#squire maxson

ARTHUR MAXSON

guys

Guys hear me out on the potential this guy has for angst like, his whole childhood is a gold mine for this

But then he had to excel in tactics and war instead. Only 6 years later.

I wonder if the 20 year old man we meet in the Commonwealth still enjoys stories. If he writes or reads to unwind. Or if despite his love for these things, he's been 'bred' to be nothing but a leader of a war.

I don't particularly like Elder Maxson.

This poor, poor kid.

So maybe he didn’t have it as bad as most children of the wastes did. He was reliably fed, clothed, and cleaned by the standards of a proper militaristic force. Yes, there wasn’t very much for a child of his raising to worry about when it came to safety or livelihood.

Then again, did that really matter when it was obvious the poor thing was very much so lonely?

Of course there were plenty of other squires around the Citadel to make friends with. However, Squire Maxson’s combination of personality and title made it increasingly difficult to establish a nice friendship with his peers. As such, he routinely found company in older soldiers..like Sarah and well..you.

It was truly sweet, the way the boy would try his best to stay composed as he walked as quickly as possible to meet you upon your return. Perhaps someone who didn’t know him well would think he was calm but just by the look in those bright blue eyes, you knew how happy he was to see you.

“Hello sir/ma’am, how did the mission go?” He greeted, slowly finding it harder to keep the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a grin. “I have something I’d like your opinion on..provided you have the time, of course.”

That’s when you noticed the little tattered leather bound book held tightly with cracked, purple-bruised knuckles. Upon further examination, those same battered fingers were smudged and stained with a black substance that could only be ink.

The kid had been busy. Your curiosity was piqued, to say the least. You knew he liked literature but never would’ve guessed he’d take a shot at writing something of his own.

With eager excitement, you responded with a kind gesture of your hands in which the child placed his work for your examination. Taking the book gingerly, you posted up against the wall and started to peruse the writing. His penmanship was impeccable for someone of his age, as was his eloquence. Over the course of your careful surveying, you could see the poor boy rock on his heels nervously, every once in a while his eyes would flip towards you. He was examining you as well, watching every careful indication of a like or dislike within your facial features.

Your opinion mattered to him. How sweet.

After a couple more minutes of reading and soft, muttered articulation, you closed the book and handed it back to his waiting hands with a warm smile.

“So..what did you think?”

Wether it was the situation you knew the kid was in or the sweet, childlike innocence shining in his eyes- you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching down and ruffling his dark hair. An expression that obviously shocked him.

“You did good kiddo, you did good.”