[Mettaton continues examining the room, hoping for some kind of clue hidden away somewhere. He finds none and huffs irritably.

It actually comes as a small shock to hear Frisk inquire about his health, and for a moment his soul leaps, hoping that maybe they're starting to-

One look at that face of theirs and he knows that they're not anywhere near to normal and he buries his disappointment in shaking his head.]

No, not really. Just a bit creaky. All of this is hard on the joints.

[An understatement, sure, but he doesn't want to let his facade slip for even a moment.

He looks back to the space they are standing on and thinks.]

I think I have an idea of what we should do next.