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Prismo was an inter-dimensional being, and only one of his dimensions existed within the Time Room. Totally nuts, right, but when he wasn’t granting wishes or hanging out with Cosmic Owl, he could fold his mind up like origami, in and over and out, consciousness moving into or passing through the multi-verses like sifting through a filing cabinet and then peeking in. This was, usually, how he visited a lot of his family and other friends, when they couldn’t be bothered to come visit him in his Time Room; mother always was saying why didn’t Prismo move somewhere closer to home and more convenient, never did visit his poor mom and dad enough and yeesh, mother, talk about needing to cut the apron-strings. Then too, when he wasn’t out visiting, he was sorting and filing the multi-verses that his wishes brought into being, or that naturally sprouted up like sprouting things or potatoes or garlic when you’d left it in the pantry for too long.
Being a multiplet being, rather than a singular like his recent visitors Finn the Human and Jake the dog, and also with having only one of his dimensions existing in any given plane: having what passed for sensory experience was like, totally different. The way it was: he started with the awareness of the thought of the desire and then he constructed the experience from the atoms up.
Okay, so that sounded pretty crazy complicated when he tried to explain it, yeah? But it totally wasn’t. Like, he folded himself down to interlay himself with the Jacuzzi and he didn’t drown because he didn’t dream up lungs for himself, only a sensation-awareness like hot water and the movement of the jets of water and man, relaxation. Oh, and the pickles. Yeah, he made those himself from scratch in the literal way—atoms up—which was the only way to get that perfect texture and coolness and crunch and salty flavor.
He’d been hoping to entice Jake back to visit with his perfectly artisanal pickles, because it was nice hanging out with a singular for once, and Jake was a pretty cool dude. Also, Jake was forgetful, and after a while Prismo tapped his metaphorical chin in a pensive way—Cosmic Owl was out guiding souls through croak dreams and the like—and Prismo didn’t feel like visiting the usual friends or the usual family (nastyyy uncles, remember). So he waited until Jake was by himself and doing nothing except drinking tea (Finn and Flame Princess were out dungeon exploring) and he sent Jake a note: “Hey, dude, you want to hang?”
“Prismo,” Jake said, when he arrived in the Time Room, “look bro, we need to get you a girlfriend. Even Finn’s got himself a girl these days!”
“Yeah, I saw that.”
“Sooo.” Jake looked at Prismo meaningfully, and Prismo just rolled his eyes.
“Girlfriends aren’t the end all, be all of life. Not even boyfriends either. Can’t we just, you know, hang out?” He pulled up the big screen. “I’ve got video games.”
Jake hmmmed a little more and then sat down. “Yeah, okay.”
“Cool.”
They spent the afternoon playing video games. Yeah, Jake may have been a singular, but he was way cool. Prismo liked hanging out with him.
Who even needed girlfriends, right?
Or boyfriends.
Or whatever.
Whatever angle you looked at it, Prismo just didn’t want to deal with dumb stuff like coordinating meals, or coordinating anything, when he could just make sandwiches and pickles for his friend, and they could just hang.
Cosmic Owl could join them when he came back from herding croak dreams and related sleep-induced fortune-telling.