Every time someone refers to what “the founding fathers” thought about anything, as if they were a massive hivemind of powdered wigs and backwardness, a historian falls down dead
The blond stepped out onto the deck of the log cabin he and Ciaran had been renting out, glancing around a bit with a contented sigh at the massive white slopes of powder. If he didn't know better, it could almost be home... But Frostaro was hardly something he wanted to think about right now. His skin was completely bare, save for a pair of patterned swim trunks, and a pair of sunglasses. "HEY CIARAN, LOOK OUT!" he lept forward with a laugh, taking a rather dramatic dive into the snow.