[Mettaton gives Eren a smile. It's a touch malicious, tired and tried, his brow knit and his laugh soft, near incredulous.]
Demanding... How rude of you. [With that dexterous leg, the robot points to the lid, already on the floor... The box is open, but it's Mettaton taking a moment to stabilize the box amidst all of his gesturing with hand and leg alike.] I don't know where you get off on calling MY arm, yours. The nerve. If you were that much of a fan of mine, you could just ask, darling! I'm quite generous. [Pause. A twist of his smile in response to the shrill cry of talons upon metal.] And don't scratch my arm like that.
[How accommodating Mettaton would be, if Eren just came up to him and told him how much he loved his arms! A unique pick for a favorite feature, but Mettaton would understand. There's a lot to love about him, he'd say.
Where Mikasa's illusion falters at the possessive curl of Eren's long, serpentine tail, Mettaton remains just as house-fire-smelling and distractingly waving a boxed knife around as before. This won't stop Eren from noticing her, but maybe, just maybe, Mettaton's Puca luck will rub off on the Fae who deigns to keep her invisibility.
Or maybe fast action will work. With Mettaton's remaining arm, he holds out the knife for Eren's appraisal. It smells sweet, but not precisely telling of chocolate... Sweet, bitter, but it's obviously sharp and glistening, even signed with Mettaton's initials on its blade! How nice. Mettaton's irate smile veers charming, and his arm socket sparks as he unconsciously tries to gesture with his missing arm to its splendor like he's advertising a product on the streetside.]
If you like what you see... I'll let you take it, but you have to give me my arm first! I promise I'll hand over this knife! You have my word.
[ a wonderful combination of puca luck and mettaton’s prompt distraction is the only thing that saves mikasa’s presence in the shadows. otherwise— his tongue would’ve caught it. the aroma of wild berries, of honey and tart . . . it is dim on the puca’s furry ears. his pointed stare at where the fae should be is quickly interrupted by wanting to see the knife. the deep growling at the back of his throat is almost an imposter to purring— but there’s an edge to it. he keeps saying his arm his arm and it is not his arm unless he chooses to give it to him. and what an observation it was . . . his eyes are so wide, so astounded, like coming upon a wonder of the world, a true wonder.
he doesn’t have this knife. eren bends in ever angle to be able to catch it at its most beautiful. even a gasp drips from his lips as the greed presses its hands to his pride and strangles it quiet. it was. gorgeous. tentatively, eren hovers his talons out , clicks them back into a retreating curl, thinks— thinks long and hard.
well, he supposes, even if his pinned ears drop in deflating body language when silently saying his goodbyes to the pointed edges of the robotic limb. it’s a good trade. his hoarding blinds him to anything else.
he holds both hands out, palms up; one of them is free and beckons for the faux blade, while the other holds mettaton’s arm, secured to take back but equally ready to let go if he’s given the trade. ]
[Yes. Yes. Mettaton chants internally many different coaxing, hopeful agreements, smiling and nodding ever-so-slightly as he sees Eren glance between the (oh, sharpened) ends of his arm, versus the chocolate knife he holds in a nice ornamental box.
But what surprises him is how effective knives are... He'd heard about it. But seeing it first hand... (And he registered his arm as categorically relevant?!)
It's too long for Mettaton to be so still and quiet, but he remains that way with bated breath he doesn't possess, robot that he is. And finally, finally, Eren holds out... three hands.
One of them's Mettaton's, and that's all that matters.
With a skip, the Puca carelessly (and perhaps even recklessly) closes that distance.]
Well, I said to give it to me first, but! I'll take it. [Knife box set in one palm, and now the Puca's reaching for his rightful prize: his arm!] I hope you find that blade as sweet a victory, as I find reclaiming my arm to be!! I may have handsome legs, but I still use my arms!
[Yes Eren, look at the shine of dark hardened chocolate. The occasional flicker of sparkle from where fae dust had gotten caught in the mix. Clearly, this knife was sharper than the arm, it was made for this.
At Mettaton's recklessness, Mikasa falters. Blinking. Mtt plz, wait until Eren had fully extended, putting himself off balance for the trade. But nevermind, it was too late and she couldn't say anything without being noticed.
But she keeps her watch trained on the two. All that time recording Tater waddle was being put to good use. Now Mettaton just had to go before Eren realised he'd been duped.]
[ sorry, mettaton and company— as soon as the box’s weight taps onto his palm, eren’s remaining fingers snap into a curl much like a predatory plant around it; the arm is given freedom, but the box is now taken by both greedy claws. any words that the puca has spoken are replied to with a now disinterest grunt as he marvels, like a child in a candy store (this will not age well) at the boxed, sleek black knife. his tail returns to him as he also chooses to walk some paces away from them, but just enough to give himself protective space to inspect the new addition to his collection. how lovely a point, the shine, it even looks like its been carefully crafted into one as his talons diligently lift the faux blade from its cell.
the dragon’s tail curl’s around his own ankles, and his possession runs amok in his thoughts. eren allows the object to fall flat on both palms now that he venerates it, touches and licks and creates too much friction for molded chocolate to handle. the blade’s face dents as its turned over eagerly, almost immediately turned over once more when keen reptilian eyes catch the molded spot of his own damn finger.
[That was a fast grab. As soon as Eren takes the box, Mettaton's nearly concerned that in his reverie, he'd forget to hand back his, well, hand... But Eren gives his arm at the tug of it, and Mettaton takes his precious limb back. His ears bolt upright at the sensation of his transaction gone so smoothly, and the Puca even jumps for joy. Just a little skip to his step, a sort of half-circle first around Eren, then around the... invisible Mikasa.]
Fabulous!! It's a deal, then. Well! I'd better be heading off, so I can put myself in the capable hands of a queen of a machinist! I have an appointment already set. [Like he's off to get his nails done, or something.
Mettaton bounds forward by a few steps, sure to proclaim loudly that he intends to leave... Even though he can tell Eren's absorbed by the knife.]
You really do like... ... [... Nevermind. It was near ritualistic and rapturous, the way he was just... —Well, Mettaton knows that he'd better head off before the knife melts.] Whatever. Hope you find that knife as sweet as I do, darling! Toodles!
[Mikasa... come hither. If she doesn't, it's not that Mettaton knows where she is. He sort of gazes at the air, unable to see where she is at all. Then, he makes a dash for it.]
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Demanding... How rude of you. [With that dexterous leg, the robot points to the lid, already on the floor... The box is open, but it's Mettaton taking a moment to stabilize the box amidst all of his gesturing with hand and leg alike.] I don't know where you get off on calling MY arm, yours. The nerve. If you were that much of a fan of mine, you could just ask, darling! I'm quite generous. [Pause. A twist of his smile in response to the shrill cry of talons upon metal.] And don't scratch my arm like that.
[How accommodating Mettaton would be, if Eren just came up to him and told him how much he loved his arms! A unique pick for a favorite feature, but Mettaton would understand. There's a lot to love about him, he'd say.
Where Mikasa's illusion falters at the possessive curl of Eren's long, serpentine tail, Mettaton remains just as house-fire-smelling and distractingly waving a boxed knife around as before. This won't stop Eren from noticing her, but maybe, just maybe, Mettaton's Puca luck will rub off on the Fae who deigns to keep her invisibility.
Or maybe fast action will work. With Mettaton's remaining arm, he holds out the knife for Eren's appraisal. It smells sweet, but not precisely telling of chocolate... Sweet, bitter, but it's obviously sharp and glistening, even signed with Mettaton's initials on its blade! How nice. Mettaton's irate smile veers charming, and his arm socket sparks as he unconsciously tries to gesture with his missing arm to its splendor like he's advertising a product on the streetside.]
If you like what you see... I'll let you take it, but you have to give me my arm first! I promise I'll hand over this knife! You have my word.
no subject
he doesn’t have this knife. eren bends in ever angle to be able to catch it at its most beautiful. even a gasp drips from his lips as the greed presses its hands to his pride and strangles it quiet. it was. gorgeous. tentatively, eren hovers his talons out , clicks them back into a retreating curl, thinks— thinks long and hard.
well, he supposes, even if his pinned ears drop in deflating body language when silently saying his goodbyes to the pointed edges of the robotic limb. it’s a good trade. his hoarding blinds him to anything else.
he holds both hands out, palms up; one of them is free and beckons for the faux blade, while the other holds mettaton’s arm, secured to take back but equally ready to let go if he’s given the trade. ]
no subject
But what surprises him is how effective knives are... He'd heard about it. But seeing it first hand... (And he registered his arm as categorically relevant?!)
It's too long for Mettaton to be so still and quiet, but he remains that way with bated breath he doesn't possess, robot that he is. And finally, finally, Eren holds out... three hands.
One of them's Mettaton's, and that's all that matters.
With a skip, the Puca carelessly (and perhaps even recklessly) closes that distance.]
Well, I said to give it to me first, but! I'll take it. [Knife box set in one palm, and now the Puca's reaching for his rightful prize: his arm!] I hope you find that blade as sweet a victory, as I find reclaiming my arm to be!! I may have handsome legs, but I still use my arms!
no subject
At Mettaton's recklessness, Mikasa falters. Blinking. Mtt plz, wait until Eren had fully extended, putting himself off balance for the trade. But nevermind, it was too late and she couldn't say anything without being noticed.
But she keeps her watch trained on the two. All that time recording Tater waddle was being put to good use. Now Mettaton just had to go before Eren realised he'd been duped.]
no subject
the dragon’s tail curl’s around his own ankles, and his possession runs amok in his thoughts. eren allows the object to fall flat on both palms now that he venerates it, touches and licks and creates too much friction for molded chocolate to handle. the blade’s face dents as its turned over eagerly, almost immediately turned over once more when keen reptilian eyes catch the molded spot of his own damn finger.
no subject
Fabulous!! It's a deal, then. Well! I'd better be heading off, so I can put myself in the capable hands of a queen of a machinist! I have an appointment already set. [Like he's off to get his nails done, or something.
Mettaton bounds forward by a few steps, sure to proclaim loudly that he intends to leave... Even though he can tell Eren's absorbed by the knife.]
You really do like... ... [... Nevermind. It was near ritualistic and rapturous, the way he was just... —Well, Mettaton knows that he'd better head off before the knife melts.] Whatever. Hope you find that knife as sweet as I do, darling! Toodles!
[Mikasa... come hither. If she doesn't, it's not that Mettaton knows where she is. He sort of gazes at the air, unable to see where she is at all. Then, he makes a dash for it.]
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Then for a second a chittering-laugh slipped through the illusion and she still...
Then she too bolted. The illusion coming undone completely as she got to the corner Mettaton had turned down. ]