Chapter Text
It's the height of summer. The sun's out, hot and blazing against a clear blue sky. One would think it'd be perfect for someone called Waterboy. One would be mistaken.
Herm presses his lips together as his wetsuit starts sticking to his skin. Normally, he wouldn't even notice, but the constant heat means that his body automatically produces a thicker form of water—is it even water at this point? It probably mostly is—in order to keep him from drying out, resulting in his skin being covered in a light sheen of damp mucousy substance. A substance that makes his wetsuit feel weirdly slimy, in addition to making him glisten.
Or as one of his old schoolmates put it, he shines like a nasty sweatball toad; used to smell like it too, but thankfully, that was just a puberty thing and not a side-effect of his powers.
Still, the heat puts him in a different headspace. A cranky one, as grandma would put it.
He's especially cranky because today was supposed to be his day off. Supposed to be the entire Z-Team's day off, but apparently, someone didn't follow the correct protocols for after being exposed to unknown experimental chemicals from a villain lab. Now, that someone's entire team is in quarantine. Which means their shifts have to be covered by someone else, so Z-Team to the rescue. Yay.
He pushes open the building doors and walks through the lobby as quickly as possible to leave behind the least amount of water in his tracks, nodding politely to the colleagues he passes by—or is co-workers a better term? Colleagues kinda implies a level of familiarity and friendliness that's he's not sure he's reached with them—as he makes his way towards the locker rooms. Mostly empty, thankfully. He's not in the mood to deal with people's dirty looks as he tracks water all over the floor.
He turns the corner towards his own locker, quickly going through his routine. Carefully dry his hands as much as possible with one of the super expensive super absorbent towels inside before checking his earpiece—battery, signal, and the works—before doing the same for the spare. Then dry his hands again before putting it on. Royd says it's waterproof, but Herm would rather err on the side of caution. Besides, he's used to handling electronics with extra extra care. Then to finish up, he checks his suit for any rips, tears, or stains. One of SDN's hero basics: a hero is a representative of the network and must maintain a professional appearance.
Well, as professional as the circumstances allow. This particular brand of blue and yellow wetsuit is the cheapest and sturdiest he could find, and there's not much that can be done about his sweaty shine. Stupid powers—
It's then that he feels it. A heavy gaze on his back, intentional and super inconspicuous. He glances over his shoulder and finds two pairs of eyes looking back at him: one orange, one brown.
"Uhh, goo—good morning!" He tries for a smile, but it falters under the weight of their combined stare. Oh god, did he do something? Is something on his face? His clothes? Or maybe it's the stupid sweatball sheen he's got going on. He tries to subtly wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
Prism tilts her head, before turning to Flambae. "Yep. I'm gonna win."
"Seriously? I mean c'mon, look at him. Look at him again," Flambae scoffs. "You'd have to be a miracle worker to make anything work with his whole…" He waves a dismissive hand at his general being. "See? He's already curling up like a fucking loser."
Herm's usual instinct would be to shrink further into himself. De-escalate and apologize and let them walk all over him again.
Instead, something inside him snaps. He doesn't know if it's the heat or the fact that he's here on his day off or the stupid smirk on Flambae's face, but he finds his hands clenching into fists and his teeth gritting.
"I'm not a, a loser," he murmurs, only barely loud enough to be heard.
The two blink at him, something akin to shock flitting across their faces, before Flambae rolls his eyes.
"Chill out. I said like a loser, not you are a loser. Not that you aren't one, Waterbitch, don't get me wrong."
Herm scowls and opens his mouth, but instead of water, words spill out.
"Don't call me that either, Flambitch."
Flambae's mouth drops open as Prism chokes on a gasp, before breaking out into loud cackling laughter.
"He just—he, he called you—" she doesn't finish, too busy holding her stomach and giggling.
The comms crackle to life in Herm's ear.
«Holy shit, Waterboy,» Invisigal says, sounding like she just recovered from choking on a cigarette. «Didn't know you had it in you. Anyone take a picture of Flambitch's face yet? I'd take one myself but I'm currently out smoking in the parking lot.»
He jerks in place. Has it—has it been on the whole time?
And then he's hit with the realization of what he just said. And to who.
He swallows, slowly sliding his gaze back towards Flambae. There's wisps of smoke coming from the ex-villain's clenched fists, a glare fixed on Herm, confirming that yep, he's going to die. Here, in a locker room on his supposed day off, roasted until he's nothing but a tall column of soggy ash—
An ear-piercing screech comes over the line, and Herm winces at the auditory assault, resisting the urge to throw out his earpiece—that was another of SDN's hero basics: a dispatched hero without an earpiece is a potentially dead hero.
"The fuck!" Prism curses. "Sonar!"
«Jesus, dude!»
«Whoops. My bad. Bit of a rough landing,» Sonar says in lieu of a greeting, then he burps. «So what's all this hootenanny about, huh?»
«Get this. Waterboy just called Flambae a bitch.»
«No fucking way.»
Punch Up and Malevola walk into the locker rooms at that moment, coffee cups in hand and tail.
"Morning," the strongman greets. "Coop here yet?"
"Not yet." Prism takes one of the cups from Malevola with a smile. "Thanks, sis."
"No worries. Flambae? Waterboy?"
Flambae takes one, and it immediately starts bubbling in his hand. Not breaking eye contact, he chugs the scalding liquid, then crushes the empty paper cup, burning it to a crisp.
Herm gulps.
"Oookay," is all Malevola says, before presenting him the last coffee.
"No, thank you. I, I don't really—" he tries for a smile, though he's sure it comes off more as a grimace. "Caffeine doesn't… agree with me."
«Oh yeah. I remember that.» Invisigal laughs. She's being doing that a lot more nowadays. «You sharted so hard it get rid of all the sexual tension. I swear, Robert and I would've fucked by now if it weren't for you.»
Herm chokes on nothing, not noticing when Flambae finally looks away from him to scrunch his face at some random point in space. "Visi, what the fuck."
Prism near screeches, "Girl, what?!"
Seeing and hearing such strong reactions, Malevola and Punch Up activate their comms and join the team channel just in time to hear most of Invisigal's reply.
«Mmhm. He was shirtless and picking glass out of his chest in the bathroom, all stoic and shit. It was so hot that I had to tell him about this sex dream I had.»
Herm feels his face heat as Punch Up shakes his head and mutters a soft, "Christ, lass."
«But then Waterboy let out a massive—» she blows a raspberry into the mic, «—and ruined the mood. So.»
«Wait, hold on. Go back to before Peewee Herman sharted. I wanna hear more about this sex dream.»
"Same," Malevola adds. "How'd Robert take it?"
Invisigal snickers. «He asked me if his dick was big.»
Amidst the ensuing laughter and exclamations of disbelief, Flambae says, "I knew it, the little pervert—"
«Alright, everyone. As much as I'd love to call HR first thing in the morning, it's time for work.» Robert's clear deadpan cuts in, leading to the team booing and jeering. «I also wanted to say I appreciate everyone for coming in today on short notice, and that Blonde Blazer passes on her thanks. Flambae, Malevola, and Punch Up. I've got a big one that should wake you all up.»
"Ugh, killjoy," Flambae grumbles. "What's this big one you're talking about, mister pervert?"
«Yeah, Bobert. Is it big like the one in Visi's dream?»
«Big like some Red Ring copycats wanting to fill the power vacuum.»
The snickering dies. A few lingering heroes glance at their group, before quickly looking away and hurrying away.
"Copycats, huh?" Malevola clicks her tongue, yellow eyes narrowed.
"Big mistake," Punch Up mutters, cracking his knuckles.
Robert chuckles. «Well, since they're so set on reviving that legacy, I figured I'd let them get a taste of the heroes who brought the original down in the first place. So hit them fast, and hit them hard.»
That, alongside Prism's "Hell yeah! Go kick some imposter ass!" manages to dissipate the sudden tension, giving way to something lighter. Alongside it, Herm feels his own bad mood fade.
«Damn. Now I'm wishing you assigned me instead. Dibs on the next set of wannabe idiots.»
"S-same! On the dibs, I mean," he joins in, smiling when Malevola pats his shoulder on her way to the loadout zone, Punch Up right beside her.
Orange eyes meet his as Flambae walks by. Not quite glaring, but not quite friendly either. Assessing, almost.
Herm lifts a hand, hesitates mid-way, before steeling himself—and flipping him off.
Amber eyes widen, but only for a split-second. Flambae barks out a laugh, before turning to Prism. "Okay, not completely hopeless, but still impossible." Before anyone could question what he means by that, fire licks at his feet as he prepares for flight. "Hey, Bob Bob. What's the protocol for when a coworker gives you the finger and calls you Flambitch? HR, right?"
Herm's eyes go wide. "Wait, no—I, I didn't mean to—" But then Flambae's flying out of sight, so he scrambles for his earpiece. "Robert! Uh, sir. It was just some, ah, f-friendly rib—joking. You know, haha…"
«Just a joke? You hurt my feelings, Watershart. If that's not grounds for your termination, I don't know what is.»
Normally, some part of him would bristle at the unsavory nickname… but there's no heat or mockery to it. At least, not on the level he's used to getting from Flambae. In fact, this feels more like the ex-villain's version of friendly teasing. A knot in Herm's chest unwinds.
Robert sighs. «Flambae, if HR was going to take anyone's side, they'll take Waterboy's.»
«Fuuuck. Didn't know HR was homophobic.»
«Yo, can't you sue for that?» comes Golem's rumbly bass. «Also, why is HR taking sides?»
Punch Up laughs. «Golem, buddy. You gotta stop with the morning naps. You keep missing out.»
A giggle, and Herm looks up to see Prism still sitting down on the bench and looking at him with a glint in her eyes. "Wanna know what Waterboy did?" she says into the earpiece, not looking away. "He called Flambae a—"
«You can tell him all about it on the way to the museum,» interrupts Robert. «We've got a bomb hidden in there somewhere. Prism, they have an informant, but he needs a little more convincing and is refusing to talk to the cops. Sweet talk it out of him, then defuse the bomb. Golem, you're her backup.»
«You got it.»
"On it," Prism stands, sliding her visor on, but not before throwing Herm a wink. "Catch you later, Waterboy."
He blinks, before smiling. "Oh! Catch you—later."
Wow, she's fast for someone in heels. But also, why do her words sound… slightly foreboding? Same with the thing Flambae said before he left. Is it all connected to whatever they were talking about earlier?
Before he could think about it some more, the sound of his name breaks him out of it.
«Waterboy, to the country club. They need an assistant swim instructor.»
"You can count on it! I mean, me. Count on… me."
Damn it.
Robert chuckles, and the sound helps him completely forget his early frustration.
«Go get 'em, kid. Invisigal, we got a lost grandma roaming around the park…»
The country club call goes swimmingly well. In fact, the entire day goes swimmingly well, and everyone's in high spirits later that night as they clock out.
"Oof. You okay, lad? You've got some gashes on the back of your costume," Punch Up says as he picks up his duffel bag. "Where'd that come from?"
"Really?" Herm cranes his neck, and sure enough, there's a series of small tears down the back. "Aw man. Must've been the, um, the runaway hell dog. Hound."
That was the last call of the day, Sonar's screech having startled the poor guy into trying to run again. Herm had tripped on his way to block the door, and the dog ran over his back, nails unnaturally sharp against the usually durable rubber. Thankfully, his back is fine, the costume taking most of the damage.
"Need any help?"
He smiles, shaking his head. "No need. I have a spare. But, thanks—thank you, Punch Up."
"Aw," a meaty fist lightly bumps his thigh. "What'd I say? It's Colm once work's done."
Herm laughs quietly. "Then… thanks, Colm. Good work today."
That gets him a wide grin in return. "You too, lad. And don't think we don't notice your stutter's improving. Keep it up."
Herm beams, before waving goodbye to him and Coupé waiting near the door, who turned out to be late because she was getting her flight license sorted out with Blonde Blazer.
Now alone, Herm begins the process of taking off his wetsuit—an annoying thing made more unpleasant by his powers acting up. He's halfway out of it when he feels it. A predatory gaze on his back, one that makes his hair stand on end.
He whips around, cheeks already filled—
"Gglgluu—" he opens his mouth, letting the water fall instead of spraying and coughing out the remnants, "I mean, Prism! Hey! Hey?"
She doesn't answer, doesn't even make a quip about him nearly spraying her. She's changed into casual clothes: a white tank top, hot pink cropped jacket and light wash jeans. A wide black handbag hangs over the crook of her arm as she loosely holds her phone, but she's not looking at the screen. Instead, she's looking at Herm, eyes strangely intense as she looks him up and down.
Only then does he realize he's technically half-naked, the upper portion of his suit hanging by his waist. He quickly hugs himself—er, crosses his arms. Manfully. Manly-ly. Definitely not trying to cover up his pale chest. "C-Can I help… you?"
Her eyes gaze snaps back up, and smiles, disarming and lovely. "You free tonight, Waterbaby?"
"Huh? I… am?"
"That a question or an answer?"
"It's an—the latter. I am. Free, that is." Her smile widens, and he takes an unconscious step back. "W-what, what for—why?"
"Meet me out front once you're done. I'm taking you out somewhere good," she purrs, giving him a wink and one last lookover, before walking away, heels clicking against tile. "Don't keep me waiting!"
And then Herm is once again alone, half-curious and half-scared and half-naked.
"Where are… This sho—store is… clothes?"
The place Prism—or Alice, after hours, because she's "all about that work-life balance, baby"—takes him to looks like a high-end boutique. The kind he sees influencers brag about being sponsored by on their social media accounts.
"That's right, baby. Clothes. And we are getting you some new ones," she smiles at him, before pushing the wide double doors open.
Herm hurries after, not wanting to be left alone outside. He looks around the empty but lit shop nervously. It's not a big space, but the floors are glossy and the walls are a nice cream that serves as a perfect backdrop for the clothes on display. Not just clothes, but also fabrics. He peers at the tag on the nearest one: woven polypropylene fabric with VCIs.
What does that even mean? Wait no, that's not the issue here.
He turns back to Alice, who's leaning over a counter that sections off part of the shop.
"The sign reads—they're closed already—"
"Nah," Alice waves him off, before yelling, "Edna! Get your shiny sequined ass out here! You've got customers!"
"Alice? That you? 'Cause it better not be! What, you forgot how to read?" A raspy voice calls out, before the door behind the counter swings open and a short old lady walks out, and Herm has to fight not to stare because Alice was not joking: Edna's all sequins and glitter and feathers and scowls. He instinctively cringes under the power of the latter, but that only serves to get her—Edna's attention. She walks over closer, looking him up and down. "And who is this gangly piece of shit?"
"G-good day, madam—miss… Uh. I am name—my name is Herm. I'm Alice's coworker… colleague…"
Edna crosses her arms, glaring at him over her purple-rimmed glasses. She's a whole head shorter than him, even with heels on, but she's intimidating all the same. Her stare remains unimpressed, and she wordlessly turns to Prism.
"He's a friend," Alice smiles. "And he needs help."
"No shit," Edna snorts, before turning on her heel and going down the display racks.
Herm uses the opportunity to talk to Alice, bending down to whisper, "What are… why did you bring me here?!"
"Don't worry, Herm," she pats his arm, turning that winningly charming smile on him. "You're in good hands. Edna's a crockety bitch, but she's good at what she does."
"That doesn't—thats's not an answer—"
"Here." Something flies towards him. He catches it on instinct, and the bundle unravels to reveal a white t-shirt and a pair of dark blue cargo pants. "Try it on."
Herm holds the clothes away from him. "These are—my powers would make these moist—damp, a-and—"
Edna scoffs. "What, you think I missed that eyesore of a wetsuit and the googles? Just try on the damn things. The pants are waterproof and the top's water-resistant. It's meant to get wet. S'why I chose white. Heh."
He glances down at the white fabric, realizing exactly what she meant by that last part. His cheeks heat up so much that he finds himself stuttering for a different reason. "I… t-that's—"
"Take this, too," she chucks him a cerulean blue double rider jacket, the kind he always wanted to try but thought himself too uncool to wear. "This one ain't as waterproof, but if it gets soaked, you can always just take it off. Throw it over your shoulders and show off them skinny biceps. Hah! Now come," she strides towards the back of the shop, heels clicking against the floor. Surprisingly fast for an old woman in pumps.
"Waterproof…" his eyes widen, and Herm turns to Alice. "You brought me to—this is a, a supersuit boutique?!"
"Yup. Now let's go. We ain't got all night." Then she turns back to her phone, fingers tapping as she follows after the old lady. He scurries after the two of them.
Edna leads them to a small fitting room, and she pulls back a curtain on a wall, revealing an alcove with mirrors inside. Then she impatiently gestures for him to get in.
"Go on," she says. "And don't worry about getting the floor wet. You ain't the first liquid-based power I've had to work with. And water's easier than mud." She glares at Prism. "Now that was a bitch and a half to clean."
"A customer's a customer, ain't that what you said?"
"A customer's only a customer if they buy something! Your big friend don't even wear clothes!"
Mud… big friend— "Golem? You brought—took him… here?"
"Yes, she did. And let me tell you, he looked goddamn snazzy in a tux! Was feeling proud of myself 'til the big bastard told me he didn't really want to wear clothes. He was just dragged here by this lil' shit," Edna throws Prism another dirty look. "Wasted a good chunk of my time."
"Don't listen to her! She's just being a bitch 'cause I got her so many customers she had to start turning them down. Look," she taps on her phone screen, before tilting it to show Herm a video of Golem standing in the same room they are now, wearing an actual tuxedo while Edna fusses over one of the sleeves. The design itself isn't anything fancy—or maybe it is? He doesn't know anything about fashion—but the fact that it fits the construct's unconventional proportions and is somehow unstained by mud is more than impressive.
"Oh, wow. He looks goo—amazing! Y-you made this?" He looks up at Edna.
The old woman scoffs, but there's a hint of pride that softens the edge of her voice. "Of course I made that. All this," she gestures around her, "was made by me. This is my shop. What, you think this was some run-of-the-mill fucking boutique that just so happened to have a giant suit with fuckass proportions perfect for a giant mud man?"
"Y-you're so brilli—talented," he looks back down at the video, eyes glued to the way the suit somehow managed to make a mudman look presentable. Golem really did look snazzy. But then he spots the number on the side of the screen, and his eyes bug out. "T-t-ten m-million—?!"
"Ten million views, baby," Prism smirks , before taking back her phone and ignoring the way Edna clicks her tongue and shakes her head, muttering to herself. "And that's before the Z-Team blew up. By the way, you don't mind if I take a few pics, do you?"
And Herm—Herm relaxes, losing the tension in his shoulders as it clicks. So that's why he's here. She doesn't expect him to buy anything, only to showcase. The thought of asking for recompense briefly flits through his mind, but he immediately discards it. He probably won't get as much views as Golem did anyway, no matter what they put him in.
"O-okay. Yeah."
"For her to take the pics, you need to put on the goddamn clothes first. Now hurry up."
"R-right away!"
Herm steps out from behind the curtain. "This is… it, uhm—ta-da?" He's met with two identical raised brows, and he immediately puts down his jazz hands, staring at the floor. "The legs are too—I mean, my legs are too… long."
"I can see that." Edna gives him a onceover, clicking her teeth. "Why is the jacket closed all the way up your throat? Unzip the goddamn thing."
And before he could do anything, she holds out a finger and drags it down, and he yelps as the jacket briskly unzips all the way down on its own, nearly unbalancing him. He lets out another yelp as something tugs on the pants, his hands reactively grabbing at the waistband to stop it from being pulled down—except it doesn't. He peers down, eyes widening when he sees that the fabric has lengthened somehow.
"You have super—you have powers."
"Powers," the old lady clicks her tongue again. "If I had powers, I'd be able to alter this shit on the spot. Instead all I got are temporary parlor tricks. Once it's off, I'm still gonna have to sew this motherfucker. You know how hard it is to sew waterproof fabric?"
"Sew? But isn't, isn't this is only for—whoa, okay!" He jumps as the fabric around his butt suddenly tightens up like a vacuum, then thankfully loosens again. Edna doesn't seem to be paying attention, muttering to herself and making minor adjustments, so he turns to Prism. "I, I thought I was just m-model—for marketing the clothes! Right? For s-social media? That's why you wanted—asked for… photos…?"
"Marketing?"
Her face scrunches in a way that makes his stomach drop, and he braces himself for the coming insult. He ducks his head. Why'd he even think that? Of course this isn't for marketing. He's not exactly model material. He's not buff and handsome like Colm, or sexy and hot like Flambae, or even lean and pretty like Robert—
"The photos are for me. The marketing is when your scrawny little ass walks down the street looking fine as fuck."
"Down the stre—You want me to w-wear these outside—?"
"You fucking better," Edna pushes his arms up and out. "Hold that pose for a second."
He complies, even as he feels his throat close up. He may not know anything about fashion, but a teenage Herm once scoured the net for clothes made specifically for supers with similar powers to him and immediately closed the tab upon seeing the price. He could maybe afford some of it, now that he's an actual hero with an actual salary, but something tailored?
"Got a color scheme in mind? Or should I just stick with the blue and yellow?"
"C-color—?"
Edna clicks her tongue. "Yes. Colors. Red, blue, fucking beige—just let me know. It's your supersuit after all."
Oh god, it's not just tailored. It's custom. He should say something, anything. He can't possibly afford this—but something's bubbling up his stomach towards his throat, drowning his words.
"I said hold the pose. What are you—goddamnit. Alice! Deal with your friend."
He ducks his head, face burning so much that he's surprised the water on his cheeks hasn't turned to steam. This is so humiliating. And after Alice brought him all the way out here, too. She's probably so damn embarrassed right now.
"Hey, what's going on, Waterboy?"
Why did she even bring him here? Does she think she's doing him a favor? Or is it because she thinks he's a sucker who'll go along with whatever she says?
"Herman?"
He flinches at the uncharitable thought, guilt mixing with the shame. Prism isn't—Alice isn't like that. She probably just wanted to help out Edna by giving her a customer, but she should've just bought literally anyone else. Not Herman the lanky loser, who looks like a nasty sweatball toad. God, he's so stupid for even thinking—
"Herm."
Manicured fingers wrap around his jaw and yank, and suddenly he's face to face with Alice, her brow furrowed. The sight of her face so close to his stops him from sinking deeper into the whirlpool of his mind.
"You with me?"
He blinks. Nods.
She stares at him for a long hard moment, before letting go. He straightens up and rubs at the imprint of her nails on his cheek, mind still reeling. The silence stretches, before Alice breaks it.
"So? Spill."
He blinks again.
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms with a small huff. "Tell me what it is that got you so worked up. I can't help if you don't tell me." Then she pauses, eyes narrowing. "Did Edna say something? Because I like her, but I will cut the bitch if she—"
"N-no, no! She didn't—that's not it!" He waves his hands to calm her down. "I just… I, I don't know. All this—this isn't…" he huffs, before gesturing at himself, head hanging. "This isn't… me. And I can't afford a-any of this, so—I'm… sorry for wasting your time and—"
"Shut the fuck up."
The suddenness of that barked command once again halts his thoughts. He snaps his eyes up to meet hers. "Wha—"
"Shut. The fuck. Up," she repeats, emphatically poking his sternum with each pause. "This loser shit—I don't wanna hear it. Because it ain't true."
He feels water rushing through his veins, discontent bubbling up his throat because— "I'm not like you, Alice! I, I don't—just look at me!"
"Oh, I'm looking. And you wanna know what I see? I see a bad bitch who helped defeat Shroud and the Red Ring. The guy who managed to defeat Coupé without any backup. I see," she steps closer, until he can't help but look her in the eye, "a motherfucking hero. One who deserves more than some generic wetsuit from Dick's Sporting Goods. Now stop thinking shit about my friend before I deck you in the face."
Something warm blooms inside his chest, melting away his frustration and heating up his cheeks.
Friend.
She called him friend.
He's never—he's never had many of those. Not real ones, anyway. And she might just be saying this to convince him, but his gut tells him otherwise. He's seen Alice—Prism convince people, out in the field. The turned up charm and wit. Not entirely fake, but not entirely real. But this resolute gleam in her eyes? The absolute surety in her voice?
He smiles, but it fades again when he remembers the thought that started his mini spiral.
"I still… I still can't afford—"
Alice cuts him off with a scoff and a look. "Bitch, who do you think you're talking to? What, you think I'm one of them small-time artists busking on the street? You think I can't afford to treat my friends to nice things?"
"B-but—this is too much!"
"Ah, ah, ah. I don't wanna hear it." Her phone rings before Herm could protest any further, and she answers, holding it up to her ear. "Chad? I can't hear you, it's noisy as fuck—wait, are you at the club? Without me?" She pauses, listening, before laughing. "Bitch, who you calling lonely? 'Cause I'm not. Got a hot date and everything." She glances at Herm and winks.
He flushes. Looks away.
"Wait, Dee is—?" Her tone changes into something more serious as she listens to whoever's on the other side. "Okay. Text me the address. I'm on my way—the fuck you are. Stay put."
"I-is there trouble?"
"I gotta go. Edna'll take care of you, and if she doesn't, tell me so I could whoop her ass once I'm done dealing with these drunk fucks."
"Oh. Okay. Stay safe, and be—um, be careful."
She pauses, before turning and pulling him down by the shoulder, and Herm squeaks as he feels a quick kiss being planted on his cheek. Then she straightens, smile bright. "Thanks, Herm."
Edna walks in just then, a pile of folded garments in her arms. She raises a brow at Alice.
"I gotta head out. Take care of Herm now. And remember," she calls out to him, "you're a motherfucking hero, baby! It's time you look like one!"
And with that, she's out the door.
Edna clicks her tongue, before turning to Herm and throwing a similar looking outfit at him. "Well, you heard her. Now strip out of that and get into these."
A few more changes later, Herm finds it in him to speak up and ask about the payment.
Edna shoots him a strange look. "Alice already paid. Didn't that bitch tell you?"
"She… did, but—"
"She's paid for everyone she's brought here," Edna continues as she writes down his measurements and needed adjustments on a glittery little notepad. "The mudman, the matchstick bitch, and then that mouthy invisible brat. Now you, and you're the best of the bunch so far."
"Th-thank you?"
"Polite too. Arms up."
Herm follows as he mentally goes over the list: Golem, Flambae, and Invisigal. But wait… "I thought Golem didn't buy—purchase the clothes? Why'd she have to, to pay for… for him?"
"The mudman? He didn't want the tux but Alice still bought it and took it with her. Some shit about having it in case of emergencies."
"O-oh," Herm looks down, chews on his lip for a second, before asking, "h-how much is…"
Edna snaps her little notebook shut, meeting his eyes over the rim of her glasses. "If you're asking 'cause you wanna pay for it yourself, don't bother. The invisible brat balked at the price, and I get the sense you're not much wealthier than her. And even if you had the money, like that matchstick bitch? Alice will just come back here and bitch about a motherfucker while commissioning another more expensive set for said motherfucker." She taps his chest with the end of her pencil. "So don't try it. This ain't her trying to gain favors. This is her showing she cares. Now strip. We're done here. And give me your address so I know where to send your shit once alterations are finished."
The next day during lunch hour, Prism corners him in the break room, a hand landing hard on the wall, pinning him in place as she glares up at him through her visor.
"Why aren't you wearing them?"
"Them? Th-the clothes?"
"Yes, bitch. The clothes. And don't play. I know Edna. The bitch works fast. And by fast, I mean she probably sent you the shit this morning. So where are they?"
Herm grimaces, excuse gone, because he did in fact receive a package that morning, nearly tripping over it on his way out.
"In… in my locker. It's, the package is in my—"
"Then why the fuck aren't you wearing them?!"
Many reasons, really. Most she probably gleaned from his mini-breakdown yesterday. All of them probably unacceptable to her.
"I didn't want them to get… blood and, and dirt. They're brand n-new," he tries, voice shrinking towards the end.
"Bitch, that's—" she stops herself with a sharp inhale, before letting it out slowly. "Look, I didn't give you a motherfucking pep talk Roberto-style just for you to wuss out now, so here's what you're gonna do." Then she slams her hand down on the wall again, leans in close. Herm gulps. "You're gonna march your skinny ass down to the lockers and change into your new clothes."
"B-but—"
"Now. Or I'mma do it for you, and I won't be nice about it."
Not wanting to find out how serious Prism's threat was, Herm finds his way to the thankfully empty shower rooms with Edna's package.
He strips out of his wetsuit, takes a deep breath, before opening the surprisingly waterproof box.
First, the pair of black loose-fitting pants, kneepads sewn in as part of the garment, and then a white sleeveless high-necked top, the fabric much thicker than the one she had him try yesterday. Finally, the jacket, left unzipped as instructed. He runs a hand down the newly added yellow stripes up the sleeve and along the collar, adding a sense of familiarity to the ensemble.
He pointedly doesn't look at the mirror, keeping his eyes on the floor. Not yet.
But so far, it feels… nice. Even with the top now sticking to his damp chest, it's still comfortable. He moves his limbs—and the fabric of the jacket and the pants move with it, sliding across his skin without clinging on wet skin and without any rubbery squeaks. Is this… is this what normal clothes should feel like against dry skin?
He glances at the other accessories included in the package: a short chain necklace and bracelets, which he doesn't put on because he's not sure how advisable it would be to wear jewelry while he's out in the field; a pair of white gloves, thinner than the ones he currently uses, with two stripes on the side, yellow and blue; and finally, swim goggles.
Large frame and wide vision, in a blue that matches the jacket. It looks way more comfortable and stylish compared to his current pair, like something he'd see in a sports poster. He puts it on, giddiness rising when he finds it to be a near-perfect fit without much adjustment. He glances at the mirror—
His breath hitches, jaw dropping.
He steps closer. He looks… good?
At least he thinks so. Not as loud as his wetsuit, but vibrant enough to draw the eye. He bites his lip, lifts a hand and tentatively runs it through his hair, trying to slick it back. He tries for a grin, and it grows into a genuine one.
He looks around, making sure there's still no one else nearby, before slowly letting the jacket fall from his shoulders and catch on his elbows, the way he's seen Invisigal do it a couple times before, hands in pockets. He lets out a disbelieving laugh, turning this way and that—
A loud beeping tone makes him jump, and he turns to the bench with his stuff. His earpiece. It beeps again.
He scrambles over and puts it on, immediately getting an alert from— "R-Robert!"
«Waterboy, where are you? I've been trying to get a hold of you for five minutes.»
"I was—in the lockers and—ch-changing—"
«Changing? Why are you—» he breaks off into a sigh, before, «You know what? Nevermind. Just… get to the conference room. Blonde Blazer has some announcements to share with the team before we start the next shift.»
"Okay. I'll be… I'll be right there."
«Alright. Five minutes.»
The connection drops, and Herm takes a deep breath, before letting it all out in one long whoosh. "Okay. Okay. I got this."
He takes his old wetsuit and goggles, puts it away into into his locker, and heads out into the hallway—and immediately running into someone's solid chest, falling backward. He would've landed on his rear if it weren't for the large hand catching him by the bicep.
"Oof. My bad, brah… wait, Waterboy? That you?"
Herm blinks up. "H-hi, Royd."
Royd laughs, rambunctious as usual. "Ho! Looking good!" He looks him up and down. "Prism make you wear all that?"
Herm tries for a smile despite the way his heart starts beating fast. "Is it th-that obvious? I mean, all this… probably doesn't really fit—suit me—"
"No no no," Royd quickly cuts in. "You look good, bruddah. No lie. Just noticed 'cause of the material. Polyurethane laminate, but an upgraded version. Is super water-resistant and durable. Aunty Edna make it?"
"You… know her?"
"Yessah," Royd grins. "Best supersuit maker this side of Torrance. And I know her and Prism tight. Ah, hold on—" he takes out his beeping phone, frowning at whatever he sees on the screen. "Gotta go 'fore the newbie blows up the lab." He pockets his phone, then looks Herm up and down one more time. "But trust me, brah. You look good good. Like popstar," Royd pats him on the shoulder before walking past him and down the hall. "Enjoy the rest of the day, ya?"
"T-thanks! You too!" Herm calls out after him.
Royd… just gave him a compliment. For his outfit. He just got complimented. For his looks. By someone other than his grandma. His chest warms, lips twitching.
Then his earpiece starts beeping again. He jumps, before scurrying away.
Mandy is starting to regret her decision to make this announcement in person. She really should've just let Robert handle it.
"Like I said, we'll start once Waterboy gets here. And this is gonna be worth your while. Trust me."
The Z-Team grumble only a little at that, more than skeptical. She doesn't blame them. Upper management doesn't really have a good track record when it comes to the Phoenix Program. She knows the only reason they don't voice more of their skepticism is because of the strange respect she's earned from them, fighting with them against Shroud.
"Heh, little bitch really grew a spine, huh?" Flambae grins. "Not only is he mouthing off his teammates, now he's also playing hooky."
"Pretty sure you're the only he's ever mouthed off," Punch Up smirks.
"Yeah, Flambitch." Invisigal snickers, before turning to Blonde Blazer at the head of the table. "Bet you're regretting sticking him with us, huh?"
Mandy just gives her a small strained smile, because yes, she is regretting it the slightest bit. Still, she's hoping the self-confidence boost and the social growth is enough to justify whatever bad habits he picks up from this rag-tag group of ex-convicts.
The doors swing open, and Robert steps back inside. "He'll be here in a bit. He's just—"
"Changing his underwear," Sonar cuts in. "He probably shit himself."
"What the fuck? Why?"
Robert sighs. "He's not—"
"Ah, ah, ah. You can't fool my ears, Bobby-o. I heard you loud and clear asking why Waterboy was changing."
"Yeah, okay, but that doesn't mean he was changing his underwear."
"You think he shit his pants during a call?" Flambae smirks.
Mandy frowns. "I don't think this is appropriate—"
"Ugh, lighten up," Courtney says as she spins in her chair to face Flambae. "I bet it happened during that tower rescue."
"Nah, the lad ain't afraid of heights."
"Maybe it happened when we had to clean up after that gas truck," Golem rumbles. More than one person turns to him in confusion. "What? Diesel always makes me wanna go."
"I think that's just you, babes," Malevola says.
Shortly after, the chatter devolves into different topics—some of it definitely not appropriate for a workplace environment, but as long as it keeps everyone busy, Mandy's not gonna get on their case about it.
"… why are you smiling like that?" Robert asks, the suspicion in his tone enough to make everyone follow his line of sight towards Prism.
"Like what?" she asks, looking up from her phone with completely see-through innocence.
"Yeah," Invisigal squints at her. "What's with the shit-eating grin?"
"Can't a girl smile at her phone without getting the third degree?"
"You've been smiling like that ever since Sonar confirmed that he heard Waterboy was changing," Coupé adds, head tilted.
Sonar laughs. "Ah, yes. The thought of Waterboy's pale naked body is making her all giddy inside. That it, Prism?"
Her smile only widens.
"Okay, I was only joking, but you're starting to freak me out. Seriously? Discount Barnacle Boy?"
"You won't be calling him that after today."
This time, it's Flambae who's heard over the curious crowd. "What the fuck does that even mean—"
The doors swing open.
"S-sorry I'm late!"
Mandy holds back a sigh of relief, before turning to smile at the newcomer. "No worries, Waterboy. Take a seat and we'll… start…"
She blinks. Once, then twice. Then—
"Oh. Wow. You look—"
"You actually look fuckable, what the hell," Courtney wheezes, sounding just as stunned as Mandy feels. Neither notice the sound of Prism's phone shutter clicking multiple times.
Waterboy ducks his head and smiles, and there's nothing different about the gesture—he's done it many times before—except it definitely hits different with his hair slicked back and the jacket sliding down his shoulders and the way his new goggles don't hide his eyes as much, wide and round and pleased, turning the shy curve of his lips into something sweeter.
"Yeah?" he asks, voice giddy as he scratches his cheek. "I look good?"
This, of course, causes a commotion amongst the Z-Team.
"Damn right you do! Give us a spin, white boy!" Prism whoops, and whoops even louder when Waterboy actually does a little spin that causes his jacket to slide down even more, exposing arms that look way more toned than they did when he was first hired.
"Damn," Golem rumbles over Courtney's shocked laughter.
"Jesus, lad," Punch Up says, sounding like he's choking on disbelief, while Coupé's gaze go strangely intense as it tracks the bared skin. "You've been hitting the gym, huh?"
"It's steroids," Sonar protests once he's managed to pick up his jaw from the ground. "It has to be."
"Try putting your goggles up, babes," Malevola suggests, her own phone out and recording.
"L-like this?"
It starts another commotion, and Mandy—Mandy's always been a sucker for eyes. She fell for Katon's earnest dark blue, was instantly mesmerized by Robert's warm chestnut brown, and has an undeniable soft spot for Courtney's intense russet. And here she is, being pulled in by Waterboy's gaze, a blue so steely it translates to grey, an interesting contrast to the overall roundness of his eyes.
She's so caught up in then that she barely notices Robert stepping up to quiet down the room.
"Alright, alright. Let's put Waterboy's teen movie makeover to the side for now and get this over with. We've still got a shift after this. Blazer?"
"Hm?" she asks, tearing her gaze away from the way Waterboy's shirt is plastered against his chest.
Robert gives her a pointed look. "The announcements?"
Oh. Right. That.
She coughs into her fist, before straightening up. "First, as you all may or may not know, Phenomaman has taken a sabbatical leave after the whole situation with the Red Ring—"
"Oh yeah, haven't seen the big guy in a while."
"Last I heard, he was flying around Nepal or something."
"What's that got to do with us though?"
Mandy clears her throat. "As I was saying, he's been on sabbatical, but he'll be coming back next week and he's put in a request. He won't be returning to his old team at the DTLA branch. Instead, he'll be acting as a member of the Z-Team for the foreseeable future."
She braces herself for the incoming slew of questions and complaints, and Robert does the same in her periphery. She already sees Malevola and Coupé frowning. Honestly, Mandy doesn't blame them for having reservations. Eight members is already above the average six, and with Coupé's return and the addition of Phenomaman, the Z-Team would now have the largest roster in the Torrance branch.
"Why?" Courtney asks, blunt as ever. "I mean, yeah we're cool as shit and all, but he's Phenomaman. Why does he want to slum it up with us losers?"
Robert raises a brow. "So are you cool as shit or are you losers?"
"Shut up, dad bod. You know what I mean."
Mandy cuts in before anyone else could start bantering. "Phenomaman tells me you guys really impressed him during that fight against the Red Ring and Shroud and expressed a desire to… get to know you more."
"Really?!"
They all turn to Waterboy, who flushes under the attention.
"S-sorry," he settles back down in his chair. "Just, you know. Heh. Excited to… work with him. Again."
Malevola mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "God, that's adorable," while Punch Up nods.
"Don't worry about it, Little Mermaid. As a fellow fanboy, I get you." Sonar puts a hand on his back, before offering a fistbump. "Not as a Phenomafan, mind you. I'm a Vanderstenker, all the way."
"O-oh. Yay?"
Sonar pauses, squinting. "You know, you might stand a chance at seducing him like this. I mean, I don't know if he's into twinks, but if he is—"
"Any questions or concerns you might have, please bring them up either me or Robert later," Mandy cuts in before Sonar could finish that thought. The image of Katon and Waterboy together is… she clears her throat and her mind, gathering herself. "The second announcement is something you'll all like. Upper management has officially recognized your contribution in taking down Shroud and the Red Ring—"
"Not like it's been a month since it happened," Courtney grumbles, and the others hum their assent, though they all go quiet when Robert shoots them a look.
Mandy gives him a grateful smile, before continuing. "And as part of this recognition, I'm happy to announce that SDN is going to hold a gala next week, and the Z-Team," she spreads her hands towards them, smiling, "will be the guests of honor!"
Her smile falters as she's met with stares. Well, mostly. Prism's excited, while Sonar and Coupé look marginally interested. But the rest?
"What's a gala?" Golem asks.
"It's like a big fancy party," Courtney answers before Mandy could, "but for nepo babies and politicians."
"That it? Sounds ass."
"No, that is not it," Mandy shoots her a look. "It is a formal event where everyone's going to celebrate your accomplishments as a team. There's going to be dinner, dancing—"
"Alcohol?"
She sighs. "Yes, Punch Up. There will be alcohol."
"For free?"
"Yes. You guys are, as I said, the guests of honor. Everything's free."
Murmurs go around as they slowly warm up to the idea.
"Who's gonna be there?" asks Sonar.
"Well, I'll be in attendance, of course, as well as some representatives from the main branch. The press. Some of our high-profile clients were also invited—"
"Is Vanderstenk gonna be there?"
She sighs again. "Yes, Sonar. He will be."
"Sweet," he says. "I've got so many ideas to pitch him—"
"Enough about Vanderstink!" Prism stands, hands flat on the table, and Mandy's just impressed she managed to hold it in for this long. "Think about the PR opportunity! Oh my god, Miss Blazer—"
"Again, just Blazer is fine."
"—you said formal? So we'll need suits and dresses and shit?"
Mandy has to hold back a laugh. "Yes, SDN will be covering you guys on that front. But," she adds hurriedly as Prism's lips purse into a pout, "we will appreciate any ideas any of you might have on what you want to wear. We'll forward your suggestions to the designer we hired."
Courtney laughs. "Shit, I thought you were kidding about that. So you actually found a poor sucker willing to deal with all this? You trick this guy into agreeing or what?"
"I didn't have to trick anyone. As it turns out, Edna Edom has already worked with some of you before and is willing to do so again."
Mandy delights in the way Courtney's smirk falls into horror while Prism straight up starts squealing.
"Oh my fucking god. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Miss Blazer!" Prism pulls her into a tight hug, before immediately letting go and pointing at everyone else in the room. "You motherfuckers free this weekend? Oooh, I'm gonna text Edna now!"
"Who's that?" Punch Up asks.
"She's talented!" Waterboy answers, smile bright. "She's the one who made—created this outfit."
"She's a frigid bitch," Courtney hisses.
The remaining five minutes of their meeting get spent on Waterboy, Courtney and Golem recounting their experience with Edna while Prism coordinates a date for everyone to visit her shop for a fitting. But all things must come to an end, and soon everyone's filing out the door except for Mandy and Robert.
"That went well," Mandy says, turning to Robert. "I gotta say, I did not expect that from Waterboy." She pauses, taking in the pensiveness in his eyes. "What's up with you?"
He shrugs. "Nothing. Just… worried, is all."
She blinks. "About what? Looks like Waterboy's really getting along with everyone, and their reactions was pretty great."
"Not all of them," he says, eyes fixed on the table.
She follows his gaze, and sees scorch marks on the wood. Only then does she realize she hasn't heard Flambae utter a single word ever since Waterboy came in.