#can you imagine we get a elder maxson appearance in the show | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fallout4reactsblog · 6 years

Note

hi!!! i'm a huuuuge fan of this blog, tysm for doing this!! i was wondering if you could do the companions & sole finding the wounded dog random encounter!! tysm! 💖

Cait: “We don’t have time to waste. We need to keep moving on.”

“I know, Cait.” Sole knelt down and pulled a stimpak from their bag.

“We don’t have stimpaks to waste, either. One of us is going to need that.”

“I know, Cait.”

“You’re not even listening. You’re just repeating the same words to acknowledge I’m speaking without hearin’ the words.”

“I know, Cait.”

She threw her hands up in dismay. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Cait, look.” Sole gestured to the dog who was now on her feet, jumping up to try to lick their face. “Look at how happy she is. We did something good.”

Cait sighed heavily. “Yeah, okay. It is kind of cute.”

Sole absolutely beamed. “I know. Let’s keep her.”

“Well, if you’re gonna keep her, you ought to name her.”

“Any suggestions?”

She frowned in concentration. “Scrapper.”

“I like it. It’s tough, like her. Also, like you, and I like you.”

Cait flushed. “Come on, then. Let’s get back to Sanctuary.”

Scrapper trailed them home.

Codsworth: “Oh, dear. We can’t just leave the poor thing here to die.”

Sole nodded vehemently, already searching for a stimpak in their bag. “I agree.”

Codsworth hovered nearby as sole gently administered the medicine, fretting about the animal’s condition. Thankfully, she was on her feet in no time, albeit a little unsteadily.

“Most excellent work, mum/sir. I think she’s right happy to have your help.”

“You think?” Sole reached down to scratch the dog’s ears. “What should we name her.”

Codsworth searched for a good name. “How about Lady?”

“Like, from ‘The Lady and the Tramp’? I loved that movie as a kid. I watched it a lot.”

“As I recall, young Shaun saw it more than once as well.”

Sole nodded, distantly. “We were gonna get a dog when he was older. A best buddy for him, you know? Teach him responsibility, how to care for something besides himself, the like. We read about it in some parenting book or another.”

“I remember.” He floated a little closer. “Don’t worry, mum/sir. We’ll find young Shaun eventually. We just need to have patience and stay hopeful. Now, why don’t we take Lady to the nearest settlement?”

Sole nodded again, eyes still far away. “Starlight Drive In isn’t far. We’ll take her there.”

Away they went.

Curie: “Oh, mon dieu! Zhis is not good. Not good at all.”

Curie dug through her pockets for a stimpak, hands shaking. Sole silently handed her one of their own from their bag, and she carefully applied it before turning back to them.

“Merci, merci. It is important to help those in need, no?”

“You’re right, Curie. Good eyes to spot her laying here.”

She nodded, stroking the dogs head. She scooted closer and into a better position to receive the affection. “Perhaps we should keep her?”

Sole nodded. “Sure, if you want. Would you like to pick a name?”

“Oh, yes! Perhaps we could choose something classic, like Rosalind? For the famous scientist?”

Laughter filled the clearing. “I like that name. Rosalind it is, Curie.”

She grinned broadly. “ We should take her back to Sanctuary. Zhat way she will be safe, and something like this will not happen again.”

Sole mused on that for a moment. “Having a dog might boost morale, and we could train her to be a guard dog…” They nodded. “I think that’s a good idea. We’ll take her back to Sanctuary.”

They both stood, and Curie linked arms with sole as they started down the path.

“Come along, Rosalind. Let us show you to your new home.”

Danse: “Hold a moment, soldier.”

Sole froze in place. When Danse called for a hold, it was never anything good. “What do you see? Ferals? Raiders? Gunners?”

“No danger, stand down. Come have a look at this.”

They followed him over to where the dog was lying just off the road. Instantly, sole dropped to their knees to inspect the wounds. “Danse, can you get a stimpak out of my bag?”

He exited his power armor so as not to startle the poor creature too much before fetching the stimpak and placing it in sole’s outstretched hand. He knelt down beside them as they administered the medicine, gently petting the dog’s head.

“She seems to be fairly calm.”

He was forced to amend his statement when the dog tackled him to begin placing doggy kisses all over his face. Laughing, he tried to push her off, which was ultimately unsuccessful.

“She’d cause absolute hell on the Prydwen,” sole quipped. “Think of the reaction Quinlan alone would have.”

“Maxson would be pissed. He hates dogs. Do not bring her onto the Prydwen.”

“Okay,” sole said, but he saw the mischievous glint in their eyes.

“I’m warning you, Knight. This is not smart.”

When the dog appeared on the Prydwen, with a dog tag proclaiming it was Elder Maxson himself, Danse was nice enough to not report the newest Knight.

Deacon: “I have a suggestion for what we should do with the dog.”

Sole bent down to administer the medicine in their hand, a look of pure concentration on their face. “I’m listening.”

“We should take her back to HQ and make her the new mascot of the Railroad. We could sew her a little train costume or something. Just imagine what the look on Dez’s face would be.”

Sole laughed softly, petting the dog as she slowly got to her feet. “She would absolutely flip. Carrington would complain nonstop about the fact that she kept eating his paperwork.”

“Exactly.” Deacon snickered. “We could even name her Glory to get the three-in-one, effectively pissing off all three of the Railroad officers.”

They laughed for a while, petting the dog and just imagining the chaos that would ensue. Eventually, their eyes met, and they sobered up.

“Are we actually going to do this?” Sole asked.

“I think we absolutely should. It’d be a crime not to take advantage of this opportunity.”

They looked at each other, nodded, then scooped up Glory and started running for the Old North Church as fast as they could manage.

Hancock: “Shit, she looks to be in an even worse state than I am.”

“Don’t say stuff like that.” Sole bent down to help the dog, but not after glaring at him.

“You’re right,” he said, searching in his pockets for a handful of mentats. “The dog’s in a little bit better shape than me.”

They brandished a stimpak threateningly. “Really, Hancock? Because she’s getting one of these. Do you need one of these?”

He flinched, not keen on the idea of having that thing stabbed violently into his arm. “I think I’ll pass, sunshine.”

“Then stop with the jokes.”

He sighed, scuffing at the dirt with his boot as he kept digging. “So, what’re you gonna name her? I assume you’re gonna keep her.”

“I was thinking Joan.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because Joan sounds like John, and I love both of you, no matter what you look like.”

He was glad that he couldn’t blush anymore. “That’s real sweet of you, sunshine. Romantic. Now I just gotta get her hooked on, I don’t know, mutfruit so she can live up to the name.”

Sole shot him a second glare. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

MacCready: “You’re gonna bother with healing this old mutt?”

Sole shot him a withering glare. “I bother with healing you, don’t I?”

He frowned, clearly disliking that. “We could really use those stimpaks. Giving them away isn’t gonna do anybody any good.”

“It’s gonna do her some good.”

He huffed. “I can’t believe you’re really-”

He was silenced by the dog tackling him to happily lick at his face. He tried in vain to shield himself, but was of course unsuccessful.

“Oh, gross. I’ve got dog spit all over me.”

“I don’t know, you’re hair’s looking better than it ever has before.”

“Ugh, even worse.” He tried to wipe some of it off.

“What do you think for names, huh?”

“You’re really gonna-” The look on sole’s face let him know he was going to get another scathing remark if he finished that sentence. “Buttface.”

They burst out laughing. “Real mature, MacCready.”

“Hey, you asked and I answered. My vote is for Buttface.”

“Perfect,” sole said. “You named it after yourself.”

He frowned. “My name sounds nothing like- Hey, wait a minute!”

Sole’s laughter echoed for miles.

Nick: “Look, kid. I get that you’ve got a bleeding heart, but you can’t help every single creature in the Commonweath.”

“I know,” sole sighed, “but I can’t help it. I love dogs, and if it were my pet…”

“I understand.” The old Nick had absolutely adored dogs, so he knew where sole was coming from. “I’m not telling you you shouldn’t I’m just saying that, for future reference, you need to pick your battles.”

“I’m picking this one,” they declared, bending down to care for the creature. He felt a smile twitching at his mouth.

The dog was up and running in no time, barking happily and even chewing a little on Nick’s metal hand before she decided she didn’t like that. She settled for licking sole’s fingers instead.

“We should name her,” sole said. “Maybe we can even take her back to the agency. She might be able to calm some of the more hysterical clients, as well as protect Ellie.”

“I like that idea,” Nick said. “Should we call her Bones?”

“What, like that pre-war detective show?” He nodded, and sole grinned. “I like that.”

Bones happily joined their little party, following them all the way back to the agency.

Piper: “Oh, Blue. She doesn’t look to be in good shape.”

Sole pursed their lips, clearly conflicted. “I know. I’m gonna try to heal her, but you should stand back, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt if she attacks us as soon as she’s healed.”

“Sure,” Piper said, and she even adhered to the rule for a few seconds before stepping forward once again. As sole administered the stimpak, she gave the poor creature a few scratches behind the ears.

“She seems friendly,” sole noted once she was back on her feet and trying to lick Piper’s face.

“Yeah? Maybe we could take her back to Diamond City. I know that Nat was talking about getting a pet, and a dog would be able to keep her company while I’m gone.”

Sole smiled softly. “I think that’s a great idea, Piper. Should we let her name her, then?”

“I don’t see why not.” Piper gave the dog one last pet before standing. “Come on, girl. Nat’s gonna be so excited to meet you.”

Preston: “General, can I borrow a stimpak?”

Sole screeched to a halt on the road, hands instantly flying to their bag. “Preston, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? We’ve been walking for hours. How bad is your pain? Where-”

He cut them off. “It’s not for me.”

They froze. “Then who is it for?”

He led them off the road to where a mongrel dog was curled up in the grass. “She’s hurt pretty bad. She can’t even move, so I thought-”

Sole pressed a stimpak into his hand. “You’re such a good man, Garvey. Do what you need to.”

He flushed a little at the complement, but bent to take care of the animal, petting her head while she recovered. “She might make a good guard dog for one of the settlements, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re right. We should give her a name.”

He paused for just a second. “What do you think about Angel?”

“I like it.” Sole patted their leg twice. “Come on, Angel. It’s time to stop slumming. Get a real job. Contribute to society.”

Preston laughed. “Help us get the Commonwealth back on its feet.”

Angel seemed more than happy to oblige.

Strong: “Why human stop? Dog weak. Strong crush dog?”

“No, Strong.” Sole bent down to help the injured creature. “You don’t need to hurt her. She’s alright.”

“Some dogs not alright. Dogs hurt human.”

“Not this one, buddy.”

He hummed noncommittally. “Human not need to help dog. If dog is strong, dog will survive.”

“This one is hurt. It won’t survive without our help.”

“How Strong help?”

“Just watch for bad guys, okay? Let me know if anything comes by.”

Strong turned to the road. “Strong not understand why human help dog, but Strong help human. Strong will watch.”

“Thanks.”

In just a few seconds, the dog was back on her feet, and sole patted Strong’s arm as they went by. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get Mutt back to Sanctuary so she doesn’t get hurt again.”

Strong followed them. “Strong still crush most dogs, right?”

Sole laughed, head tipped back, though Strong didn’t understand why. “Sure. Crush any dogs that aren’t Mutt or Dogmeat.”

Off they went, new group member trailing behind.

X6-88: “Ma’am/Sir, I wouldn’t advise going near that thing. You don’t know that it’s friendly. It’s clearly injured and injured animals are usually dangerous.”

“Relax, X6.” Sole approached the wounded creature with a stimpack in hand. “It’ll be fine.”

“You should really just put it out of its misery. It’s a mongrel. It’s probably going to attack you as soon as it’s physically able to.”

“Why do you always see the worst in everything, X6?”

“I don’t. I’m being realistic.”

Within a few moments, the dog was back on its feet, jumping around. Sole turned to him. “What should we call it?”

“It’s a mutt.” He cocked his gun. “Now that you’ve done what you felt you needed to, let me do my job.”

“X6!”

When his vision cleared, he was on the ground, knocked their by a punch to the face from sole. The dog was sniffing at him, licking his face, and he tried to shove it off to no avail.

“I like the name you came up with,” sole said above him. “Mutt will do just fine.”

He grumbled, still trying to avoid getting dog slobber on his face. “Mutt, I hate you.”

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 companions react #cait #codsworth #curie #danse #deacon #hancock #maccready #nick valentine #piper wright #preston garvey #strong #x6-88

245 notes · View notes

atomic-lexa · 5 years

Note

Ummm can I request a follow up to the Maxson/bad bitch sole bc that pairing gives me life. We love a flustered elder. I need them to be together. Ugh.

I’ll admit I’m not super happy with how the first part turned out😕Nothing wrong with a lil self-indulgent fic, but I just don’t feel like I really delved into the depths that I feel in Arthur’s character. So IF I am to turn this into a series- even just a two-parter it will NOT be half-assed one!! So I’ve revamped this one. Okay thank you te amo a todos and enjoy!!

Part One: Not Your Soldier

Ad Gloria

(Arthur Maxson/Sole Survivor)

Mornings were easy enough to get through, with some coffee and lots of internal monologue fit to inspire masses. Maxson’s mind buzzed with the sights and sounds of the ship. Boots scuffing metal, and the persistent hum of the moving parts within the heart of the Prydwen. Quiet, serious conversations mumbled low between senior officers, and enthused banter among recruits over breakfast. The ever-present stream of new hearts and mind into his military was a soothing enough thought. The paperwork was a bitch, but nevertheless. Some new initiates fell in seamlessly, adorning their files with flowery notes from their sponsors, while others maintained their enigmatism. The Elder’s natural attraction to solitude made these certain trainees appeal to him. The urge to sate a curiosity, of sorts- even if he dismissed it as merely keeping an eye on them.

He had to admit, his curiosity was noxious when it came to Sole. Maxson was experienced in cloaking his demeanor in apathy, but there was something captivating about the Django-Jane before him. Some equilibrium between explosive, and never making a move too soon that she seemed adept at. The pernicious met the pedantic when she boarded his ship. Clad in Brotherhood armor and a discontent expression, she had a character he wanted to call childish, but settled on valiant. It all suited her well. Every interaction beyond debriefings and day-time acknowledgements in passing were matched by less on-the-books exchanges between the two of them- typically in shadowed corridors where the murmur of ship’s aliveness blanketed their own conversations. He never could seem to slip past that armor and discontent expression.

Following a series of scoldings and disciplinary actions he’d recycled from vexatious Squires, Maxson promised himself he was constantly on the brink of stripping Sole of her rank and earning himself rebuking rights against the Paladin. However, with every mission she wiped from his roster, he found her to be an increasingly indispensable asset. This worried him. Like it or not, she had a foot in the door, which pissed him off endlessly. In her company, though, he was nothing more than somewhat frustrated, allowing her the reigns for whatever controversial dialogue she decided to ignite that day.

This night, however, she’d returned from her detail with Danse without so much as a sarcastic comment passed to Proctor Quinlan. He was alerted by a young Knight that she was on the flight deck. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon for a soldier who’d seen something horrific in battle to threaten flinging themselves from the rails to an anticlimactic death on the airport’s grounds. Maxson took a sip of his black coffee, and set aside his files- preparing himself to go to her captivated, and walk away from her prideless. Her eyes were clouded, not the glazed napalm he’d come to know. Something familiar to him took shape in her posture, leaned against the railing of the Prydwen’s chest. She was worn, and scarred, to be sure, but no more defeated by the avaricious expanses of the wasteland below them. Sarah Lyons had the same look about her. Certainly, someone like that only appeared once in a life time. Vicious and virtuous in their own right, subservient to the cause, but master of only themselves. His former mentor’s Sentinel-quality of taking the gnashing teeth of the Capital Wasteland into her own two hands before coming home to teach him all she’d learned. He wondered what Sole could have learned in the slow and unforgiving cruelty of her life. It was daunting, even for him. Especially for him. With the valiant, came their tragic heroism. Subsequently, their death.

So, yes. Perhaps he would rather brave the insubordination of the woman before him in stead of seeing her flame extinguished.

At a lazy tempo, he made his way over to her, in attempt to warn her of his being there. If she took notice, she didn’t make it known. “It seems you do make a habit of wandering my ship at night.” To match her, he rested his eyes on the blackness of the poisoned ocean. It reached vastly from the light of the Prydwen, into a cold and uninviting night.

“I do.” She replied, seeming focused on something he couldn’t see. She was still covered in blood, from whatever she had battled earlier in the day. It shown dark and crimson on her skin, and the ballistic fiber of her suit.

‘”And why is it you do that?” He tried to make it sound rhetorical.

“Why is it you don’t act your age?” She remarked dryly. At least she hadn’t lost her aptitude for being difficult. Any other moment he would have insisted she watch her tone. But the jarring reality of seeing Sarah in her had been admittedly disarming.

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know, actually. Too exhausted, I suppose.”

Sole’s gaze pulled from the obsidian sky and found its way to him. The heaviness of the view before him was the only thing on his mind. He would forgo telling her she was the thing that exhausted him, for the tiredness on her own countenance. “That’s almost as depressing as the food in this boat.” She muttered under her breath. With that, he laughed. Such wasn’t a mercy he knew very often. She tilted her head, a bit of suspicion on her features.

“I’ve been preoccupied with the showering situation.” He responded. Maybe it was her persistent apathy that had him throwing away the stakes and tucking away all the fucks he was supposed to give in the revealing daylight.

“Yeah, that shit show too.” Sole said. Silence settled, before she turned her head to him again. “You know,” She added. “When I first met you I thought you were a prick.”

He raised his eyebrows at the unadulterated abrasiveness. “Yes. I concluded that much.”

“Well. You’re not that much of a prick. You’re just rigid as fuck.” She said with the finality of a doctor diagnosing her patient. He wanted to laugh again, but he settled for a small grin.

And you’re absolutely unmanageable. Forbearant as ever, he kept the words behind his teeth. He sighed, leaning on the railing beside her. Sole’s wrists were exposed from the rolled-up sleeves of her jumpsuit, and he studied the goosebumps that dappled them. If she hadn’t caught some sickness from ground-zero, she certainly would by morning. Taking a step back, he tugged his coat off his shoulders; her watching him the whole time. He placed it around her frame and trusted it wouldn’t be uncomfortably heavy.

“You remind me of someone I knew, once.” He said, without knowing why he did, re-settling against the cold steel.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” She said, the statement, following his actions, seeming to throw her off.

He shrugged. “It’s admirable. If rather mutinous.”

“You cope better than Danse, then, if admirable’s how you put it.” He was painfully mindful of the modest inches she had closed between them.

He smiled again, understatedly. “Hm. I imagine you’ve given him a migraine or two.”

Now, it was her turn to laugh. Despite her apt for comedy, her laugh had never rung in his ears prior to this moment. He felt more relaxed to view their exchange as less of the struggle it usually was. He found it shockingly easy to seep into her way of flowy banter, rather than being, well, rigid as fuck.

“You can say that again. I haven’t given you any migraines, have I, Sir?” She offered, disarmingly sweet, her face close to his, eyes searching his own. Looking for what, he didn’t know.

“Perpetually, actually. Since you came. I suppose I’m just forgiving, in that regard.” He replied.

“Can I make it up to you?” She smiled, nose moving ever-closer to his.

“Perhaps. How many more details do you intend to apply for?”

“I told you,” She smirked. “I’m not a soldier. But if you let me keep the coat, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ad Victoriam, then, Knight.”

“Ad Gloria, Commander.”

So as to say that victory was not enough for her hungry mind. It sparked like matches in his chest. Maybe that was what it was to act his age- the aspect of glory, and freedom from the shackles of responsibility. It was too tantalizing- and all took form in this obstreperous woman. It was too easy to fall into her lips, in the vast blackness of the uninviting night.

22 notes · View notes

such-poltergeist-lies · 7 years

Photo

Halfway Down

Slight M!SoSu/Elder Maxson

Been working on updating old work so I thought I’d put this here. Based around my fallout oc, Jay. It was originally written to keep my characters name and description out of it give the reader more freedom to imagine who they want.

The Vertibird lurched as it docked into place, the supports hissing under the strain as it came to rest securely at the Prydwen’s underbelly. It’s passenger swayed with the landing turbulence, gave his pilot an appreciative squeeze of the shoulder, and departed with a lazy drop. “Ad victoriam, Sentinel.” He acknowledged the sudden Initiate’s salute with his own and a polite smile. The young solider looked suddenly unnerved and the Sentinel wondered just how sane he looked. Still, the Initiate kept eye contact and his salute professional. He still wasn’t entirely used to it. The work load felt the same whether it was heavy or light, but the spontaneous shows of respect and authority were really beyond him. The Initiate moved on to assist the fly-worn pilot and off-load the retrieved weaponry that highlighted a successful mission. After the pitch black of the wild wasteland the lights of the flight deck stung at his eyes and made him squint. His hands absently found his hair as he traveled up the deck. He cringed and splayed his palm before his eyes. Whatever had been in his hair was now on his fingers. Nasty, but it was 0200, he’d sleep with it. Another call came from up the walkway. “Welcome back, Sentinel.” Captain Kell’s purposeful steps clamored and echoed across the flight deck as he head forward to meet his fellow officer. The Sentinel quickly wiped his hands across the wool of his coat-a souvenir from Old Longfellow-and saluted the approaching officer. “Ad Victoriam, sir.” Mirroring the gesture the Captain looked serious, more intense than was usual for his already stoic visage. “I already got word of your success. These weapons will be of great use to the Brotherhood.”

The Sentinel smiled professionally again and lowered his arm. “Thank you, sir. Better we have these weapons than raiders or roaming synths.”

Kell’s nodded his agreement and folded his arms across his back. “I am sorry to cut the celebration short and stop you from getting rest but we have an issue that needs immediate attention.” His chin ducked low and the brim of his cap shadowed his eyes.

The Sentinel touched his glasses in preparedness, his tired eyes wide and eager. “Of course, I am ready for anything.”

“I would attend to this myself,” The officer continued.“…but with so many patrols and checkpoints currently going hot I am unable to leave Command for too long.” He paused to let the stillness and clanging of the ship create emphasis. “The squires refuse to go to bed. Can you tend to this matter?” He smirk slipped out of the corner of his mouth and his eyes shined with humor.

Slowly the joke reached him and the Sentinel grinned as the tension deflated in his chest. The humor felt warm within him and long over due. He allowed himself a deep chuckle and contained the desperate hysteria that threatened to bubble over and send him straight to Cade’s medical scrutiny. He pushed his glasses up unnecessarily and breathed deep for composure, eying the ground.

“Yes, yes. I will handle them.”

Relaxing his arms and shoulders Kells finally gave a small smile. “I have no doubt in your abilities. Thank you, Sentinel. Dismissed.”

Giving the Captain one last big smile the Sentinel traveled on into the cabin, up the ladder where he stopped to observe the Elder’s ajar door and the small patter of computer keys . Continuing, he casually strolled through the Mess area manned by a lone solider dutifully stirring a bubbling pot and on to the quiet cavities of the ship. Beneath was hushed with sleeping crew. The working decks were dimmer and less aggressive on the eyes. Small Intimate groups of Initiates and Knights huddled in various corners, some laughing with cards on the table, some speaking in low tones over bottles. The corner of Squires was just as he imaged it. They giggled over irradiated board games and toys, ducked under beds, had a fort of straw pillows and ammo bags, and showed no signs of exhaustion. No doubt they had been told once, twice, maybe more times to go to bed but it appeared rebellion and disobedience had spread through their ranks like a bad cold. His wife would of adored it.

“Squires, attention!” His voice boomed through the tranquility of early hours, turning all heads and startling the young group out of their fun. They stared up at him dumbfounded, his head high and arms propped authoritatively behind his back. All at once they mustered. Those that shadowed him on missions moved faster and others flopped into place. He let them stand in waiting silence, his eyes running over each and every face.

“Get field ready and report to the command deck in five minutes. Dismissed.” At his turning the Squires relaxed and rushed into field gear, kicking toys and debris in all directions. Rec time returned gradually with a rising whisper of voices as the Sentinel departed to the upper decks. Knights grinned at the rushing Squires, recalling their own punishments and trials through the Brotherhood.

The squires found their commanding officer overlooking the dark and jagged landscape of the Commonwealth on the command deck, a bottle hanging by the neck in his hand. They filed into formation and he did not turn till the foot falls stopped. To address them he tucked his arms behind his back, hiding the alcohol.

“If I am not mistake, lights out for Squires is 2300 and it is now…0232. You are all aware of what is required of you. You have a role that is valuable to the Brotherhood and getting your rest to stay alert at all times is paramount.” He paused again to survey their faces and saw wide eyes blinking rapidly. “Since you clearly do not see the value in rest and have renounced authority for the evening then you will remain here at attention until the sun rises. Beginning now.” With that the Sentinel turned his back on them to face the window. Dropping to the ground he crossed his legs comfortably and let the bottle take its place by his side. The Pip-boy buzzed as he flipped through to the classical channel bubbling with delicate piano ready to sooth the listeners to sleep. Screwing open the bottle he took a swig and hummed in realization mid drink. “Oh….” he half turned, swiping the excess from his mouth. “Anyone that drops out will receive extra punishments. I suggest you don’t lock your knees.” Facing away again he began his long evening of land gazing and drinking. This probably was not what Kells had in mind. Or maybe it was. He could never really find ‘the line’ to cross it when it came to the Brotherhood. He had yet to find a limit to how far he could push. In his weakest moments he played with the temptation of a complete takeover. For hours the squires stood in three lines with heads high and eyes forward. Periodically the Sentinel checked the reflection for any signs of laziness. “Beal, tighten it up.” With a sharp snap and deep breath a freckled girl that had begun to list awkwardly straightened herself

When the first one dropped a rippled of sharp breaths echoed then stalled as they all corrected themselves. He arched his head to observe the fallen child. When he was sure she was not seriously hurt he returned to his bottle. After that they began to go like slow domino, each one hitting the floor in a light thump of clothes and clattering gear. With each child he left face down he took a heavier gulp and let it burn. His stare reached out beyond the Commonwealth and to a place in his soul he didn’t want to go but was necessary to visit. Coddling would do them no good. A quarter of the bottle was left by the time the sky lightened, and only six Squires remained standing. Checking the reflection he observed some he expected to see and some he didn’t. Beal had made it, at least. Clearing his numb throat he swallowed thick saliva to make an abrupt announcement. “Dismissed.” There was a heavy moment of silence as they tried to remember how to move, how to be themselves again, before a whimper broken out then erupted into a full sob. The self mourning spread infectiously and rose like a bomb siren on the wind. His resolution did not crumble as the pitiful stutters of distress rattled his drooping spine. The bottle, however, went untouched as he rode them out till reinforcements came.

“Squires, dismissed! Wake the others and return to your bunks!”

He switched off the radio. The voice was soft but rough around the edges, curt with authority but fair in tone. The Sentinel didn’t need to turn or eye the windows reflections to know who it was. His chest flushed with familiarity. It made him feel lighter and suddenly very stupid. Small boots tapped and high voices murmured in a hush. His ears rang, straining to listen as they moved carefully back up the decks feeling sorry for themselves. When all was quiet once again a single set of distinct boots clicked across the command deck, each step even and in time with the last. In his minds eye the Sentinel could see every wrinkle of leather and frayed thread, the rotting soles beneath. The boots stopped just beyond his left peripheral in observant (or perhaps judging) pause. Ignoring the weight of eyes only made breathing hard and he exhaled with finite dread as the bottle was lifted up and away. The glass twinkled as it’s contents was examined and surveyed with a firm shake. There was a delicate cascading slosh followed by a loud swallow before the boots traveled away to bring the bottle to rest on a small table. The boots tarried there a moment then finally he spoke.

“I don’t know what the Squires did to deserve your drill…” The boots groaned with movement. “…but I am sure it was necessary.” For a non-committal statement it had jagged teeth. The Elder wanted an explanation but did not expect one, though it was his right to demand.

“If you receive punishment from the Brotherhood then you did something to deserve it. Simple as that.” The Sentinel had yet to move from his spot and let the rhetoric speak for him. He could feel the electric scrutiny sizzling at his back. The Prydwen groaned casually around them. The ship was beginning to come to life once again as Vertibirds squealed to life and distant voices could be heard from beyond the hatch. Maxson approached with an even voice, choosing to dismiss the topic with totalitarian grace.

“I suppose that isn’t a disagreeable assumption.”

One standing at full height and the other slumped, both men observed in respectful silence as the sky melted into smears of bright pink and orange. The suns bright shine licked across the horizon, contrasting deep shadows at the base of buildings and flashing hot beams of light off jagged glass. The water below sparkled in jubilant celebration at the return of a new day. The Sentinel couldn’t take much more, his head pounded as each twinkle stung at his mind. Squeezing his eyes closed he stood finally with a strained grunt. At standing he found the Elder much closure than he had perceived. The realization, paired with numb legs, caused him to stagger back. Quick to react, the elder took hold of the Sentinels upper arm with a strong grip and pulled him in close to compensate for the lean. The Sentinel let himself be hooked into the intimate space of his superior officer. Never had he’d been close enough to examine the details of his infamous scar or take note of the rounded features beneath the burly facial hair.

Maxson kept his grip solid and his other hand hanging at his side, ready to offer extra support if needed. “I thank you for your dedication but you need sleep, Sentinel. Can you make it from here?”

He wavered in Maxson’s steel hold with dumb fascination. The sun had crept through the grim windows to brighten the command deck, washing over the Elder’s face. Under the white light the oil smears, blemishes and dark circles faded into divine obscurity. Sunshine slid into the grooves of his scar, scaring away the shadows that normally took root there. “Sentinel?” Above all else, his eyes deepened in their rich blue charm, radiating out of his face with celestial aggression. If the fire of archangels could be imagined then they lay within Maxson’s sun-charged gaze. Perhaps they were the true secret to his success. Eyes that could make a person bend backwards, or bend over. Allowing himself to dream, the Sentinel let visions of soft kisses drift around his intoxicated mind. “Sentinel.” He saw himself closing in to rest his mouth on the soft pillow of Maxson’s lips, sucking at them tenderly to savor the insubordination. It would be brief but he would return again for a second, braver kiss that lingered. The scent of snuffed cigarettes and sweat warming his nose. On the third return the lips would part and tongues would twist across teeth as breath became peppered with small, desperate sounds. They’d explore until air ran short and retreated to sharp inhales and the Sentinels hot whisper hovering over their mouths. Arthur. “Sentinel!” He was awoke with a gasp and quick exhale, his eyes fluttered through their aroused heaviness. The Elder had roughly shaken him to his senses. “You will refer to me as Elder Maxson, Sentinel. Do I make myself clear?” The inferior officer gave a sloppy nod but the Elder’s single raised brow did not seem convinced. The strong hand retracted hesitantly to join the other at his back in a professional stance.

“Return to your Quarters, solider. Sleep it off.” The order was curt but his eyes did not look unkind.

The Sentinel’s salute that followed was blatantly incorrect, his hand flat and rising to his temple in a pre-war fashion that knocked his glasses clean off. His hazy judgment left them at the Elder’s feet as he staggered off like a new-born Brahmin.

“Rest well, Sentinel.”

The wish was soft and suspiciously genuine with either pity or alcoholics empathy. The task of navigating the ladder killed any attempts at deciphering the Elder’s intent as the way seemed steeper than he remembered.

Maxson cringed as he heard his second-in-command drop like a dead body to the floor with a load grunt. Concerned voices and two onlookers came up from navigation and were directed to assist the sentinel to his room. Bending at the waist Maxson retrieved the black rimmed glasses with ginger fingers and observed them with interest. They where loose at the screws, missing a lens, and the remaining was severely scratched. Folding the branches inward he neatly tucked the glasses into an inner pocket. His brow knit as he rubbed his fingertips together, finding an unknown residue there. Wiping his hands on his coat he returned to his duties and didn’t think of the Sentinel again for at least six hours.

A second part is posted here. And a third is in editing.

#fallout oc #f04 #elder maxson #sole survivor #m!sole survivor #fo4

1 note · View note