Work Text:
For all that it looked like a watermelon slushy, it was tart. Not bitter, but tart, the kind that left her mouth puckering and instant-dry. The seeds floating about in defiance of gravity, cresting on bubbles that had magic’d out of nowhere, weren’t black and they weren’t hard. Marble, solid, ardent; they tasted green and soft on her tongue, smeared into a paste that lingered on her palate.
78percent protein. 17percent vegetable. 5percent fruit. It wasn’t a health drink. It was the only drink. Dinner, actually; a worker’s feast in an 18oz bottle.
Alba tipped it side-to-side and watched the bubbles and the seeds and dreaded breakfast.