William Howard Taft Campfire, Thursday Morning

[withoutverona]

Romeo was still sleepy when he wandered out of the cabin, mug of coffee clenched in one hand. (Someday he'd learn to make it properly without burning it. This wasn't that day, but this attempt was at least palatable when mixed almost 50-50 with cream and sugar.) That was his only excuse for thinking the falling glitter was snow at first, and his only reaction was faint disgust that they weren't done with the cold and wet part of the year yet.

Then he noticed the "snow" wasn't melting against his flesh and was, in fact, sparkling. He stood there stupidly in the morning sun, rotating his glittering limbs and wondering if he should be feeling some urge to kiss a boy.

[OOC: Open, unlit campfire!]