Mettaton.
The most fabulous celebrity of monsterkind. So he’d like to think. Positive thinking is vital for his business.
He expected to begin his Sunday morning with a hearty breakfast: joyful smiles with the rest of the family before they resume their plans for the concert.
Instead…
He found himself standing before the ugliest of ugly scenes.
Broken windows.
Chipped walls.
Bags of stinking garbage.
And an eyesore of a graffiti, filled with messages of hatred. The words they used were so strong that Mettaton refused to acknowledge their existence.
His studio was vandalized overnight. To make matters worse, the mayhem shook his family.
Blooky wouldn’t stop crying.
Mad Dummy almost made the situation worse by flipping out, throwing stuffing everywhere.
Shyren swam straight to Lemon Bread’s room and refused to emerge since.
Then there's the media.
If Mettaton had a choice, he rather spend all day comforting his traumatized family. But he’s the front face, the brand name. All his fans would want to hear his thoughts.
He had a job to do and people to protect.
Reporters crowded the front line. Station-quality microphones loomed over the hot-pink glam bot’s head.
“Mettaton, do you know who did this?”
He shook his head. “Oh no, darling. I don’t.”
Another reporter asked, “In the past, you've disagreed with quite a few major parties from the entertainment industry. Think any of those could be the culprit?”
“Disagreements happen all the time, dear,” Mettaton replied. “I’m confident that my talented peers would never resort to such pettiness. If they do, well, I pity them. This is so juvenile that it’s beneath actual juveniles. Absolutely lacking in class!”
“Mister Mettaton, you don’t recognize that symbol?”
“A symbol?” he turned back to look at his messed up walls. “Well darling dearest, it’s quite a cacophony of symbols here. Would you be so kind to point out the one that caught your eye?”
“Over there, sir.” The reporter pointed his finger to a red bolt of lightning. All cameras shifted their attention there.
Mettaton tilted his head in puzzlement. “Is there something special about that one? I thought they’re just being edgy.”
A shocked gasp washed over the media crew.
“That’s Gungnir’s emblem. You don’t know anything about them?”
“I’m afraid not, sweetie,” the robot frowned. “Could you enlighten me?”
A voice from the far back answered before the reporter could say anything: “They’re extremists. The lowest of lowlifes. These people fear anything they do not understand.”
All attention turned towards the source. There stood a man in a tailcoat and an ebony cane.
Mettaton recognized him as the Magus with the red brooch. Papyrus’ trusted friend, and the one who saved Frisk from the torment of the DEMON Chara.
He’s not alone this time; he brought some bodyguards to keep the crowd from smothering him.
Without saying a word or even glancing at the reporters, he cut through all the way to his intended destination. This is a man experienced in dealing with the press.
“Good morning, Mister Mezil.” Mettaton greeted with his usual charm. “I’m sorry that my establishment is rather… embellished at the moment.”
The old man replied, “It’s fine. We should talk inside.”
“Oh? That’s quick. Please offer me a moment for a closing statement to the press. At least so those poor darlings will have something to write about.”
Being a newscaster once himself, Mettaton understood their hardships. He walked up to the front and beckoned the crowd toward his side.
When he had their attention, he began his speech:
“To my darling fans, this has been quite an upsetting day,” he said. “My house of creativity got vandalized and my family traumatized. Of course, I am both angry and disappointed. At the same time I’m very sad for the perpetrators. What compelled them to do such a thing? They must be miserable people.”
“My time on the Surface has taught me plenty of things. The wonder! The splendour! The glitz and glamour! The fabulousness of humanity! Freedom of expression and freedom of taste. Anyone has the right not to like my work.”
“I’m fine with that, baby! I have matured both as a celebrity and a person. But there’s no need to resort to such destructive methods of voicing your opinions. Look at this mess. I cannot believe this is healthy for anyone, even for the vandalizers. Especially the vandalizers.”
He smiled, he sparkled, and he posed. “If you need more information, or someone to lend you an ear, my hotline is always open. Maybe we could smooth out the roilings of your heart.”
“And to rest of my fabulous darlings out there, please don’t do anything rash! I understand your outrage. Oh how could anyone do such a dastardly deed? No one hurts my crew, that sort of thing. But that’s exactly why we should remain calm.”
“I don’t want any of you sweethearts out there getting hurt. Or hurting others for the matter. I appreciate your concern, but let the good police handle this matter. Thank you for listening to me~”
The robot celebrity set his attention on the reporters themselves. “No cuts, please. No editing or whatnot. My message must reach the ears and eyes of every single lovely beauties out there. Toodles for now.”
With his statements made, Mettaton strut back to the studio. Mezil’s bodyguards escorted both of them in and prevented anyone from following.
The group slipped past the doors, shutting it tight, though they're not out of the woods yet. They must reach inner chambers before they can breathe.
Mettaton led Mezil to his sound recording room. It’s far away from the entrance and it’s isolated by default.
Finally, the glam bot dropped his front. He leaned against the wall and whined, “This is the worst morning ever.”
The old man commented, “You handled it very well, Mister Mettaton. Despite your nervousness.”
Mezil Thyme.
The epitome of a ‘sharp tsundere principal’, as Papyrus had described. It’s rather intimidating.
Still, Mettaton put on a good show.
“Thank you…” he said, “So what brings you here Mister Mezil? Are you interested in the progress of my magnificent work? An offer for a promotion in your circles, perhaps?”
“I’m more interested in you,” he replied. With a straight face.
That one sentence sent a jolt through the glam bot’s SOUL.
GASP! Is he flirting with me?! That’s such a Frisky thing to do!
Oh no, I must quickly clarify this situation before his passion burns blazing hot.
Mettaton chuckled and waved a hand across his face. “I’m sorry, sir. You certainly have a splendous fancy style, but I’m not looking for a partner yet.”
Mezil squinted at the statement. “Has humanity corrupted your mind so soon? I don’t mean it that way, Mister Mettaton. I’m talking about your philosophy. Ideals. The reason why you became a celebrity.”
“…Oh, my bad about the misunderstanding.” Now he felt rather embarrassed. “Fans. You know. They can get pretty carried away. And I am quite a popular individual.”
Phew. I’m glad that it’s nothing flirtatious.
It’s just an interview. Something that I’ve done a billion times by now. It’ll be a breeze.
Now, to make things a little less awkward.
Mettaton said, “If that’s the case, I should provide the necessary refreshments. Do you prefer coffee or tea?”
“No preference,” Mezil replied, “I enjoy both. Sometimes combined.”
Tea and coffee combined? That’s a Far East speciality, so I’ve heard. He’s more open to new things than he looks.
“Very well. Please follow me to the guest area.”
The ‘guest area’ was more of a corner in the relaxation lounge. It’s comfortable enough to invite guests for both interviews and business discussions.
The usual studio crew doesn't check in on Sundays. With the rest of the family still reeling from the mishap, he had to handle all the preparations alone.
Being the boss, Mettaton was not quite used to service work. Usually a secretary or one of his other staff members would prepare these.
He flipped the switch on the coffee maker machine. As it brewed, he took out his phone and searched for Burgerpants’ number.
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I should give him a call. He’s living so far away from the rest of us.
What if…
What if he’s attacked?
After four beeps, the cat monster answered the call.
“Uh. Hi? W-what do you need?”
“Burgerpants, are you alright?!” he asked, “Has anyone tried to hurt you?!”
“I’m okay…? Well, I did get smacked by a foam prop on stage. As a donkey. But. I’m okay!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! Yes! I mean, all I’m doing now is cooking hash-browns for my roommates. I can’t believe my food prep and burger flipping skills are godsend in the human college world. You have no idea how many students don’t know how to boil water.”
“Thank god you’re alright, Burgerpants.”
The cat on the other end of the line started to get worried. “Did… uh… did something happen?”
Mettaton found that he didn’t have the heart to break the news to his former employee; “Please stay safe, darling.” He said, ending the call.
Hmm… Didn’t Alphys-darling mention something about an extremist group? Smashed a poor cab driver’s car, she said.
It prompted him to check yesterday’s chat messages. The lack of activity indicated that the latest news had yet reach the Ebott Gang.
This silent status quo won’t last for long.
He found the message he was looking for. Tagged along the 7.09 PM message was a picture of a smashed car riddled with haphazard lightning marks.
The coffee machine chimed. The celebrity left behind a message saying that he’s fine. Then, set the device on mute. He can’t have it ringing and buzzing in the middle of an interview.
Coffee poured into a mug, sugar and cream prepared, while the only remaining Starfait in the fridge lay readied on a plate.
It’s time to serve the guest.
Mezil was on the phone, talking about something money-related.
He seems busy. I wonder what’s the topic?
Placing down the items, the bot said, “Here you go, Mister Mezil. Please enjoy.”
The human glanced up to Mettaton and nodded. His business continued on for a couple more seconds.
“Sorry about that,” said Mezil. “The cleaning company enquired about additional costs. I told them not to worry and carry on their work as required per contract.”
“A cleaning company?” Mettaton asked back.
“What’s so surprising?” the man replied. “The mess in your front yard won’t undo itself. And I don’t expect your staff to do everything alone.”
Cue a dramatic gasp. “M-mister Mezil, you’re helping us? Oh I’m SO grateful! Please let me foot some of the bill, darling. It’s not fair for you to pay for everything.”
“Denied. The transaction is already completed in full.”
What Papyrus said was true: this man is a bonafide tsundere.
Mettaton sat down on a single-person sofa and crossed over his legs, radiating glam in every moment. “My body is ready, baby. What do you wish to know?”
Thus began the interview.
“Are you not afraid of humans?” the Magus asked. He cut right into the heart of the topic.
“Afraid? Why?”
“They’re the unknown for your kind, steeped in a history of unspeakable violence.”
The celebrity chuckled and brushed off the thought. “That’s ancient tales, sweetheart. I’ve always known humanity’s changed plenty since The Sealing.”
“How did you know? Mezil asked back.
Mettaton replied, “From all the fabulous media washed down the river, of course! That’s our only hint to what’s going on ‘up-there’. When I played those tapes and CDs, I didn’t see an enemy to our existence. Oh no, no…”
There was a spark in his eyes. “I saw potential. Immense, exciting, and BEAUTIFUL creative potential! It blew me away~”
“Props, lights, action! It’s so hard to believe they didn’t use a single bit of magic. Just special effects. Our history taught us that humans are pretty dull. But the proof is in the pudding as people say: they’re anything but boring!”
“I started practicing their style. Study their shows. Made a human fanclub! Well, the only person who shared my taste was the brilliant Doctor Alphys. Ah, that sweetheart, such a brilliant nerd.”
Mezil raised his brows. “A fanclub. For humans. You like us that much?”
“More than ‘like’, baby,” Mettaton declared. “I LOVE humanity!”
“Even when they want you and your family dead?”
The bot was caught off guard. Less about the question and more by Mezil’s stare.
It’s heavy. Almost like a statue.
…Is it me, or there’s a chill in the air?
Oh dear me, I’m no good with complicated philosophy. If only the little human star is here to help. That stuff’s much more up their alley.
Mettaton smiled back. “A blanket treatment is just too unfair, Mister Mezil. Just because there are some hideous ones out there doesn’t mean everyone is terrible. There are so, so, soooo many genuine sweethearts. You included.”
“I think that compliment is far too soon for me,” said Mezil.
“Psh, that’s exactly what a tsundere would say.”
The old man was left in utter disbelief. “Is that what I am now? A ‘tsundere’?” Mezil discreetly coughed to clear both his throat and mind. “The reason I ask is this: you’re now a target of the Gungnir. Ignorant extremists. What will you do about them?”
“Who are those people anyway?” Mettaton asked.
“As I had mentioned, they’re the lowliest of lowlifes. They’re those who believe that might makes right. Named after a spear of myth, the lightning is their symbol. Swift. Powerful. They believe all social ills will only cease if humanity’s finest reach their full potential. A flawed principal at best.”
Mettaton was not sure if he could comprehend the scope laid out before him. His knowledge of history wasn’t the best, and things went down the deep end faster than the blink of an eye.
“You seem a little lost,” Mezil noted. “Well then, perhaps a change of perspective might help: do you believe only the strong should survive? Is it acceptable to leave the weak majority behind for the sake of the elite minority?”
The Magus’ words once again pierced through the glam bot’s SOUL. This time it wasn’t anything flirty or comical, It was a serious accusation. As though the old man had pointed a gun into his very being and fired the bullet.
“No!” Mettaton exclaimed without a second thought. “Never! T-that’s wrong on so many levels!”
Once upon a time, he made that same mistake.
He left dear Blooky behind.
Broke his promise to Shyren.
Upturned Alphys’ plans and made them his own.
When he realised what he had done, he rushed back the entire way home and apologized for his selfishness posthaste.
Mezil explained. “The Gungnir believe the weak are at fault, deserving abandonment lest they catch up with the strong. After all, only the strongest can stand against threats toward peace. Criminals. Misdemeanour. Magic. Monsters. That’s what they believe.”
“Monsters?” The celebrity placed a hand on his chest, “A threat against humanity? But how? We just want to live in harmony.”
“…Here’s the thing, Mister Mettaton,” the other replied, “Humanity has never lived in harmony since the dawn of civilization. Conflict exists everywhere, all the time. If it’s not between nations, it’s between families. If not between families, it’s between individuals. If not between individuals, they struggle with themselves.”
“As you can see, human relations are generally tenuous. To have an extra factor so radically different tipping this delicate scale… this is what they see as a threat to their survival.”
“Remember, you are monsterkind’s most public face. The impact your entertainment company has had is undeniable. Because of your family-friendly media, the modern world accepted monsters better than the ancients. They saw nothing wrong with your kind and thus allowed curious freedom. After all, your ex-employee managed to enroll into college without the usual documentations required for humans.”
“A pen is mightier than a sword. You’re the living proof of that concept.”
Never did the celebrity expect an interview to be this blazing hot, burning with implications.
“W-wait a moment!” Mettaton exclaimed, “Isn’t this going into our dear ambassador’s territory? Oh my, all I wanted to do is to spread happiness!”
Mezil rose a brow. “Is that so?”
“Why yes! When I migrated to the Surface, one of the first things I noticed was that there are many, many, unhappy humans who’re unsatisfied with themselves.”
“Oh how I know that feeling, darling. For the longest time I couldn’t feel like ‘myself’. I was a ghost, just like dear cousin Blooky. Exactly like him! As time went by, I realised that I wanted to be more than just an incorporeal snail farmer.”
“I was wonderfully fortunate,” said Mettaton. “I’m here today because of the support of others. So, I wanted to give my wondrous human fans that same ‘oomph’! Tell them that they’re full of BEAUTIFUL potential.”
Pose. “Don’t give up!”
Pose. “Tomorrow will be better!”
Pose. “Enjoy life, even if it means trying hard!”
Pose. “Dance your way out of the rut, day in and out. Never forget to look at the bright side.”
More outlandish poses. By now the couch had become a prop of his glamour. Then Mettaton resumed to normal sitting position before the laws of physics take over.
“You know, Mister Mezil,” he said, “When the callers tell me just how much my shows have brightened up their life… I feel so accomplished. Made someone’s day. Gave them the strength to face tomorrow. The dreariness of being trapped under a mountain? Absolutely forgotten.”
“I feel most ‘myself’ when I inspire others, knowing that these small caterpillars will one day transform into beautiful butterflies thanks to my wonderful effort. That’s all, sweetheart.”
Once Mettaton finished that sentence, there was a ‘spark’.
Not the bright and pleasant kind often associated with the creative field. No, it was an ember that ignited the ash-covered coals of an old past. They burned, yet remained dim.
“Beautiful?” Mezil said, “Are you aware of what happens between those stages?”
Mettaton replied, “Sleep for two weeks, then tada~.”
“As I had suspected, you’re ignorant. Just like those Gungnir. Let me tell you this, Mister Mettaton: metamorphosis is anything but beautiful. It’s gruesome. Brutal. Painful to look at, and painful to experience.”
“Those cute caterpillars? They do not merely sleep. They break down. Liquefy. Reduced into a slush before they can even begin the process of change. Should anything go wrong in the process, death awaits.”
Hearing the gritty details, the mortified robot leaned back. Snails do not undergo such a process. They just turn from small ones into big ones, and from there they’d be harvested for sale.
Maybe the whole butterfly analogy is a bust. Dreams take plenty of hard work, I know. But I don’t want my darlings to suffer that way!
“Mister Mezil,” so he said, “This seems a bit… personal, I’d say.”
“It is,” the other replied. “You might end up writing a grim music video if you had even an inkling of what I went through.”
“Does it involve violence?”
“Yes.”
“Does it involve deception?”
“Plenty.”
“Betrayal?”
“A staple landmine. No one escapes it.”
“Does it involve death?”
“I was once incinerated. Burned to ashes.”
Mettaton drew a dramatic gasp. “B-but you’re here today? Not as a ghost either.”
“When someone turns into a butterfly,” Mezil questioned back: “Can you truly say that they’re the same as the caterpillar? That is how it was for me.”
There was only a baffled silence. It’s a creepy riddle.
The old Magus continued, “If you’re wondering if I’ve ever had a dream as a young man, my answer is ‘No’. Simple survival would be more accurate description of day to day life: to earn enough money to get a place on my own, with some to spare for leisure.”
“All that changed in a single night.”
So mysterious, thought Mettaton. “Tell me more, darling. You have quite an interesting story.”
“I met someone who loves me for who I am. Love deep enough to be tricked by the worst of demons. Since that night, I swore that I will not let a wish so pure be twisted by the whims of false gods and bigots.”
“Your significant other?” the robot asked.
“My wife.”
Cue the most dramatic of dramatic gasps. “Oh wonderful baby darling, you are the sweetest of sweethearts! This is just like the movies! I would have never guessed that you’re such a romantic fellow.”
“Please save the compliments,” Mezil replied. He’s growing a little pink despite his stone-cold expression.
“Anyways,” he continued. “Joining the Magus Association as the ‘humanity’s ultimate weapon’ was the natural progression. It’s the best way I could do my job to provide a safe world for her. Since I never had any personal ambition, I had no regrets in leaving my civilian life behind.”
It’s then that the glam bot started to giggle.
“Is there an issue, Mister Mettaton?” Mezil frowned.
“Oh no, not at all,” Mettaton replied. “It’s just, I thought you sported the butterfly because it’s all fabulous and fancy. It’s quite a luxurious symbol, and your old upper-class sense of fashion screams of refinement. But, after hearing your side of the story, I understand there’s more to it than expected. Never judge a book by its covers.”
“Indeed.” Mezil said. “I believe duty calls, the cleaners should be here by now. And after that, I will need to finish the assignment of your Magi guards. They’ll keep a lookout for any further Gungnir presence.”
“Also, I’ve hired some kind caregivers to assist your family. They typically work with traumatized children, but their experience should prove beneficial. I understand that you have some especially timid ones on board?”
How thorough. It’s as though this man knew exactly what they needed.
For reasons that he couldn’t explain, it made the glam bot’s heart swell up in happiness.
The Magus tried to leave as sudden as a he came. But then, Mettaton noticed that the refreshments were left untouched.
“Oh dear, Mister Mezil. You’re forgetting something.”
One second later, the old man turned back to finish his forgotten snack. He drank the cooled coffee straight with no sugar or cream added.
That was quite an eye-widening display. “Now that’s what I call hardcore, baby.”
“What is this dessert called?” asked Mezil.
“A Starfait.”
“Hmm… I think it’s too sweet for my wife’s taste.”
“If she prefers something more savoury, I suggest Glamburgers. Or maybe even an MTT-brand Face Steak. Ask and you shall receive.”
“Thank you, that will be a nice gift when I get back home.”
After a quick wipe of the mouth with a tissue, it’s time for more serious business.