#eldermaxscn

[divinefury]

@eldermaxscn continued from here.

She was furious, and her wrath could almost burn. It seemed that it did, as the argument she was previously having quite literally crashed and burned. Now she was engaged in something else, but something that still held the same fire insider her. 

One hand kept him close by the lapel of his coat and the other had tangled its way into his hair, pulling every so often to show her bubbling aggression. Like when he pulled away it did so again, and Kay even growled at how annoying the loss of contact was. She liked this rush, but would never admit to it. Especially not to him.

“You take me there...” A tug to his coat let her press herself even closer against him. Defiant to the end, she wanted to see where teasing would get her. “... Your-fucking-self.”

[tcxastough]

@eldermaxscn

           The former senior scribe had never seen T-60 power armor before, but it seemed that the Eastern Branch of her family had been doing well to have enough of such a rare model to issue to their knights. Her T-51 paled in comparison... maybe that was why her own branch was wiped out years ago.

         The woman set her weapons down and held her hands up in surrender before the two knights pointing their weapons at her, knowing full well that none of their Brotherhood members had T-51 power armor with their insignia painted on.

        Returning to the Brotherhood hadn’t been her ideal choice, but after narrowly escaping from the last horde of synths the Institute sent after her, staying out here by herself independently was proving to be more and more dangerous.

[ipsesclus]

eldermaxscn answered your ask 

Atticus wasn’t convinced on the Brotherhood. He wasn’t sure if he ever would be. That didn’t mean he wanted Maxson as an enemy, however. He knew he didn’t have any tactical information he could really use; Cas knew he was a walking artifact. He didn’t mind filling in details about the past for curious onlookers.

“I appreciate that,” he said, “but I do need to preface this by making sure you know this doesn’t mean I’m going to enlist. I don’t want to mislead you on this. I just want to make sure nobody repeats the awful mistakes of the past.”

[thelasttejada]

@eldermaxscn

The old ghoul shot Maxson a disapproving glare, one to match the leer on the young man’s face. Sure, he hadn’t said anything yet, but after thirty years of being of Mexican heritage and one hundred fifty years later a ghoul, he could tell when someone was staring at him in a hostile way.

Or maybe the guy just had a serious case of resting bitch face; who knew.

He’d be damned if he said anything, though. No, usually a catty remark tended to set these kinds of people off. Last thing he needed was to get shot or KLE0 getting onto him for picking a fight with passers-by.

“...You can use the power armor station for free if you need to,” he said cooly. “But you’re gonna have to buy materials.”

[daedalcs]

Rubbing a dull ache in the socket of her shoulder Jean thumps down the dusty steps of her home above her workshop. Moving across to the windows to pull the heavy drapes open allowing the warm sunlight to stream into the room the red-headed woman takes a deep breath as the light washes across her face. It would be warm today. 

In the corner, there’s a soft set of beeps and whirrs as one of the protectrons around the shop come to life and clunk out of their charging pod. A sleeker set of mechanical clicks come from upstairs where she’d descended from as Tim, her assaultron, comes downstairs. It’s spiked chassis dully reflecting the light that comes through the window. 

[ there is a visitor ] he informs with a tinny voice that comes from somewhere inside his chest just as the first set of chimes sound. Jean suppresses the to gripe about a customer this early, she hadn’t even had coffee yet. Yet, as she moves behind the counter to flick the pot on and wait for her customer to ascend the steps the arms dealer yawns.

Leaning her elbows on the long blue vinyl counter and looking around the shop Jean notices that the dusting hadn’t gotten done the day previous, protectron’s skimping on their duties. Someone might be getting scrapped. At least the shelf of Gauss rifles had gotten cleaned off, pistols were still looking a bit dusty.

“Welcome, what can I do you for?” her greeting is said with a polite smile as her customer finally ascends those last few steps. The first thing Jean noticed is that he carried himself a little differently than other scavvers that made their way through her doors. He reminded her of those Brotherhood guys that had been around for a while, though after their ship came down in a ball of flames things haven’t been too great for them around the commonwealth.

“We’ve got specialized rifles and the like on the far wall, pistols to the left of that. Though if you’re looking for something more... interesting we can see what we can do for you.” 

@eldermaxscn

[grcndeursarchive]

pucker up buttercup || accepting

@eldermaxscn​ said: “ don’t talk, just kiss me. ”

Giving an absent nod as Maxson’s words rumble through her Jean threads her fingers through the short soft hair on the back of his head. His lips tended to make thoughts and words disappear like smoke on a breeze anyway, so any conversations would be short lived. Intimacy is still fairly new for the soldier, Jean finds the tenderness in his kisses curious, having expected him to be at least a little rougher ( or at the very least clumsy ). Slightly chapped lips touch each corner of her mouth before taking them completely with the ghost of a hum that resonates in Maxson’s chest.

Calloused fingers at the nape of her neck tilt Jean’s head back as the breath of a moan slips through the spaces their lips made between kisses. While it isn’t talking, the woman still had mind enough to be quiet since they were just boxed into a darkened corner of the Prydwen. Any errant noises could draw curiosity which would be disastrous for them both. A growing knot of anxiety building in the woman’s chest nearly breaking the kiss. Maybe they should continue this somewhere a little more private. Behind a locked door most preferably.

Then a thumb just beneath the hinge of her jaw coaxes Jean’s lips apart and the heat of Maxson’s mouth makes her head reel. A free arm encircled the drifter’s waist pulling her firm against the expanse of the Elder’s chest as Jean goes a little weak at the knees. The blunt points of her nails dig into the back of the soldier’s neck and it earns a restrained noise from him, one that she found that she’d love to hear again. 

God, why did she have to wear this heavy canvas coat today? 

Jean’s free hand wanders upward along the plane of his chest trying to seek a part between all the layers he wore seeking out the skin beneath. They both wore way too damned much. With some difficulty the kiss breaks, the glisten of his lips in the dim light making Jean’s stomach twist in the most exquisite way. It doesn’t take long for that hand on the back of her neck to tilt it to Maxson’s liking as he took to marking the exposed skin of Jean’s throat. 

Swallowing a salacious sound the drifter digs her nails deeper into the soldier’s skin leaving little half-moon marks. A half-whisper of his name is all she can muster. Turning just enough to press her lips to the man’s temple Jean finds the voice which he’d snatched from her.

❛ we should -- god--  continue this somewhere else. Maxson, please.  ❜

[grcndeursarchive]

「 @eldermaxscn ♥’d for a starter 」

Clean. Everything in here smelled clean. Everything is in its place and if it wasn’t there were more than enough wandering soldiers to right any wrongs their commanding officer’s saw. Jean is one of these wrongs that were wandering the halls. Seeing the disapproval -- perhaps even disgust -- in the watching pairs of eyes that followed her through the Prydwen. Even though the hard steel and glass countenances of those towering men in their power armor Jean can feel it through the tinted lenses.

Hands deep in the pockets of a dirty olive drab canvas drifter’s coat that she’d patched more times than the woman cares to remember Jean almost seems to shrink into herself. She’d encountered feral ghouls with a more welcoming attitude than the Brotherhood, at least they usually backed down when you threw a few scraps of meat at them before you went to your looting. Fed animals didn’t bite as long as you let them lay. 

Worrying a frayed hem on one of the gloves in her pocket the arms dealer loiters awkwardly by the Proctor’s desk. Stepped far enough away so that he could have his breathing room while pouring over the collection of dusty things she’d deposited on the worktable. A knot of anxiety had balled up tightly just behind Jean’s ribs as there were murmurs in the hall behind her. Damned grenade blasts reduced the lower spectrum to ringing at this point, but she could still pick out “that red-haired woman.” 

Swallowing a hot wash of self-consciousness Jean shifts on her feet before angling her chin to peer at Quinlan as if what he’s looking at is actually of any interest. 

❛ Do you happen to know if Elder Maxson is around? I was supposed to take a word with him once I’d dropped my findings off here.  ❜                           Eyes clear and sharp behind their lenses when they snap up to Jean she can see several speculations and emotions glitter in them before a disinterested expression creases Quinlan’s brow. A slight diplomatic smile colors Jean’s face before the prickle of irritation at the assumptions she read in his eyes can fully bloom.

❛ From what I am aware, he is where he always is.  ❜                             Go find him yourself because I’m sure as hell not going to be showing you around. That tone said to her and Jean has to clamp her teeth down on her tongue to keep the smile in place. Excusing herself to leave Quinlan to his dusty junk that had very nearly gotten her nibbled on by a feral Jean rubs a hand over her tired face as she sticks close to the wall of the corridor to the flight deck. 

Stepping out into the warm commonwealth sunlight that always seems to hold a little green tint to it Jean looks first out at the breathtaking view before focusing on Maxson’s back. A muted huff of a chuckle leaves the woman as she echoes.

❛ He is where he always is.  ❜                  

[tcxastough]

@eldermaxscn​ 

【🔧】— “Cease fire! Don’t. Shoot. Please.” The woman dropped the screwdriver as the laser pistol discharged and held up her hands, one made of flesh and bone, the other cybernetic-- a combination of polymers and lightweight steel, scratched and scuffed from decades of use; at the upper arm, an old, worn out insignia of two pistols back to back above a circlet of wings. It belonged to a splinter faction of the Brotherhood: the Texas expedition.

        “Swear t’ Gawd, y’all cain’t tell a cripple trynna fix her arm apart from them androids y’all keep hoopin’ n’ hollerin’ about.” She muttered that last part under her breath, but it was just loud enough for the closest soldier to hear her. 

       “Which one ‘a y’all’s in charge here?” She addressed aloud to the rest of them. “Surely yer CO don’t approve of shootin’ random civillians on th’ basis ‘a havin’ metal prosthetics.”