#prisim dispatch

The break room wasn’t fancy by any means. The overhead fluorescent lights had a loud buzz and the vending machine made that occasional clunk every few minutes for no reason, and the table legs were uneven because someone—likely Punch Up—kept “accidentally” kicking over the furniture.

But Prism was in a damn excellent mood.

And when Prism was in an excellent mood…well, she wasn’t quite sure but she was in an excellent mood!

She strutted into the break room holding her lunch, which was this fancy sandwich you’d made the night before, wrapped neatly and cut into angled slices. She set it on the table with her chips, her hips swaying as she moved toward the seat.

That’s when she noticed the scrawny man on the other side of the table. Waterboy.

He was sitting stiffly like he was afraid to breathe too hard, and goggles fogged slightly as he hovered over his bowl of fruit. Honeydew and melon, sliced perfectly, floating a little in the moisture he emitted.

Prism’s face twisted without her knowledge into a look of slight disgust before falling into a judgmental deadpan so flat it could steamroll concrete.

“Honeydew and melon. Again.” She said, dropping into the chair across from him.

Waterboy jolted at her suddenness before adjusting his goggles. “Oh—ye-yeah. Honey-fruit and—uh, yeah.” He said, letting out a nervous laugh. “You—want—would you like some?

“You eat the same thing every day.” She continued, ignoring the offering completely, as judgment rolled if her tongue. “Do you even eat anything else?”

Waterboy’s cheeks bloomed pink like someone had dipped them in watercolor. “N-no, I don—I eat what I can. Wet things, that is.” He stuttered as usual.

“And… that’s fruit?” She asked, eyeing the bowl. He nodded, abiding her avoided her gaze entirely. Prism eyed him before squinting slightly. She stared. And stared. And stared.

The silence stretched long between them. It was tense enough for Waterboy to practically evaporate out of sheer anxiety. Prism’s eyes dragged over him from head to toe slowly, her expression unreadable.

Finally, she leaned back, crossed her legs, and lowered her voice.

“Would you like to try something besides fruit?”

Waterboy blinked so fast his goggles almost slid down his nose. Her voice. He doesn’t know if he was just imagining it, but he could’ve sworn her voice had changed. When his gaze was away from hers, it sounded sultry and deep. The worm sound washed over him in a flush. It was like she was whispering right into his ear, even though she was across the table.

His head snapped and his eyes were wide as he looked at her. “Wha-huh?” He questioned.

Prism clicked her tongue. “I’m trying to be nice because I’m in a good mood. Don’t push me, wet jet.”

Waterboy’s face now matched a ripe tomato. He sat up too fast, slipping slightly in his seat as droplets slid off him, though he caught himself before fully losing grip.

“Uh—yes! I mean—yes, ma’am—yes, Miss priss—Miss Prism!”

“You can try some of my spicy sandwich.” She said, picking up a slice and breaking off a piece. “And call me Prism. Or P—”She then paused, a grimace over taking her face before she shook her head. “Actually, don’t call me that bullshit.” She muttered. She then held the sandwich piece out toward him—only to yank it back abruptly when she saw him reaching for it.

“Ah!”

Waterboy flinched so hard he nearly slid off the chair again.

“Don’t you only eat fruit because it’s wet or whatever?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. He opened his mouth to answer, but she was already cutting him off. “Eat it.” She said, holding the sandwich piece inside from his lips.

Waterboy was practically shaking now, more than his usual jitters. If it wasn’t her voice, it was her scent, and if it wasn’t thy, it was just the sight of her in all her color and curves. His heart was fluttering in his chest as his eyes bounced from the beautiful woman to the food she wanted him to eat from her hand. Speaking off, her gloves were off and made this whole thing way more intimate. He had never been this close to her.

Actually, he had never been close to anyone like this.

His heart thrashed against his ribs as he leaned forward, and let himself be fed a delicious sandwich by a gorgeous woman. He hummed at the taste once it hit, the spice and richness if the sun. He nodded his head stiffly with an awkward thumbs up. “W-wow! That’s amaz—amazing!” He said. “Did y-you ma-do you cook?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” She said, causing him to immediately shut up with a nod, cheeks puffed out with half-chewed sandwich.

Prism rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her own. “And no. My roommate made it. She has nothing better to do with her life, so she takes care of people and animals and whatnot.” She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s her thing.”

She then ripped open her bag of chips before munching in those as well. The crunch filled the air and salt dust clung to her fingers. She glanced back at Waterboy, only to see him his eyes already on her, but he snapped his gaze away instantly.

“Want some?” She asked, holding up the bag.

Waterboy blinked before nodding hesitantly, which unexpectedly caused Prism to grin softly. She found him quite adorable actually. “Here.” She said, leaning forward, placing a chip gently into his mouth, which he accepted less cautiously this time. “It’s just a plain potato chip. That’s all the stupid vending machine had.” She said before taking another bite of her lunch, but kept her eyes on him to watch how he liked the food. Waterboy just cheer as normal, nodding his head at the taste.

Prism didn’t even pay attention to the way she fed him another chip once she finished before leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs again, and popping another chip into her mouth.

“You know, we should try Pho next.” She mused casually, watching as the shy man ate her food. “It’s pretty wet. Wait—do you eat soup?”

“And then he called me Cardi C.” Prisim explained to the you, her normie roommate, voice filled with irritation. “And that one I didn’t fuck with because, bitch, do I look like her?”

“No, not at all.” You said, shaking your head slowly as you took a sip of your wine, letting it swirl warmly in your chest.

“Exactly!” Prism said. “And then fucking Fist-up-my-ass called me ‘Lady Haha’, and though I love her down, she’s truly a queen, I couldn’t let that slide. I mean, would you let someone of that size get one up on you?” She asked, looking between you and Flambaé, brows raised challengingly.

“Absolutely not.” The afghan man muttered in a firm tone, shaking his head with a slight look of disgust before sipping his wine.

“Right! So I stole one of Coupé’s knives and almost sliced and diced him.” The colorful haired woman finished, leaning back into the couch and crossing one leg over the other. “He liked it though. His freaky ass was laughing.” She said, causing the others chuckle with her.

“Speaking of freaky.” Prism said, shifting her weight, causing you and Flambaé to groan in unison. You tossed the rest of your wine back and set the glass down with a soft clink, while Flambaé filled his glass again, the pouring sound punctuating the room’s comfortable silence.

“Well damn, what does that mean?” Prism asked, her tone playful but intent, looking between you.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, leaning further into the couch cushions. “We’re just preparing ourselves for your rant about that whiny wet-wipe.”

“Wet-wipe is the perfect description for that scrawny string of spaghetti.” Flambaé spoke after chugging a bit of wine from the bottle.

“Don’t judge me when you two have questionable choices as well!” Prism said as she sat up before pointing at you. “You found that well wipe sexy a week ago.” She said.

“That was before I knew the constantly wet thing. Only I can be the constantly wet in the relationship.” You said with a large grin, looking in between your two roommates, who showed no emotion to your quip. Your smile faltered as you crossed your arms. “Whatever.” You mumbled disappointedly.

“You also have a weird thing for that stupid dope Phenomaman!” Prism started again.

“Oh, come on!” You defended, rolling your eyes. “He’s hot and I’m curious to know what his genitals look like. I heard he’s an alien, so they can’t look, like, regular.”

“And you.” Prism turned to Flambaé, wagging a finger, “Even though you act like you hate him, I know deep down you wanna give Robert all you got!” She nodded towards him dramatically, and the two of us laughed, high-fiving as Flambaé glared, his irritated flames flickering in the light.

“No one wants to fuck Bob Bob.” He scoffed, his tone half-mock, half-sincere.

You then spat out a laugh. “Do not lie, Chad.” You teased, smacking his arm lightly. “I don’t!” He hissed, brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “You do! You told me last week!” I said with a wide grin.

“What the hell? When?” He asked, brows furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Don’t tell me you guys have been hanging out without me.” Prisim said from the other side of the couch, looking between you two accusingly. But her words went unnoticed as you continued. “When you took me to that bar in West Hollywood? The one with the pink rhino in the logo?” You said.

“Oh, you bitches.” Prisim muttered, but you simply watched as a look of recognition cross the man’s face. “Oh yeah.” He said with a slight nod. “I don’t remember that night at all.” He mumbled into his glass.

“Oh, come on.” You scoffed, squinting at him.

“Anything I said or did that night cannot be held against me because I was heavily intoxicated.” He continued in his sassy manner, shrugging. “Black out, even.”

“Good.” You muttered, leaning back more in the couch, his words serving an unknowing sense of relief within you. “That’s good. Black out…” You said softly, nodding. There was a small moment of silence between you all before the man then cleared his throat.

“But I do remember us having sex.” He added, his voice soft but steady. You froze while Prisim almost choked on her wine. You sat there, rigid with wide eyes, while the light powered woman looked between you two frantically.

“Yall fucked?!” She blurted out.

You simply gulped before pursing your lips. “Wow, look at that time. My beds calling!” You said before jumping from the couch, abandoning your glass and popcorn and bolted off to your room before either of them could react.

In the living room, the silence reigned. Flambaé sat holding his glass, untouched now, staring at the liquid. Prism watched him, suspicion and curiosity tangled together in her expression.

“Aren’t you gay?”