entrancelogs | merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

Do they pull out the stops first? It might help, if it means he'll let them go. Someone a little cleverer would be careful about playing their best card so early, but it's the only card in their hand at the moment, so they snap it out, whippet-sharp, and couple it with as coolly disdainful a tone as they can possibly bring to bear.

"Remembering the last thing Napstablook ever said to you, of course. I'm wondering if it was all that important."

Mettaton tilts his head to the side, nodding a little as if he's really digesting their words. He hums a bit, no longer swinging the mirror back and forth. He holds them very still and stares at them for another moment before speaking.

"Fascinating, really. Even when you are in a position of utter helplessness your disgusting nature still shines through to make you completely worthless to any and all aid."

He throws them up a little in the air, reaching out to catch one of their legs and dangle them upside down. He's a little disappointed that he succeeded in catching them at all but c'est la vie.

"If you were ever truly in danger would you be able to accept help? I doubt it."

It's not like he's actually offering any real help whatsoever so his words are way more empty musing than any genuine worry for the human.

"I wouldn't ask for your help if I were dying." That much, at least, is obvious, up until the point where he lobs them upward like some kind of toy and catches them by one leg. Their hair swings wildly, but they don't, thank god, lose grip on the Worn Dagger, miniaturized as it is.

It'll be their only means of getting free of this mess.

Ridiculously, the Mirror giggles.

"...though it's not as though you're any better. Dallying around with Mirrors, inviting them to your Christmas dinners...refusing any and all help when everyone is practically falling over themselves to give it to you!"

Mettaton chuckles a little.

"That's fair, I'd say."

After all, it's not like their Real does much of that either, so it's something they have in common. That's probably too much of a morbid joke to make about a friend and Mettaton chastises himself silently. Then the mirror giggles and Mettaton's eyes narrow as he listens to their words.

"Refusing help would mean that I need help in the first place, and you are pretty mistaken if you think that I do."

Or you're in denial, like he is.

"God, he really does have you wrapped around his little finger!" They sound positively ecstatic, at that one. "What a catch. Hook, line, and sinker!"

This might change his mind. This might cement his current standing even further. Either way, it's bound to be interesting. When you're a self-described agent of chaos without any true devotion to any one outcome, it's really in your best interest to just sit back and let the fireworks fly.

Mettaton rolls his eyes and gives the mirror a shake.

"There is nothing to catch, Frisk, you don't know what is going on between us."

He knows this Frisk doesn't give a rat's ass about his wellbeing. But the fact that they too think that something is happening is just. Grating.

"Oh, yes. He looooooves you, doesn't he? Of course he does. It's easiest for him to love himself." Narcissus withered away into a flower as he gazed at his reflection, smitten by what he saw, forever lost in what he could never embrace. Every time he drew close, the water would ripple, distorting his beauty beyond all recognition.

A cautionary tale. A myth. A story.

The Mirror grins.

"Do you love him too?"

Mettaton purses his lips. Really, he should fling this pale excuse for his friend towards the wall and see what happens. But if that were to actually kill them, well, then he'd gain some EXP and that... is not a fun idea. What he should actually do is stop entertaining their very obvious digging. But he's a bit of a stubborn ass.

"Why would you even ask that? Of course I do."

Why wouldn't he? They're the same person and he clearly loves himself.

"I know he cares more about me than you do about your Real. Unlike you, he wants me to live and live well."

He glares at the mirror, a real kernel of anger flaring into life. The urge to throw them across the room increases as he remembers what they did to his Frisk.

"And to hell to everybody else!" Frisk crows. "Gosh, it sure would be easier if it weren't for all these pesky friends and their corny, sanctimonious crap! How much simpler it would be, if the world were just the two of you, forever orbiting each other, all alone!"

They cock their head with supreme difficulty. The blood's rushing now, even faster, but that's all right; their skin is dark enough that the reddening won't be evident.

"Let me give you a word of advice, you sad little excuse for a Blook family castaway: when even I'm telling you that you're in too deep? Maybe you should consider that there's something to that."

Mettaton opens his mouth to say something, stops, then closes it again. They sound... a lot like his mirror, only more nasty and mocking. Though the mocking isn't too far off either. Or the nastiness.

He frowns.

"Both you and your Alphys have said things like this to me and frankly? It's unneeded. I know what I am doing. I'd step away if this was harming me."

He sounds only a smidgen uncertain, even as he thinks of how he really can't say no to speaking to his mirror without feeling terrible on some level. But that's him. That's not his mirror influencing that. ...Right?

"Buddy, between me and Alphys, we've maybe got enough ethical integrity to fill a thimble, and even we can tell how badly you're screwing yourself. Maybe - oh!" They let their head drop, arms swinging limply beside their head, hair swishing from side to side.

"Maybe we should start taking bets. How long will it take for Mettaton to wake up and smell the sweet, sweet odor of his own denial? Personally, I'm hoping you never wake up. I've got five thousand G riding on it!"

That part, that last bit - that's a lie.

But the rest of it is far from it.

There's something to be said about spite and what a motivator it is. There's a flash of intense anger in Mettaton that makes him want to cut off all contact with his mirror just to rub it in Mirror Frisk's face that he can do this and Mirror Frisk isn't right at ALL.

"There's no currency here in Wonderland and you know it. Any bet of yours would be useless here."

Pedantic and utterly useless. A petty squabble that just plays into the mirror's hands. Mettaton huffs and drops them unceremoniously over the chair they were trying to climb; Essentially getting them to their previous destination but uh. They should probably catch themself.

"Denial. Me! In denial! I'm not. It doesn't... it doesn't matter what you, or Mirror Alphys, or Sans, or Alphys, or Frisk..."

That connection makes him pause. And he looks to the mirror, a literal mirror image of the real Frisk, and he remembers their talk in the library awhile back. When they were both hiding out on the mirror side. Their conversation stuck with him then and he grits his teeth as he remembers it now.

They thought their mirror was helping them too. They believed that they meant something in their care. And it wasn't that long, was it? They thought their mind was clear. He feels sick. He looks away from the mirror.

-1 to ZEZPQB BT FRESMNF IZDVZ BEFVQN GC NBVBW

They land with a staggered oof, clawing at the sweet-smelling gingerbread to keep themself from landing on the floor and ending up a regrettable target for those stylishly pointy heels of his. It's a near thing, but they end up on their back, sick with the scent of gingerbread, breathing hard, but nonetheless managing their singular shit-eating grin.

"Don't worry, Mettaton. I gotcha. It's everyone else who's wrong - right, darling?"

They're the scum of the earth. A real piece of work. An absolutely disgusting individual. They probably singlehandedly lower the moral standards of Wonderland by five percent, by their mere existence alone.

But, hey, at least they've got the courage to admit it.

Mettaton glares but he doesn't turn to look at them. Garbage. They're utter garbage. He shouldn't be listening to them.

"Shut up. No one cares about what you think."

To further reiterate that, Mettaton promptly and violently shakes the chair they're on.

"You're lucky that I'm not giving you hell right now over what you did to Frisk."

"Please. As if it's any worse than anything you've done."

Did he let himself forget that little detail? The part where he ripped their SOUL to pieces with a smile, LOAD after LOAD? Tramping on their skull with a pointed heel, shooting bolts of electricity into an already overtaxed nervous system, leaving them gasping and trembling and posing with the last of their energy?

It would be awfully convenient, if Frisk were to forgive that sort of thing without thinking. Wouldn't it?

"The difference is that I'm the only one of us who's willing to acknowledge it."

There's a moment of silence as he looks at the mirror. Then, impossibly, he chuckles. Then he begins to laugh, low, and then louder, louder, and louder.

"Oh darling. Sweetheart. Are you really, honestly, trying to go there?"

His shoulders shake with mirth.

"You. You of all people have no right to pontificate to me about what I did to Frisk. Because you're right. I was despicable to them. And perhaps it has taken me too long to truly say it out loud. I will never be able to fully make it up to them. But you-"

And he pokes Mirror Frisk in the chest, not enough to knock them down (at least he's not intending to) and gives them a steely look.

"You have not once wanted anything good for them. You have not once felt remorse for the terrible things you have done. You haven't ever tried to apologize or make anything better. We? Are not comparable."

He pulls away and gives them a look of pure disdain, face set in hard, angry lines.

"You're just a sad, pathetic little urchin who is so empty of any real connections with the world around you that all you can think of to justify your existence is to scar anyone near you with malice and hatred. And it's frankly boring, darling."

He gives them another look, sighs, and then looks to the door.

"I really do have other things to do than entertain you... mm. Perhaps we're done here."

It certainly hurts, they'll give him that much, just with all the force and size behind it. They have to grind their heels into the chair to keep from being forced onto their back.

"At least I'm not so empty of real connections that I have to stoke a Mirror's ego just to feel anything but lost," the Mirror quips, because heaven forbid they allow for anything but a parting shot, the last scornful word.

It makes them feel like they're accomplishing something.

merry christmas; i could care less [ open ]

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