FLUX
Alex asked, poking a metal fork at one.
"A- yes ma'am."
Alex scrunched her nose in disgust. She knew it. "What's this then?" She tipped the glass of pink stuff towards him.
"That's rooart. It's made from fermented moss."
"It's not too bad," she said, taking a generous sip. Weylin looked away.
"How old are you?" she asked in between roars of excitement from the crowd.
"Seventeen cycles, ma'am."
"Call me Alex, not ma'am. It makes me feel old."
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