserve.]

Today?

[Today. He would love today. He would love to see Chara and talk to them and do something, anything, that makes his soul feel settled in his body again. But he shouldn't. He shouldn't.

I know that you don't like being alone. You don't have to be.

His voice is quiet as he continues to look away.]

But what if I do have to be alone?

Mettaton... I'm sure that I'm not telling you anything you already know, but even the most amazing solo act still needs a stage manager, a lighting technician, a sound guy... small pyrotechnic demons running the special effects. A star shines brightest when it has a night sky to be its backdrop.

[Now is that not direct enough? They're so bad at this. They've never had the power to fix things, mend things, to help people, but they... still, they never learned how to stay quiet. Not when he keeps looking away from them. Not when he's talking so softly.]

You say "have to," but you don't say "want to." Metta... why do you have to be alone?

[He can't stop smiling even if it hurts a little. Even if it feels bittersweet. They are reaching out to him, as best as they can, as shaky as they can and he can't reach back. No matter how much his soul cries for it.]

...Because it's for the best. I am being weak with this display.

[Lie, Mettaton. You need to lie.]

I am fine, Chara. Really. You are sweet to offer this, however. I am very grateful.

[Out of the corner of his eye he sees his small hand mirror next to him. On it is only one word: Good

He feels a lump in his throat. This is for the best.]

[Weak.

Yeah, okay. That sorts things out. Mettaton would never think that adoration and attention make him weak, wherever he might stand on things like genuine support or intimacy. Someone else put that idea into his head. And thus, as a result, with dazzling clarity: they've got no time for that bullhonkey!]

Interesting. Does it make me weak if I do the same, then? Am I a weak person for wanting to be around you?

Because I assure you, Mettaton, I am several things - horrendous, a nightmare, a mistake, vile - but I am most certainly not going to put up with the implication that I may be weak for craving your company. Nor, would I venture, would you be weak for wanting to be near someone as ruthlessly strong as I am!

[The camera shifts - they're getting up now, rummaging in the closet with one hand while holding their phone with the other.]

Truly, sir, you have incited my vicious wrath. Now I am going to enact a most cunning revenge: I, several bottles of nail polish, and the loudest plastic recorder I can find are going to sit directly outside your door. You will have to endure me endlessly squawking away on my little plastic flutey thing, as only an extremely annoying child can do, until you either acquiesce to my manicure-related demands, or come outside, look me in the eye, and tell me you don't want me around.

[Oh dear. He's said too much, hasn't he? Chara is getting up to move and Mettaton hastens to speak again.]

Chara, you have never been a mistake or any of those things. You're a treasure.

[Wait. No. That's not what he meant to say. It slipped out unheeded; he needs to focus on keeping them away.

...Did they say plastic recorder?]

Oh goodness. Chara, you really don't have to do this. I'm fine. Absolutely.

[Look them in the eye and tell them he doesn't want them around? Ha. Haha. He can do that. Easily. Because this is just an annoyance, right? They're being an annoyance. Ignore the small bubble of happiness at the thought of them coming over. This is a mistake.]

[A treasure. Golly. They're almost touched, except they also know they're about to be extremely annoying and ten years old at him, so they probably won't be a treasure for very long, har har. They're already raising their voice, because there is now the lovely musical noise of several polish bottle clacking as Chara dumps them into their good old reliable cupcake backpack.]

Sorry, what was that? I seem to be having some difficulty hearing you from all the way over here. I think we will have to be face-to-face in order for me to catch that.

[The last bit is accompanied by a recording getting pulled from the closet and waggled at the camera like its some kind of magical baton.

And then.

AND THEN.

Lovely not at all motion-blurry footage of the hallway carpet as Chara sprints on over, followed by: stereo surround-sound plastic dooting, because it's not only coming from Mettaton's phone, but ALSO FROM HIS DOOR.

This is your life now, Mettaton.]

[A cupcake backpack??? Chara really isn't helping their image as a demon with something as adorable as that. Mettaton grins despite himself.]

You can't trick me that easily, Chara. I know you're trying to-

[....what is that sound

what are they

what is

holy fuck]

Chara?? What is this???

[He yells it over the din, baffled and a little horrified about what sounds are coming through his device and through his door.]

[The Aggressive Tooting stops.]

My Heart Will Go On, mostly. It's a 199X classic!

[The Aggressive Tooting resumes. ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE SONG.]

You know how to make it stop, don't you? There is only one force on this green earth that can stop me, and it's a coat or two of OPI's California Dreaming line's GPS I Love You.

Or, you know, telling me I'm a blight on this earth and should go fall down a well. Either one.

[Aggressive Tooting ROUND TWO begins.]

Edited (its 1 am and html is hard) 2017-05-03 07:34 (UTC)

[You know, Mettaton is known to make a lot of assumptions. Some good. Some bad. Some average. Today he made the assumption that he could handle the aggressive tooting of a 10-year-old.

He was wrong.

He stands there on the other side of the door, eyes wide and mouth open in slack-jawed gaping as Chara continues their song to completion. They presumably finish or at least they stop playing and Mettaton continues to stand there in something close to awe. At least they're done, right?

Wrong.]

Chara, I...

[He can't tell them that. He can't bring himself to call them a blight. But he certainly can't take much more of whatever the hell this is. He looks around desperately to one of the mirrors he left out. On it, in what seems to be bold, is the words Don't open it, whatever you do.

Mettaton considers listening to his mirror. He considers plugging his ears and trying to live his life. But there's something about the insistent way they play that makes him think that no amount of ear plugging will save him from this fate.

So after a moment's heated debate with himself and hiding the last mirror from sight, he finally opens the door.]

Chara! I opened the door, please stop that racket!

Oh! So you have. Lucky thing, too. I was rapidly running out of relevant pop culture songs. I was on the very brink of looping Hot Cross Buns until I ruptured my own eardrums.

[The tooting ceases. Thank god. Sorry, Mirrorton, but let's be real: nobody is actually determined enough to put up with that ruckus forever. There is no force in existence better at getting people to pay attention to them than a young child. It's science fact.

Patiently, Chara shrugs off the Extremely Demonic Cupcake Backpack to dump the recorder in it, and also to offer a tantalizing peek at the random jumble of clacking little bottles of nail polish contained within.

Temptation itself, Metta. How could you resist. Look, there are pretty colors! You know you super want to! This, too, is all a part of Chara's subtle and insidious web of manipulation. The cunning trap is already sprung.]

So pleasant to see you face to face once more! Now, do you have something that you wish to say to me? I'm all ears!

[Chara clearly means business if they were willing to go to those great lengths to annoy Mettaton out of his room and later Mettaton will feel grateful. Right now he feels frustrated, sighing a little as he watches Chara slip their absolutely intimidating cupcake backpack off their shoulders and put their recorder inside.

Mettaton can't stop himself from leaning forward to see what else is inside and-... goodness that is quite a lot of beautiful colors in there, isn't it? What a subtle and conniving plan, handled with the expert mastermind tactics of a child. He feels like he should be more ashamed of the fact that it is actually working.

He looks up to Chara's face.]

Chara, you're extremely sweet for being here, but now just isn't the time.

[If they're expecting him to insult them and verbally push them away, this is the best they're able to get. And he knows he sounds like he's waffling on his position with this but he just. Can't. He doesn't want to be rude to them. Not for no reason. They've been through so much and he never wants to add to it if he can help it.

...This tenderness he's cultivated for them is proving difficult to deal with. No wonder his mirror is so vehemently against him speaking to them.]

Mettaton... allow me to be frank. It's six letters or less, so it's totally a name I can wear. I know very well what it is to have control torn from you. I have no great desire to become the sort of person who deprives people of agency. It does not feel good to make a nuisance of myself in a time when I suspect that you feeling entirely in control of yourself is especially important.

I do want to respect your boundaries. I do want to respect your choices. However... I need to feel assured that they are your choices. That this is what you want, and not what you think is for the best or your duty or... whatever.

Thus... I appreciate the sentiment, but you are going to have to be direct. Look me in my creepy little hellspawn eyes and tell me that you sincerely don't want my company, or tell me that a quick coat of metallic lacquer doesn't sound so bad after all. Tell me exactly what you want, with all the emphasis in the world on "want."

[Want. All the emphasis in the world on "want". There is a lot of things Mettaton wants. He wants to be happy. He wants to be free of Wonderland. He wants to perform and headline all around the surface and be the center of attention to the world. ...He wants his friends and family to be happy and whole.

He also wants his Mirror, his friend, his biggest confidant, to be happy. So often nowadays he isn't however and there is no one to blame but Mettaton himself. He keeps causing the poor mirror stress and pain and it's because he won't do what is best for the both of them. He knows what his mirror wants right now.

But Chara asked what Mettaton wants, not his mirror, and so often of late that seems to be out of sync. He doesn't know who to blame for that. He sometimes can't figure out who is who in that relationship. But that's silly. He knows who he is. Right?]

Chara...

[A pause. A placeholder answer until he settles on something more adequate. He says their name so they know he heard them and that he's thinking of what to say next.

Bill didn't think about what he wanted. Just took, took his body and took him on a joyride and it had been terrifying and unreal but real and thinking about it, just thinking about it makes his head spin. He closes his eyes, clutches to the door frame around him. Five fingers on each hand. One by one they grip the wood. This is real. This is here.

Chara is standing before him and they asked him what he wants.]

...I want to see you. I want to paint my nails and feel like I'm me, and only me.

[It's a quiet admission, with an air of vulnerability. He tries to smile like normal but it comes out weak, a bit twisted. He trusts that Chara won't hold that against him.]

[They smile.

They don't... they still don't quite know how to make it clear when they want to smile instead of just - you know, just smiling. How to make their smile not creepy, not wrong, not mean bad things instead of good things. They know how to recognize vulnerability, but not how to reward trust, how to be reassuring and sincere and all the things a real Dreemurr is.

But they smile, and hope that says what they want to say. Hold out a hand, not with expectation or demand, but simply as an invitation. Something that can be taken or declined as he wishes. Something softer and warmer than an unyielding doorframe, something that can offer the gentle pressure that says "see? We're here." Something that can be his choice, something he gets to take or decline.]

I... I want to help. I want you to have that, too.

[What... what would Frisk say, if they were the one in control right now? What would a good friend tell somebody in need? They don't know. They don't know what words you're meant to use for this - for this... for understanding what a risk it is to be vulnerable. For knowing what it's like to crave, so wildly, the feelings of "not alone," of "accepted as I am," of "allowed to be myself," but also knowing those are indulgences that aren't meant for people like you.

They're going a little red, fumbling over their words, not being practiced and eloquent and detached at all. It's all to obvious that this isn't - this was always the role good people like Frisk were meant to play. It was Frisk in control in the timelines where people were happier. They don't know anything about making people happy, about trying to translate this ache of - it can't be sympathy, it can't be compassion, it can't be care, they've never had any of those - this ache of... wanting Mettaton to be okay. To - to not just be okay, to flourish.

To not... to not suffer this anymore.]

I know... this may not have been the easier answer, but I want to reward the risk you - I want to reward your trust. Thank you for letting me in.

[Their smile isn't as sharp as it can be, no jagged edges cutting deep into their cheeks. They hold out a hand and it's soft and gentle and Mettaton lets out the softest whine and he wants to grab it immediately and never let go, squeeze it tight until his fingers feel solid again.

He restrains himself.

I want to help they say and the words fall across his ears like a balm. They want to be here. They want to help. They want him to be solid and whole and...

He can tell how big this is for them. They're red-faced and their words are uncertain and it's such a huge step. They speak of rewarding his trust while simultaneously believing in this beautiful trust they have cultivated in him. It feels like his soul is too big for his body with how many emotions swell up in him.]

...Letting you in has been one of the best decisions I have ever made, Chara.

[It takes a moment of counting, a moment of "this is here, this is mine" in his head but he lifts a hand off the door frame and (gently, softly, he doesn't want to hurt, doesn't want to take too much from someone who has lost so much) wraps it around theirs.

The door is wide open and he makes room for them to come in, much like the room he has made for them in his heart.]

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