I have no idea where he got that.
“Stop. What are you—” Maxo spoke the words too late, his shipmate was already face first in the wet substance covering the ground. “You never take the necessary precautions. Now you’re going to be sick and die.” Then, under his breath he said to himself, “Not that I’d care.”
Marxmo ran back toward Maxo and tugged on his arm. “Come on, this is fun.”
There was nothing fun about the cold that surrounded them; nothing fun about walking in so much wet. “You’re an id—” The substance splatted him in the face, causing him to run in the other direction to find shelter. “We’re being attacked. Get over here.” It hit him again, this time in the back of the head. When he turned his head he saw Marxmo standing over him with a ball of the substance in his hand.