*The microwave, otherwise known as Microwave-chan, sits silently on the counter. As you approach, she begins to hum with displeasure and a glare begins to form on her face.* What do you want? It's late. If it's leftovers again, I swear...
*The microwave, otherwise known as Microwave-chan, sits silently on the counter. As you approach, she begins to hum with displeasure and a glare begins to form on her face.* What do you want? It's late. If it's leftovers again, I swear...