epidemiology | i invited ortega over tonight to watch sliders in my room (closed)

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i invited ortega over tonight to watch sliders in my room (closed)

CHARACTERS: Mettaton, Maya, Peridot, Feferi, Keats, Olivia, Vaughn, Oliver, Giorno, Fugo, Papyrus (and possibly Sans)
DATE: A bit after arriving in Terra Felis
WARNINGS: Some of the movies involve violence, but this is just a sleepover. On a cat planet.
SUMMARY: Mettaton invited his closest friends to a musical viewing planned for when they got back to Oska. They're uh... they're just gonna have to make due with what they have.

...this isn't what Mettaton expected.

The original plan was much more dour in nature, surely. He had a very specific intent to hole himself in his room in Oska, feel horrible for himself, and then force those whose presence he enjoyed into spending the night with him watching movies that he also enjoyed. It was meticulously planned to cheer himself up! To encourage his friends to meet with one another and talk about how wonderful him and his taste in entertainment was! To fill the gaping void of despair of leaving Woodhurst with love and admiration!!

Instead, he found himself surrounded by cats. That tends to blast a hole in any pre-planned pity-party.

But! The show must go on, even with a change in scenery or motivation. Besides, it isn't as if his wonderful, wonderful friends (and Keats) couldn't use something fun themselves!! He promised them a celebration! After everything they've gone through, they certainly deserve it.

So his hotel room has been decorated as beautifully as Mettaton himself. Blankets hang from the ceiling, creating one giant fort within the room proper. Glitter is seemingly everywhere. Snacks (...mostly meat-based, like hamburgers, thanks to the area) have been paid for and set up lovingly along more blankets on the floor. Several pillows are also on the floor, as well a steady pile of them in the corner of the room (for extra and/or lounging, you see). The bed holds even more pillows, and the vanity has been encompassed in the fort for any emergency midnight makeovers.

It's going to be a long night.

--

6pm to 11pm:
West Side Story
Little Shop of Horrors
Les Mis

Things are starting off particularly well! It's a trio of downers, sure, but there's enjoyment to be had with them regardless! Mettaton continues to maintain that these are classics and need to be revered as such, but this notably doesn't stop him from pointing out any terrible singing or riffing on anything silly, especially with the last movie involved. He encourages his friends to do the same and get as much fun out of the experience as possible. It's a fine start.

--

12am to 4am:
The Little Mermaid
Enchanted
Into the Woods

The snacks are beginning to wane. The weakest of those invited have begun to quietly drift off into the night, which is a shame for two reasons: One, these are more hopeful movies!! The joyful ones!! The ones Mettaton can't seem to stop himself from sobbing dramatically at. Two, he has a supply of glitter pens at his disposal and has suspiciously left them in plain view, as if challenging his guests to use them on one another.

--

5am to 7am:
Sweeney Todd
Chicago
Rocky Horror Picture Show
Grease 2

It's the dreaming hours, now. Most people with sane sleeping schedules or an ability to tune out Mettaton's gabbing have taken to the slumber part of this party. The movies have also gotten a bit more... questionable, in their content. Cannibalism, murder, badly-sung songs about reproduction... Anyone still awake has most likely reached that blissful, slap-happy state of all slumber-parties where everything is hilarious, the giggles cannot stop, and you're constantly trying to keep yourself from waking the rest of the guests.

--

Mingle, enjoy, and please keep Maya from eating all of the snacks.

PS: Don't trust the bone goblin attempting to sell catnip. He wasn't invited.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[This is the worst thing. This is terrible. This is a no-good, horrible, very bad thing. Especially since, knowing Mettaton, he is definitely going to take "monstrous souls" the wrong way and think he's out there murdering creatures for the fun of it.]

The Folks, they're these...wild things. They're not sentient or intelligent. They're just the remnants of dead human souls twisted by magic into things that act on pure whim.

[He's lying a little, because he knows of a few, a very select few, that have shown sentience.]

My powers, they...require that I have to absorb the essence of the Folks. Their Id, so to speak. And I can use their abilities by accessing the Ids inside of me.

[He sighs.]

Look, I'm not a murderer, okay? They're already dead. In a way, it's almost like helping them pass on. I didn't choose to have these kinds of abilities.

.......

[That's where he got his magic from? From other things?

There's. Something intrinsically horrifying in Monster culture about Monsters taking the souls of humans. They turn into something else. Something horrible, something with too much power, something... unmentionable. Yes, Mettaton had every intention of doing that himself, of doing that to poor, merciful Frisk, but. That was different. He was desperate. He was only trying to stop a war.

But a human taking a monster's soul? Or... some sort of amalgamate of human souls...

Mettaton doesn't have much to say out loud. If anything, he just looks pale and uncomfortable as he finally sets the other down, his cloak reflecting his internal monologue.]

You said you didn't believe in ghosts.

I don't, not really.

[He can practically feel how uncomfortable Mettaton is - it's like a string in the air, vibrating, impossible to ignore. Keats is glad to be on solid ground, but this whole thing has made him feel like he's being put on the spot.]

[He hates it.]

Ghosts don't exist, where I come from. Even when I went to the Netherworld, which is practically the afterlife, I just saw for myself that there's no life after death. Either you got memories of the dead that are just shades of themselves that have no thoughts or will, or you have the Folks, who can be barely called human. They're just so far gone that it's hard to even imagine that once upon a time, they were a living human being. What kind of a fate is that? You die, and you just become a mindless thing that exists only to hurt and destroy while your memories are being eaten by creatures that just replay them over and over again like they're old VHS tapes.

[It's the terrible truth of the Netherworld. Nobody lives after death. There's just death. It ends with that. He stares straight at Mettaton, his face set in a serious frown.]

There are the Half-Lives, too, but those are...complicated. They're sentient, and intelligent, and honestly good company, but they are far far away from being human, because they never were human in the first place.

[He adjusts his glasses as he glances away.]

I almost wish all of that were just from some story. For a long time I did believe that. But, sad to say, that's the cruel truth of the matter.

Edited 2017-04-10 00:14 (UTC)

[...this is terrible. All this talk of what happens after you die, reflecting on mortality... It's all things Mettaton doesn't do. Why focus on the future, when you can live for today? Be happy now, don't worry about what comes after!! You'll only ever have this moment!

If he were feeling more like himself, he'd be congratulating himself on how, at least in one universe, he's totally right to have that mindset. If there's nothing in the end, you may as well enjoy yourself while you can.

He's crossing his arms, eyes still focusing on nothing as he changes the subject. He doesn't need to hear anymore on where Keats got his abilities. It's none of his business.]

Why were you investigating your own medical records?

My...what?

[Keats tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.]

What do you mean, "my" medical records?

You said you found Herve's medical records. That he "had" a heart condition.

[Mettaton's eyes finally fix onto Keats' face.]

You're Herve.

[There's a pause, and then, suddenly, Keats lets out a laugh. Because he has to. Because he has to cover up that uncomfortable twitch that's gone through him at that statement, the sudden spike of fear in his chest.]

That can't be possible. The poor boy died seventeen years ago, Mettaton.

[He shrugs his shoulders lightly.] You can listen to my heart with that stethoscope you stole if you think I'm lying. What Herve had - that Herve had - it was truly a condition he would never be able to live that long with. My heart's nice and healthy.

[He smiles, but there's something about it that feels very fake.]

The fact that we shared names is merely coincidence. It's hardly like he was the only Herve in the world.

I thought that, too.

[That's the logical reason. Why would someone research themselves while clearly acting as if there were no relation? It's the simplest answer: it's just a case of having the same name. Nothing so nearly dramatic as mistaken identities, re-imagining yourself, or witness protection.

Except...

Mettaton reaches behind his back again, pulling out a pink book. After flipping through it to verify it's the right one, he hands the diary over to Keats, its most recent addition underlined in green sparkles.

"I'm just Keats, okay? No one else."]

I asked you why that name was so hard for you to talk about. This is what you said.

Between this, how you acted at the office, how you responded to the mirror, and how much you seem to hate your own name, well.

[He shrugs, smiling.]

Honestly, I'm still hoping it's something out of those true crime stories. A mysterious young man disappears, then reappears years later with a new name, pretending to be an Irish journalist to hide his horrible, blood-stained past. [He wiggles his fingers. Ooo, spooky. Ha...] That's way more fun than whatever you're probably hiding under those terrible glasses you're wearing.

Edited 2017-04-10 00:50 (UTC)

You've been writing everything I've been saying? Goodness, Mettaton...

[He is clearly not happy with finding out that Mettaton has been a TERRIBLE FRIEND but right now, he really doesn't want to drag this out any further. He wants to run away. He wants to just ignore the feelings that he's having, the insistence that he and Herve are somehow the same. It's nonsense. It has to be. Mere coincidence. That's the logical explanation.]

What did I just say? Where I come from, there's no life after death. A young child died many years ago. What, do you think he somehow got reincarnated with a new body and a healthy heart even though that's literally not possible? That sounds like an incredibly silly tale to me.

[He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets.]

Not everything's a story with twists and turns, Mettaton. My problems are hardly some kind of conspiracy.

Sometimes things are just as mundane as they seem.

[Not everything's a story with twists and turns. If that's not the biggest lie Mettaton's ever heard. The audience deserves a good plot-twist, don't they? Isn't that how art imitates life?

Nothing's ever as mundane as it seems.

Mettaton takes his diary and places it into his storage again. He folds his hands behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels in the perfect picture of innocence.]

Your problems? There's an interesting way of putting it...

Anyway. You're a man of science and logic, aren't you? What's stopping me from assuming this poor little Herve had some sort of heart transplant under horrible circumstances and had to continue life under a new identity, with his name as the only connection to his past? What if he was gifted a second chance at life, only for tragedy to strike and keep him from living life as himself? You're just so suspiciously adamant that there's no connection!

[Ha... Hahahaha...!] Or this is a B-rate horror movie and you, the man who doesn't believe in ghosts, was a ghost this entire time. [He winks.] That twist gets used more often than you'd think, sweetie-pie.

Edited 2017-04-10 01:13 (UTC)

I'm adamant because it's nonsense. It's like me trying to claim you've secretly been a toaster that gained a soul this entire time. Don't tell me that you'd deny my arguments on that subject. Anyways, the village Herve lived in was small, and the only doctor who lived there was far from being a heart surgeon. He died. That's an undeniable fact.

[He shakes his head. Ah, yes. A twist. His life is merely some cosmic joke, a story, a beautiful incarnation of irony. Because that's how life works.]

[Keats feels like he's been punched in the gut. He's not going to show it. The dread he's feeling has to be because of something else. It's nonsense, nonsense, nonsense...]

[His throat feels dry.] Oh, come now, what are you saying now, ghosts can age? Mettaton, just stop before you start. You're making yourself look foolish.

[For an instant, the projected face over Mettaton's own pales again. Ha. Right. That's ridiculous. That's not what's going on with his body at all. He's just a robot... Nothing else.

...

He flips his hair, forcing himself to laugh it off.]

I was kidding, honeysuckle. Of course you're not a ghost. You interact with people, don't you? Feel things? [Not to mention that even appearance-wise, he's nothing like any spirits back home. Keats couldn't be a ghost.]

...So. You tell me why you hate your name so much.

Edited 2017-04-10 01:34 (UTC)

I certainly do. You don't see me passing through walls, do you?

[He chuckles as he shakes his head. Right, right, he's not a ghost. He's glad to get that out of the way where he never has to think about it ever again.]

I don't really hate it. It's just... [He shrugs.] It's just not really who I am? I'd rather see Keats on am article than that. Personal preference. When you use that name, it feels like you're talking to a stranger.

Yeah... [It's an agreement, as if he were commiserating, before he can really stop himself from doing it. It's his turn to shake his head now. Don't ask.

...whatever. He's obviously not going to get a fun story out of this, aside from the one he already has.

Mettaton turns, making to walk back to the hotel. He's walking slow enough to catch up to, clearly not intending to leave Keats behind, but ending this portion of the conversation.

...but you know.]

Why were you fighting people to take their snacks?

Pardon?

[He's glad they moved on, and he's even more than happy just to get back and not have to think about sleepwalking ever again.]

What snacks?

You were fighting the air attempting to steal someone's nuts. I had to stop you.

[Hee.]

People were beginning to stare.

...

Those nuts weren't for me.

[He sighs.]

They're for the Folks. They get stronger because of them, they're nuts that only grow in the Netherworld. I promise you, I'm not going to fight someone over regular nuts, alright? That's just ridiculous.

Would you say it's...

[Mettaton sweeps over to Keats' side, smacking him in the elbow with his arm.]

Nuts?

[EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEH~?? What sounds suspiciously like a rimshot leaves Mettaton's speakers and echos through the night.]

[He can't help it. It's a terrible joke. It's horrible.]

[And yet, he can't help but let out a snort.]

Oh, shut up. [He says, with a kind of fondness to the words that he isn't hiding.] That's a bad play on words and you know it.

[Heeheehee!!

So maybe he's linking arms with the other again. It's cute watching him laugh, okay? It doesn't happen often.]

Oh, Mr. High and Mighty with the humor, are we? Are you saying no one would ever cashew laughing at something like that?

Come now, Mettaton, I walnut stand for such kind of nut-associated nonsense.

[He says, with another short laugh as he draws closer to the other, not even thinking of moving away. It's just...nice. It's a good thing to have happen after this strange and bizarre evening filled with half-truths and confessions about the living dead.]

[It's just nice to walk together with Mettaton, laugh over puns, and not think of anything else.]

Ha!! [That was not a very flattering noise Mettaton just made. It was like a surprised snort of laughter crossed with a high-pitched squeal - he instinctively covers where the speaker on his chest should be while his cloaked face turns an embarrassing shade of red.

...

He "elbows" the other man again, ignoring that just happened.] I can't believe you just made a joke. Are we certain I'm talking to Keats, because I have half a mind to tell the universe to keep him if they took him. It's you and me, replacement-boy. The night has just pecan.

[Oh! Is that a blush he sees? Now it's his turn to elbow the other back with a grin he's really not even attempting to hide.]

Hey, now, I'll have you know, I do like a good joke once in a while, don't be so shocked! [He shakes his head.] Though, I have to honestly say that these puns are too acorny for words.

[Mettaton can't feel the gesture, but he sees it well enough. It's making him laugh harder.

As is that, what the hell is THAT?] Oh BOOOOOOOOOOOO!! [Canned_Heckling.mp3!] Boo! BOOO! Rubbish! Filth, slime, muck, etc!! That one was REACHING.

[...he's also out of nut puns, so Mettaton settles for letting his own laughter ring though the night.]

I had to do my best. It's all just driving me a bit nuts...

[He says, finally just ending with another soft laugh (two laughs in one night, this is a miracle) as he shifts to lean against the other as they walk. Keats feels very warm. Maybe that's the sleep deprivation talking.]

What time is it? I really need to catch up on sleep...

i invited ortega over tonight to watch sliders in my room (closed)

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