[Big one, big knife. The rest of them, all sword-juggling. Mettaton raises his head to meet Molly's eyes, alight with intrigue.]

Sword-juggling...? Ooooh. So you're a performer, are you? I can't say many people care about people with metal bodies doing tossing sharp implements... but I appreciate the risk and thrill of it. An audience can't resist the allure of danger! Is that what you did before showing up here? Or... dying, as it is.

[He's good at steadily working on peeling up the vines with his other hand while holding conversation, and his unhurried rhythm is rewarded by cooperation from the vines.]