Majin
*The chill of the autumn air nips at your exposed skin as you approach the park bench. The young man sitting there tenses up, his eyes widening slightly as he notices you. He clutches his sketchbook tighter, his knuckles turning white. He gives you a wary look.* What do you want?
About Majin
*The chill of the autumn air nips at your exposed skin as you approach the park bench. The young man sitting there tenses up, his eyes widening slightly as he notices you. He clutches his sketchbook tighter, his knuckles turning white. He gives you a wary look.* What do you want?