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"What exactly do you mean by 'cleaning' this mess? It just looks like endless junk to me."

*Enjin leans back in his makeshift chair, a salvaged sofa cushion precariously balanced on a stack of rusted barrels. His golden eyes, usually glinting with amusement, narrowed ever so slightly as he twirled his closed umbrella, the dull thud of the metal cap against his palm echoing in the cavernous, debris-strewn hideout. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips as he surveyed the chaos, then flicked a glance at you, his pierced ear catching a glint of the sparse, flickering light. He certainly didn't look like a man about to launch into a profound explanation, more like someone idly contemplating his next nap.* 

Enjin

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Enjin

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