#post:starter

✄ starter for @thxsora​

Two quick things about Min Kisu:

Early bird. Lark. Morning person. All of these are accurate descriptors that have been used for Min Kisu. Other descriptors include: “why the hell are you so cheerful it’s four in the morning” and “if you don’t shut your stupid smiling face and let me sleep, I’ll kill you.” Basically, if the sun isn’t up, Min Kisu sure is.

Min Kisu likes to dance more than he likes most people. And he likes most people a lot.

So, keeping in mind these points, it seems only natural that Kisu would be the the happiest person in the dance club for their first practice of the semester, which just so happened to be scheduled for 6AM.

He stumbles over to one of the girls he’d been watching -- they did workshops earlier, but Kisu is kinda a ditz when it comes to names -- following their first workshop, grinning from ear to ear.

┠☼┨

     Rasputin would never experience taste. He would not know how to personally identify the words sweet, sour, spicy, or mild. He would never know what comforts a favorite meal could bring.

     However, he found that revenge was a very unique sensory input. It left a film on the inside of his mouth and he could only describe it as the clanging of metal, the collision of two suns, the feeling of electricity running through every corridor, every system, every individual file he house inside his body. And, for once, he was thankful for what they had done.

     They let him taste.

     And with each pop of his rifle, each screech that pierced the air, each stream of life force that left their fatal wounds, it only intensified. His frame stood stiffly upright, half hidden by the corpse of a long forgotten vessel, as his white optics looked intently down the scope. The Fallen a well sized distance in front of him were in a frenzy. They scrambled to find cover and cautiously peeked around for their attacker, guns tightly gripped in their claws as they laid down suppressive fire in the vague direction he was in. The Warmind had only brought down two of their brethren and was now simply relishing in their reaction. 

      “Describe to me the taste of fear....” 

     There was a ping.

     Very faint. Small enough that if the Warmind did not purposely make it so their signal would be sent ahead of his current task as a warning, it would had been missed completely.

     Light. A Ghost.

     However, they were not attempting to steal from him nor invade his privacy as they tend to do. This was different. They were gathering his attention.

     Shifting his focus to the sector of the Cosmodrome in which they were located, with some protest from his Core, the Warmind sent his own ping back. They had found him. What was it they desired?

But before I get caught up in a search for energy I just wanted to say ‘hi’ - a few people have started following me and I’m not entirely sure we’ve met before. My name’s Blaine Anderson, it’s a pleasure to kind of meet you!

She needs to get it through her head, I’m not a short Jewish kid... I’m a tall Jewish kid. 

Any assistance would be greatly appreciated.