‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ Such pretense. Valentine would expect no different. Maxson reminded him of a snake defanged, impotent but still opening its mouth to threaten & hiss. Like he could do anything to the synth. Like that wretched, horrible pride of his had any goddamned meaning, especially now. All it’d ever done was hurt people, but he was still hissing.
Valentine was not the kind that would stamp him out under his foot, though. He had no respect for the man, but he was not vindictive. He’d already had his fill of revenge. He’d already seen the Brotherhood’s war come & destroy so much : & he was there in the vertibird to see it ended in flames after the massacre in the Old North Church. So many lives were lost to that war, lost on just that incredible day, so many. So many people on both sides. & for what ?
Wasn’t that enough ? Hadn’t the Brotherhood watered the earth with enough blood ? Couldn’t it all finally be over ? What could Maxson want now, when he had nothing left ?
Pride. Will to survive. Whatever for ? The man looked half — mad.
Suppose surviving the destruction of his flagship would do that to a guy.
❝ What good’s your pride ? ❞ Valentine demanded, cold but not venomous ; it was not hate that spread its tendrils through his chest, but it was still something that was very sharp & resentful, that remembered what Maxson had done to other synths just for being synths. & ghouls, human beings just like him. Why ? Even after all these years a detective, Valentine couldn’t fathom what drove a man to hate another man without cause. For his scars, for the place of his birth. Because he was made by human hands.
❝ You’ve seen where your pride’s gotten you. Bringing your war to th’ Commonwealth. D’you think if I was gonna sink t’ your level, I couldn’t have already killed you ? ❞
ODD as it was -- maxson considered the synths words in a patience unheard of . perhaps it was fear that kept the elder complacent , or perhaps it was the knowledge that he was outmatched . he was a powerful man : a BRUTE , and a monster on two legs . . . and very well , that was how he was likely perceived . a violent , militaristic leader of a brotherhood disbanded and sent back westward . though , his people would be LUCKY if they reached even the great midwest commonwealth . . . for the journey EASTWARD had been difficult , and even reaching the commonwealth had cost many a life --
-- but here he was : contemplating the lives of soldiers no longer his own , and wondering over a future he would not get to see .
instead , dark eyes pulled from glowing yellow circles upon two deep grey orbs ENTRENCHED in the synth’s skull . instead , the once - elder brought his head to hang , mania replaced with a sneer for the DIRT among his knees .
❝ the war was already here , ❞ he answered plainly as long lashes mingled -- eyes closing with a sigh . but of course his mission would be misunderstood . could they not see ? could they not see the unrest plaguing the commonwealth day in , and day out ? his mouth tasted of red , and of iron .
❝ the prydwen . . . she was a show of force . intimidate the aggressors into submission without firing a shot . ❞ a breath in his throat crackled , and he pulled his gaze back up . ❝ but you and your kind were too STUBBORN . ❞
❝ our mission was then clear : total victory , no matter the cost . ❞
but where had it gotten him ? the brotherhood ?
❝ you are either quite foolish , synth , or quite cowardly to leave me alive . i won’t pretend to understand which motivates you . don’t care , but don’t think for an instant that you understand my goals . ❞