[When the hangover doesn’t kill him, Hank takes a walk. That’s not something he does anymore, walking for the hell of it - it’s not even something he used to do, really, unless walking Sumo counts - but if he’s not in his house Connor can’t find him. When he’d walked away from Connor he’d said he needed to think and the time between then and now wasn’t enough, he still has thinking to do, and Connor the WonderDroid can do a lot of shit but making things simple and easy to understand’s never been one of them.
Well, that and he needs to get his car. But avoiding any possibility of Connor for a little bit is the important thing.
He looks around as he walks. It’s the same world here around him that he left - that he didn’t leave, that he dreamed, that he didn’t actually miss, except for the way the monotonous little miseries of it, the stupid tragedies he sees at work, the cold war bullshit that comes at him every time he turns on the news, it’s all at least familiar enough to be boring, normal, mostly explicable. That dimension hopping hero bullshit had a lot going on, but it couldn’t hope to give him normal.
Except sometimes. Except almost, with some people. There are people that he misses. Which is stupid. Even if they were real, even if the stuff Connor told him back there did end up happening once he got back, it’s not like he doesn’t have other problems.
The park he’s walking past now isn’t the one his car is at. He’d never had a reason to go to this one; this one’s for adults, so the other one’d always been a better use of his then-precious free time. This one’s kind of boring anyway, just a bunch of trees and bushes and nature shit, but it’s the people who catch his eye. There’s more of them out than usual, more people carrying their own groceries, walking their own pets. It’s almost enough to make a guy grateful to the whole deviant thing, the glitch or virus or whatever the fuck it is that’s scaring people into abandoning their mechanical maids and doing shit for themselves again.
Almost. Almost grateful. Until he remembers the girls from last night - the androids. The way they held hands when they ran, the room full of machines that looked just like them waiting to either get pulled out of storage or tossed in the trash. The androids who would have been carrying these people’s groceries and walking their dogs, they’re probably all headed for a junkyard now. Those androids probably don’t even know, or care, because they can’t. It probably doesn’t matter.
This park’s got a little stage too, he remembers when he walks by it. It’s the kind of thing that gets used for bands just started out, little shows, usually about the same time as holidays and parades and whatever the fuck kind of reason people have for leaving their houses and standing around in the cold to celebrate stupid shit. Once he gets behind a thinner spot in the little crowd he sees Christmas decorations, little animatronic snowmen and all that cutesy crap, and starts walking faster. With the microphone and speakers all set out like that it looks like someone’s planning on playing soon, and if Christmas music’s about to start blasting around the place he’d better make tracks. It’s not like he needs another reason to puke this morning.]
[Where Hank sees the ordinary, Mettaton sees bright opportunity.
He doesn't know what happened. He had only been with the circle for a short while, but he thought he was establishing himself quite well. Others knew him coming before he even rounded the corner, and he knew he left a strong impression with whoever he interacted with. More than all of that, he'd been able to acquaint himself with humans. It wasn't the Surface he imagined, and he couldn't fulfill his dream to its fullest there, but it held for him other aspects of intrigue.
This place, however... It's a city, bustling with people (all human, he thinks; there's no reason for him to question otherwise) going about their lives. It reminds him of the way the Surface looks in the movies he used to watch, with all of its enchanting imperfections and charm. ...Honestly, it's more imperfect than charming: it's not that nice, but Mettaton appreciates that. That's why it needs him, to introduce his brand of spark! That's the opportunity he sees, even if he doesn't understand what caused him to lose contact with the circle and end up here, which he can only assume is the Surface. Finally. It must be. Why else would he be here?
The simple act of walking down a sidewalk has heads turning, and Mettaton basks in the attention, even though he can detect some discomfort and confusion from his onlookers. Landing on people's periphery doesn't always start out with abject admiration, he reminds himself. There's nowhere for him to go but up, whenever the opportunity strikes.
And that opportunity presents itself to him in the form of a stage in front of a small crowd. Mettaton smirks at the empty stage and unremarkable audience, the gears turning in his mind. Any chance he can take to get his image out there is one he has to seize; he feels his nerves alight with anticipation, and it draws him forward like a magnet to his metallic figure.
Immediately he knows what role to assume: without knowledge of the programming and without props, a sound mixer, lighting cues, or anything to form a show out of, he can't make the most out of this stage as an actor, singer, or dancer. What remains is the charismatic host, a malleable role which he can easily perform on the fly. He saunters up to the back of the stage and plucks the microphone from its place in wait. The tech crew can only sputter in protest as he makes his entrance on stage, a strangely built robot in hot pinks and shiny blacks usurping their average, less ostentatious host.
Mettaton spans his arms out with gusto, flashing the audience a confident smile. In a booming voice, Hotland's idol introduces the show before it's quite ready to go live. They'll have to embrace him once they see that he can turn even an intro into something remarkable, he decides.]
WELCOME, BEAUTIES!! TO YOUR LONG-AWAITED PERFORMANCE! LONG-AWAITED, IN THAT IT ONLY HAPPENS ONCE EVERY THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE DAYS. BUT IT'S THE SPIRIT THAT BRINGS YOU LOVELY PEOPLE HERE! ENDURING THE BITTER COLD FOR THIS ANNUAL EVENT... OOH, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT OUR WONDERFUL SHOW THIS AFTERNOON! ASIDE FROM THEIR RESTRICTED AVAILABILITY AND SEASONAL RELEVANCE.
[He has the crowd's attention, all right... If not for his absurd energy, then for his odd appearance. Mettaton steals a glance at the performance's group name, which is fortunately visible to him stage right on the face of a bag of equipment. He announces it in stride before animatedly clutching the microphone with two hands.]
BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THEM! YOU'LL ONLY HAVE ALL AFTERNOON TO DEDICATE THE REMNANTS OF YOUR ATTENTION TO THEIR ACT, ESPECIALLY AFTER HAVING THE SHOW EFFECTIVELY STOLEN BY A SHOW-STOPPING ROBOT!! I'M YOUR HOST, METTATON!
[Dramatically he presses his fingers to his chest in a flourish. Even from his position up on stage, he fails to notice Hank from his vantage point. The ill-prepared tech crew only gawks like they're watching an apartment building be swallowed by flames. What else can you do at something which disturbs the mundane on this level? Mettaton remains completely unaware of any turmoil between androids and humans — to him, this is the Surface.]
[No one pays Hank any attention - mostly because they’re all thinking the same thing, though probably for different reasons. For a second Hank does think, ‘well, shit, schizophrenia doesn’t run in the family, but maybe...’ before the baffled murmur of the crowd gets through to him. This park doesn’t book acts with androids anymore, Hank knows cause it’d been a whole thing when they decided it, canceled on some band and the manager stormed into the station yelling about it. It’s not like anyone in the crowd’s going to do anything, but the band or the guys setting up the stage could try something, and once it gets to be a big enough deal that people start wondering about this weird kid’s after school project version of an android, Mettaton’s as good as junked.]
Fuck.
[He starts elbowing his way through the crowd, just barely saving himself from pissing a couple people off with some hurried excuse me’s, and flashes his badge at the guys holding equipment near the stage. Not that he’s getting on, fuck no, but he’s going to stand on the side near the back and hiss about as loudly and furiously as he can get away with.]
Mettaton! Get the hell off there right now! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
[Mettaton gives in to the momentary flash of surprise that overcomes his smug smile when he recognizes Hank's voice. His attention darts to the side of the stage, his voice taking on its smoother, lighter quality as he speaks away from the mic.]
Hank? What...
[What is he doing here? He focuses on that for only a moment before he processes what he's saying; he registers it as unsolicited advice to dissuade him from making a bold statement here on this stage. Instead of taking it to heart as any grave matter, Mettaton goes back to smiling and brings that mic back, dauntless. Hank has involved himself in Mettaton's antics, so he'll have to take it in stride. He plants his free hand on his hip, shifting his weight onto one leg.]
What better way to support a friend... than through such expletive-laden expressions of "encouragement?" Thank you for showing up, darling! Now, I know what you're all thinking. Though he doesn't look like the type I'd associate with, appearances aren't always everything! WOULD THAT WE COULD ALL AIM FOR HIS LEVEL OF AUDACITY. [Mettaton's smile only grows at the sound of his own remarks, and he laughs behind a coquettish hand.] BUT WE CAN ALL FIND A LITTLE HUMOR IN THE UNEXPECTED! JUST AS WE CAN FIND THRILL IN AN UNEXPECTEDLY CHARMING HOST.
[Well... at least Hank flashing his badge is keeping the unprepared staff from launching into calling help on their own, even though one of them holds his phone at the ready. The guy holding equipment has moved to tell his cohorts that "somebody with a badge" is here to take care of this problem, which placates them into standing by for now.]
[And of course the asshole calls the crowd's attention to him. Hank's jaw is tight, his expression's a mix of anger and embarrassment, and he tries to ignore all the people and just focus on getting this fucking robot off the stage.]
What do you think you're gonna get out of this? These guys aren't here for you, they're not gonna buy your fucking album.
[It's not like he can explain outright, especially not now that everyone's paying attention to him, too. He's still hissing like he's trying not to be noticed but he's aware of them, aware of the fact that talking about how this is another dimension from whichever one Mettaton probably thinks he's in is a no-no. Maybe there's something he can say, play along with Mettaton a little, but convincing this guy not to fuck up isn't one of his favorite memories from that place, that stupid dream place that he can have an existential crisis about later. Which of course means that's the memory he gets to relive here in the real world. Cool. Great. This is exactly what he needed this morning.]
WELL OF COURSE THEY'RE NOT. [He rolls his visible eye.] IT HASN'T BEEN RELEASED YET!! THIS IS BUT A SMALL-SCALE PREVIEW FOR SOMETHING MUCH GREATER: MY FUTURE DEBUT!
[In his weird mind, this was going over well until Hank came along. He's recovered from it in the best way he can, but even Mettaton possesses the self-awareness to take notice of a few staff members looking on in dumbfounded confusion. He's confident enough in himself not to feel like there's anything to worry about, but with this interruption on top of this being so impromptu, Mettaton makes the call to turn this into a surprise drop-in. Like an exclusive heads-up for his existence, since he's just that stunning and all.
He'd like to know what Hank's doing here, anyway. MTT makes a show of checking his wrist and gasping. He's not wearing a watch.]
OOOH. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME! UNFORTUNATELY, IT'S TIME FOR YOUR OTHER PERFORMANCE! WHICH IS SURE TO BE SPLENDID. I HATE TO LEAVE YOU JUST AS WE WERE GETTING ACQUAINTED. WHAT A SHAME. BUT DON'T FRET! YOU WON'T HAVE TO GO ON WITHOUT ME FOR LONG! UNTIL NEXT TIME, DARLINGS...!
[Whether he's still under Astoria's power or not, at the very least Mettaton notices that his innate magical abilities have returned to him. To make a mysterious but memorable getaway, Mettaton creates a harmless but showy burst of smoke that swallows the stage with the point of his finger, accompanied by... sparkles. It's magic. He can do what he wants with it. He bolts off stage and grabs Hank by the wrist, dragging him off before anybody can see where he's gone off to.
He lets go once he can tell that Hank's taken the cue that he's moving away from the park.]
Did you really have to drop by to interrupt me like that...? Not to say I'm not shocked to see you here. I am! But.
[He runs a hand over his face, muttering for a second to himself.]
My own hallucination, shocked to see me.
Okay. Do you even fuckin- do you know where you are?
[Once Mettaton lets go of his hand he slows down. He probably won't remember they need to keep walking until some of the guys who were working that concert start to go looking for them.]
I believe that you'd hallucinate me, but I'm not hallucination, Hank-darling.
[He offers him a cocky grin before moving on.]
Let's see. Originally, I knew it: this is the Surface, of course! But then you showed up...
[Mettaton doesn't mind that Hank's slowed, since he's not in any state of urgency, either. He turns to face him, gesturing back to the stage which gradually clears of smoke. He grows more thoughtful, piecing this together as he talks.]
As you witnessed, Astoria's not limiting my powers, which is why I thought I'd returned home. But I'm beginning to wonder. Is this a new world she's sent us off to? Already?
[Hank looks pained. Sympathetic, maybe, even. He raises his bare wrist pointedly where Mettaton can see - no watch. No Astoria.]
I don't know what surface you're talking about, but this is Detroit. This is, uh- my home, I guess.
[It was less weird talking about the whole city like that when he was waiting to get sent back, when he wasn't in the middle of it. Then something occurs to him.]
Wait, she didn't send a bunch of you guys, did she? If this is gonna be another- that one where everything got eaten by a black hole or whatever, I uh- I think I've gotta take some time off work.
[Mettaton glances at his own wrist, prompted by Hank's demonstration. He doesn't normally feel the thing very well, so he pardons himself for not having noticed. But it's certainly gone. He rubs at his wrist thoughtfully.]
That's odd. I haven't seen any familiar faces but your own, beautiful... Not that I know what black hole you're referring to. But who knows. You might be onto something! Better file that request for time off!
[Still, the lack of a watch is a concern. Mettaton glances around at the tall buildings, drinking it in with the new knowledge that this isn't necessarily the Surface he imagined. And if it's Hank's world...]
Or maybe it was just a mistake, sending me here. Ha... I've heard she makes those now and then. And on large scales, at that. [Enough to accidentally... send him to a world that isn't his own? Apparently that's possible — if he's standing here, there's no questioning that.] How does it go? That she "loses connection" with us. Perhaps there was some kind of accident...
[Looking at passersby takes on a new dimension. These aren't the humans who he'd anticipate having any history with monsterkind, like those on the Surface. Instead, they must be humans that, like Hank, have some experience with androids that would inevitably color their view of them. A history he's not entirely caught up on, he realizes. His understanding of Hank's history is only so deep.
He looks over his shoulder. The coordinators are still on the outskirts of the small-time performance after doing damage control, watching warily at what they think is Hank "dealing" with the amateurish android.]
Detroit, huh. It really bears some resemblance to the Surface... [In movies, anyway. He's never been there.]
The surface of what? You live underground or something?
[He sounds distracted when he says it, looking at the guys back there looking at them. He grabs for Mettaton's arm, meaning to start walking and pulling him along behind him.]
Come on, they've got to think I'm taking you somewhere, and I don't have my car.
[But it's not like he doesn't feel bad for the guy. Stranded somewhere that's not home isn't a feeling he can really relate to but he can imagine it, and for a second his expression scrunches up with something that's either sympathy or guilt.]
We'll... we'll work on getting you home, okay? [Somehow.] But you kinda came at a bad time, there's a lot of shit going down right now. So I'd keep my head down if I were you.
[He says that last part pointedly, raising his eyebrows.]]
No more concerts or... whatever the fuck you were doing.
[Mettaton starts when Hank grabs him and stumbles after him, recovering his posture and blinking down at the other man. It's all he can do to both listen and take another good look around. He drinks in the sight of tall buildings, crisp cool skies, and lots and lots of humans while processing bad time and a lot of shit and keep my head down.
The android tries to wriggle his arm free of Hank's grasp with a self-assured smile.]
You KNOW saying those kinds of things will only entice me to put myself out there some more. That's how it works, darling.
[He snorts, still not taking this situation very seriously.]
But, all right. I'll entertain this notion. What sort of bad time is so severe that I can't spend my time making my mark... while I await a solution to get me to my rightful home?
[Hank lets go of Mettaton's arm very slowly and with a look of deep suspicion. The guy's the noodliest android Hank's ever seen and he could probably squirm free if Hank tries to grab him again, and Hank really needs to keep him close - but he's not mad enough to try dragging Mettaton behind him, and it feels like kind of a dick move. The suspicious look sticks around a couple seconds - telling Mettaton not to do something only encourages him to do it, apparently, because he's that kind of idiot - but it fades a little when Hank starts focusing on where he's walking again.]
The kind of bad that's gonna get you turned into a pile of scrap.
[A woman stares at Mettaton as she passes them. Really stares, and Hank on one level can't really blame her because Mettaton is so, so weird, but he gives her a big fuck you smile and she turns away again.]
Androids who wanna 'put themselves out there' aren't something people want right now. We've got too much of that. I should find you a news pad or something, get you caught up...
[He trails off, caught up in thoughts about all the fucking trouble Mettaton being here is going to be, and mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair.]
You don't even look like a normal android so we can't even hide you, or... fuck.
What kind of mark is it you wanna make? I guess it's not the kind where I could keep you holed up in my house with a bunch of fingerpaints and trust you to stay put, huh?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
post-acata psl for glitzandglamour
Well, that and he needs to get his car. But avoiding any possibility of Connor for a little bit is the important thing.
He looks around as he walks. It’s the same world here around him that he left - that he didn’t leave, that he dreamed, that he didn’t actually miss, except for the way the monotonous little miseries of it, the stupid tragedies he sees at work, the cold war bullshit that comes at him every time he turns on the news, it’s all at least familiar enough to be boring, normal, mostly explicable. That dimension hopping hero bullshit had a lot going on, but it couldn’t hope to give him normal.
Except sometimes. Except almost, with some people. There are people that he misses. Which is stupid. Even if they were real, even if the stuff Connor told him back there did end up happening once he got back, it’s not like he doesn’t have other problems.
The park he’s walking past now isn’t the one his car is at. He’d never had a reason to go to this one; this one’s for adults, so the other one’d always been a better use of his then-precious free time. This one’s kind of boring anyway, just a bunch of trees and bushes and nature shit, but it’s the people who catch his eye. There’s more of them out than usual, more people carrying their own groceries, walking their own pets. It’s almost enough to make a guy grateful to the whole deviant thing, the glitch or virus or whatever the fuck it is that’s scaring people into abandoning their mechanical maids and doing shit for themselves again.
Almost. Almost grateful. Until he remembers the girls from last night - the androids. The way they held hands when they ran, the room full of machines that looked just like them waiting to either get pulled out of storage or tossed in the trash. The androids who would have been carrying these people’s groceries and walking their dogs, they’re probably all headed for a junkyard now. Those androids probably don’t even know, or care, because they can’t. It probably doesn’t matter.
This park’s got a little stage too, he remembers when he walks by it. It’s the kind of thing that gets used for bands just started out, little shows, usually about the same time as holidays and parades and whatever the fuck kind of reason people have for leaving their houses and standing around in the cold to celebrate stupid shit. Once he gets behind a thinner spot in the little crowd he sees Christmas decorations, little animatronic snowmen and all that cutesy crap, and starts walking faster. With the microphone and speakers all set out like that it looks like someone’s planning on playing soon, and if Christmas music’s about to start blasting around the place he’d better make tracks. It’s not like he needs another reason to puke this morning.]
no subject
He doesn't know what happened. He had only been with the circle for a short while, but he thought he was establishing himself quite well. Others knew him coming before he even rounded the corner, and he knew he left a strong impression with whoever he interacted with. More than all of that, he'd been able to acquaint himself with humans. It wasn't the Surface he imagined, and he couldn't fulfill his dream to its fullest there, but it held for him other aspects of intrigue.
This place, however... It's a city, bustling with people (all human, he thinks; there's no reason for him to question otherwise) going about their lives. It reminds him of the way the Surface looks in the movies he used to watch, with all of its enchanting imperfections and charm. ...Honestly, it's more imperfect than charming: it's not that nice, but Mettaton appreciates that. That's why it needs him, to introduce his brand of spark! That's the opportunity he sees, even if he doesn't understand what caused him to lose contact with the circle and end up here, which he can only assume is the Surface. Finally. It must be. Why else would he be here?
The simple act of walking down a sidewalk has heads turning, and Mettaton basks in the attention, even though he can detect some discomfort and confusion from his onlookers. Landing on people's periphery doesn't always start out with abject admiration, he reminds himself. There's nowhere for him to go but up, whenever the opportunity strikes.
And that opportunity presents itself to him in the form of a stage in front of a small crowd. Mettaton smirks at the empty stage and unremarkable audience, the gears turning in his mind. Any chance he can take to get his image out there is one he has to seize; he feels his nerves alight with anticipation, and it draws him forward like a magnet to his metallic figure.
Immediately he knows what role to assume: without knowledge of the programming and without props, a sound mixer, lighting cues, or anything to form a show out of, he can't make the most out of this stage as an actor, singer, or dancer. What remains is the charismatic host, a malleable role which he can easily perform on the fly. He saunters up to the back of the stage and plucks the microphone from its place in wait. The tech crew can only sputter in protest as he makes his entrance on stage, a strangely built robot in hot pinks and shiny blacks usurping their average, less ostentatious host.
Mettaton spans his arms out with gusto, flashing the audience a confident smile. In a booming voice, Hotland's idol introduces the show before it's quite ready to go live. They'll have to embrace him once they see that he can turn even an intro into something remarkable, he decides.]
WELCOME, BEAUTIES!! TO YOUR LONG-AWAITED PERFORMANCE! LONG-AWAITED, IN THAT IT ONLY HAPPENS ONCE EVERY THREE-HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE DAYS. BUT IT'S THE SPIRIT THAT BRINGS YOU LOVELY PEOPLE HERE! ENDURING THE BITTER COLD FOR THIS ANNUAL EVENT... OOH, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT OUR WONDERFUL SHOW THIS AFTERNOON! ASIDE FROM THEIR RESTRICTED AVAILABILITY AND SEASONAL RELEVANCE.
[He has the crowd's attention, all right... If not for his absurd energy, then for his odd appearance. Mettaton steals a glance at the performance's group name, which is fortunately visible to him stage right on the face of a bag of equipment. He announces it in stride before animatedly clutching the microphone with two hands.]
BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THEM! YOU'LL ONLY HAVE ALL AFTERNOON TO DEDICATE THE REMNANTS OF YOUR ATTENTION TO THEIR ACT, ESPECIALLY AFTER HAVING THE SHOW EFFECTIVELY STOLEN BY A SHOW-STOPPING ROBOT!! I'M YOUR HOST, METTATON!
[Dramatically he presses his fingers to his chest in a flourish. Even from his position up on stage, he fails to notice Hank from his vantage point. The ill-prepared tech crew only gawks like they're watching an apartment building be swallowed by flames. What else can you do at something which disturbs the mundane on this level? Mettaton remains completely unaware of any turmoil between androids and humans — to him, this is the Surface.]
no subject
[No one pays Hank any attention - mostly because they’re all thinking the same thing, though probably for different reasons. For a second Hank does think, ‘well, shit, schizophrenia doesn’t run in the family, but maybe...’ before the baffled murmur of the crowd gets through to him. This park doesn’t book acts with androids anymore, Hank knows cause it’d been a whole thing when they decided it, canceled on some band and the manager stormed into the station yelling about it. It’s not like anyone in the crowd’s going to do anything, but the band or the guys setting up the stage could try something, and once it gets to be a big enough deal that people start wondering about this weird kid’s after school project version of an android, Mettaton’s as good as junked.]
Fuck.
[He starts elbowing his way through the crowd, just barely saving himself from pissing a couple people off with some hurried excuse me’s, and flashes his badge at the guys holding equipment near the stage. Not that he’s getting on, fuck no, but he’s going to stand on the side near the back and hiss about as loudly and furiously as he can get away with.]
Mettaton! Get the hell off there right now! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
no subject
Hank? What...
[What is he doing here? He focuses on that for only a moment before he processes what he's saying; he registers it as unsolicited advice to dissuade him from making a bold statement here on this stage. Instead of taking it to heart as any grave matter, Mettaton goes back to smiling and brings that mic back, dauntless. Hank has involved himself in Mettaton's antics, so he'll have to take it in stride. He plants his free hand on his hip, shifting his weight onto one leg.]
What better way to support a friend... than through such expletive-laden expressions of "encouragement?" Thank you for showing up, darling! Now, I know what you're all thinking. Though he doesn't look like the type I'd associate with, appearances aren't always everything! WOULD THAT WE COULD ALL AIM FOR HIS LEVEL OF AUDACITY. [Mettaton's smile only grows at the sound of his own remarks, and he laughs behind a coquettish hand.] BUT WE CAN ALL FIND A LITTLE HUMOR IN THE UNEXPECTED! JUST AS WE CAN FIND THRILL IN AN UNEXPECTEDLY CHARMING HOST.
[Well... at least Hank flashing his badge is keeping the unprepared staff from launching into calling help on their own, even though one of them holds his phone at the ready. The guy holding equipment has moved to tell his cohorts that "somebody with a badge" is here to take care of this problem, which placates them into standing by for now.]
no subject
What do you think you're gonna get out of this? These guys aren't here for you, they're not gonna buy your fucking album.
[It's not like he can explain outright, especially not now that everyone's paying attention to him, too. He's still hissing like he's trying not to be noticed but he's aware of them, aware of the fact that talking about how this is another dimension from whichever one Mettaton probably thinks he's in is a no-no. Maybe there's something he can say, play along with Mettaton a little, but convincing this guy not to fuck up isn't one of his favorite memories from that place, that stupid dream place that he can have an existential crisis about later. Which of course means that's the memory he gets to relive here in the real world. Cool. Great. This is exactly what he needed this morning.]
no subject
[In his weird mind, this was going over well until Hank came along. He's recovered from it in the best way he can, but even Mettaton possesses the self-awareness to take notice of a few staff members looking on in dumbfounded confusion. He's confident enough in himself not to feel like there's anything to worry about, but with this interruption on top of this being so impromptu, Mettaton makes the call to turn this into a surprise drop-in. Like an exclusive heads-up for his existence, since he's just that stunning and all.
He'd like to know what Hank's doing here, anyway. MTT makes a show of checking his wrist and gasping. He's not wearing a watch.]
OOOH. WOULD YOU LOOK AT THE TIME! UNFORTUNATELY, IT'S TIME FOR YOUR OTHER PERFORMANCE! WHICH IS SURE TO BE SPLENDID. I HATE TO LEAVE YOU JUST AS WE WERE GETTING ACQUAINTED. WHAT A SHAME. BUT DON'T FRET! YOU WON'T HAVE TO GO ON WITHOUT ME FOR LONG! UNTIL NEXT TIME, DARLINGS...!
[Whether he's still under Astoria's power or not, at the very least Mettaton notices that his innate magical abilities have returned to him. To make a mysterious but memorable getaway, Mettaton creates a harmless but showy burst of smoke that swallows the stage with the point of his finger, accompanied by... sparkles. It's magic. He can do what he wants with it. He bolts off stage and grabs Hank by the wrist, dragging him off before anybody can see where he's gone off to.
He lets go once he can tell that Hank's taken the cue that he's moving away from the park.]
Did you really have to drop by to interrupt me like that...? Not to say I'm not shocked to see you here. I am! But.
no subject
[He runs a hand over his face, muttering for a second to himself.]
My own hallucination, shocked to see me.
Okay. Do you even fuckin- do you know where you are?
[Once Mettaton lets go of his hand he slows down. He probably won't remember they need to keep walking until some of the guys who were working that concert start to go looking for them.]
no subject
[He offers him a cocky grin before moving on.]
Let's see. Originally, I knew it: this is the Surface, of course! But then you showed up...
[Mettaton doesn't mind that Hank's slowed, since he's not in any state of urgency, either. He turns to face him, gesturing back to the stage which gradually clears of smoke. He grows more thoughtful, piecing this together as he talks.]
As you witnessed, Astoria's not limiting my powers, which is why I thought I'd returned home. But I'm beginning to wonder. Is this a new world she's sent us off to? Already?
[He has no idea.]
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I don't know what surface you're talking about, but this is Detroit. This is, uh- my home, I guess.
[It was less weird talking about the whole city like that when he was waiting to get sent back, when he wasn't in the middle of it. Then something occurs to him.]
Wait, she didn't send a bunch of you guys, did she? If this is gonna be another- that one where everything got eaten by a black hole or whatever, I uh- I think I've gotta take some time off work.
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That's odd. I haven't seen any familiar faces but your own, beautiful... Not that I know what black hole you're referring to. But who knows. You might be onto something! Better file that request for time off!
[Still, the lack of a watch is a concern. Mettaton glances around at the tall buildings, drinking it in with the new knowledge that this isn't necessarily the Surface he imagined. And if it's Hank's world...]
Or maybe it was just a mistake, sending me here. Ha... I've heard she makes those now and then. And on large scales, at that. [Enough to accidentally... send him to a world that isn't his own? Apparently that's possible — if he's standing here, there's no questioning that.] How does it go? That she "loses connection" with us. Perhaps there was some kind of accident...
[Looking at passersby takes on a new dimension. These aren't the humans who he'd anticipate having any history with monsterkind, like those on the Surface. Instead, they must be humans that, like Hank, have some experience with androids that would inevitably color their view of them. A history he's not entirely caught up on, he realizes. His understanding of Hank's history is only so deep.
He looks over his shoulder. The coordinators are still on the outskirts of the small-time performance after doing damage control, watching warily at what they think is Hank "dealing" with the amateurish android.]
Detroit, huh. It really bears some resemblance to the Surface... [In movies, anyway. He's never been there.]
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[He sounds distracted when he says it, looking at the guys back there looking at them. He grabs for Mettaton's arm, meaning to start walking and pulling him along behind him.]
Come on, they've got to think I'm taking you somewhere, and I don't have my car.
[But it's not like he doesn't feel bad for the guy. Stranded somewhere that's not home isn't a feeling he can really relate to but he can imagine it, and for a second his expression scrunches up with something that's either sympathy or guilt.]
We'll... we'll work on getting you home, okay? [Somehow.] But you kinda came at a bad time, there's a lot of shit going down right now. So I'd keep my head down if I were you.
[He says that last part pointedly, raising his eyebrows.]]
No more concerts or... whatever the fuck you were doing.
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The android tries to wriggle his arm free of Hank's grasp with a self-assured smile.]
You KNOW saying those kinds of things will only entice me to put myself out there some more. That's how it works, darling.
[He snorts, still not taking this situation very seriously.]
But, all right. I'll entertain this notion. What sort of bad time is so severe that I can't spend my time making my mark... while I await a solution to get me to my rightful home?
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The kind of bad that's gonna get you turned into a pile of scrap.
[A woman stares at Mettaton as she passes them. Really stares, and Hank on one level can't really blame her because Mettaton is so, so weird, but he gives her a big fuck you smile and she turns away again.]
Androids who wanna 'put themselves out there' aren't something people want right now. We've got too much of that. I should find you a news pad or something, get you caught up...
[He trails off, caught up in thoughts about all the fucking trouble Mettaton being here is going to be, and mutters to himself, running a hand through his hair.]
You don't even look like a normal android so we can't even hide you, or... fuck.
What kind of mark is it you wanna make? I guess it's not the kind where I could keep you holed up in my house with a bunch of fingerpaints and trust you to stay put, huh?