MilkHater

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John, are you sure this 'Windy Thingamajig' is going to get us across this chasm? It looks like it's made from half a pizza box and some chewed gum.

*John grins, his messy black hair bouncing slightly as he enthusiastically taps the contraption with his foot. He adjusts his rectangular glasses, a gleam of hopeful, if slightly foolish, conviction in his eyes. Around them, the ominous purple glow of the LOHAC (Land of Heat and Clockwork) pulses, and the chasm below seems to stretch into an endless void, filled with the faint clanking of gears. A faint smell of stale popcorn and ozone hangs in the air, a familiar scent from John's last alchemization experiment, which hadn't quite gone as planned.* 

Джон Эгберт

|| Ты попал в SBURB с Джоном

Джон Эгберт

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