trusthell | Accountability.

"Killswitch? I 'left Alphys to die'? Please, darlings, don't tell me you actually buy all these tired old storylines..."

It's been a few weeks since that particular voice has been heard by anyone in the Vault; it's sharp, flamboyant and incredibly familiar, and it's coming from the same place the Kingmaker's always seems to - nowhere and everywhere at once, piped in through some unseen system.

"You know, normally I'd balk a bit at being dragged out in front of all of you for another trial, because I think you all know by now how much I hate repeat performances. Fortunately, there's a difference, isn't there? Between now and then... And if the crowd cries for an encore, who am I to deny it!"

There's a panel of wall behind that balcony, one that slides open quickly and easily; the pair of people that emerge from it...well, they're different than anything the Vault has seen so far, that much is obvious.

The first is reasonably slight in frame, his hair and his clothing bright in color; he's resplendant in...just about every tacky accessory Caren unwittingly brought with her to the Vault - with the exception of the bra, naturally. Because we've got to have some dignity here, clearly, even if that dignity doesn't extend to the fucking leopard-print bucket hat currently sitting on his head at a jaunty as hell angle. His expression is intense and deeply manic, his body shaking a bit and fists clenched at his sides as though he's trying to keep himself from laughing, from lashing out and hitting the wall, from doing something to relieve some of it, but his eyes...

...His eyes, though. His eyes are dead as hell, his stare cutting and utterly devoid of emotion all at once.

And the second...well, he's familiar, though it seems his avatar has changed quite a bit since the last time you saw him. It's something more suiting, let's put it that way.

He's the one leaning over to greet you now, hands braced tight against that railing spanning the length of the balcony.

"Beauties and gentlebeauties, I'm pleased to introduce to you our hosts for the evening! First of all, the Kingmaker, without whom none of this would have been possible!"

And that gets a sweeping gesture to his side, where the ginger just...enthusiastically pumps his fist in the air, and that's when the laugh escapes him, harsh and uncontrolled. "It's about time!"

Mettaton tosses his head a bit at that; he doesn't laugh himself, but he seems pleased enough with it before he continues. "As for me? Well, I'd like to wish you good evening and good luck - both sentiments straight from the King of the Underground! Try to make this good for us, all right?"

"Make it cool!"

"...Sweetheart, really."

...Right, well! Let's begin, shall we?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[...huh.]

Were they also here in the previous session?

[Not that he expects an answer to be honest, but.]

There was one in the...office, I think? Something about chemistry. Horribly destructive things, I think they had to do with chemical warfare. And alchemy? Alchemy was mentioned somewhere in there. Destroying and rebuilding things, something like that.

It wasn't ours, though. [He glances over at Ryuunosuke again.] Neither of us specialize in things like that, all of my bombs are magical but they don't have anything to do with alchemy.

I'm still not sure how all of that stuff has anything to do with turning lead into gold.

Right...?

Alchemy...? That lead into gold stuff people in the middle ages were tryin' to do?

That doesn't sound like it has anything to do with this place.

It doesn't. Maybe that belonged to Ambitious? I think that office was his before it was ours, we just reused the template for it.

....Sounds like he was kind of a weirdo.

But I don't know what the hell chemical warfare has to do with get-rich-quick schemes.

I've run every get-rich-quick scheme in the book. Not a whole lot.

...while its not exactly chemical-warfare related--

One surefire way of getting rich, if you want to put it that way, is to manufacture a virus and a cure for said virus. People would come clamoring for your cure and you could sell it however high you wanted it to be.

[Here is probably a bit different, but the concept applies.]