Ugh, much better. Mettaton flexes his fingers and stretches the metal of his arms; they're perfect, as to be expected. It's a joy to have them.

"...in a moment." He wanted his arms for a reason.

Running away has always been an easy thing for Mettaton. It's been easy ever since he was Sonatablook. It's always been what everyone pin-points as his worst flaw. If he doesn't like the outcome of something, he ignores it. He avoids the truth. He pretends it never happened.

...but holding on... No one ever said how much more holding on hurt. Running away only hurt when you were called out on it - when you remembered yourself. Holding on hurt every moment of every day.

He sighs to himself as he pulls the glove off his right hand. Gingerly, almost with a sort of reverence, Mettaton slides two, gaudy rings off his ring and middle fingers.

"..."

The rings stay in his palm for a moment before he turns them over to Sans.

"I know you said you hadn't considered anything with the queen, but..." He's trying to smile. It's bittersweet. "She'll like these."