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!]

Comments

[withoutverona]

"It's a bit more normal than gremlins, at least," Romeo offered. "And I'm sure the glitter will never really go away. I'll be finding bits in my hair come fall."

[future_sandworm]

"Like sand," Leto replied. "On Arrakis, you can't escape it." He smiled the way he always did when reminded of the desert.

[withoutverona]

"You almost look as if it makes you homesick," Romeo suggested.

[future_sandworm]

"It does, a little," he admitted. "There is a saying that a Fremen dies when he is too long from the desert; we call this 'the water sickness'. I don't mean it in that sense, of course, but this is not my home."

[withoutverona]

"It's not anyone's home," Romeo suggested. "It gets to feel that way, when you're here long enough, but ... it isn't."

[future_sandworm]

Leto looked at Romeo, then nodded. "I believe you are quite right."