hey little songbird, cat got your tongue? always a pity for one so pretty and young. when poverty comes to clip your wings and knock the wind right out of your lungs. hey nobody sings on empty. strange is the call of this strange man. i want to fly down and feed at his hand. i want a nice, soft place to land. i want to lie down forever. private blog for astralishq. mun is 21+.
The last of the sun’s rays began to descend over the horizon, blinding Peter as he worked a knot around the post outside Venom. It had been awhile since he’d stumbled across this joint. Not many excuses were given for the Royal Healer to go gallivanting across the Summer Court, especially with the work piling on recently. Vixen – his mare – huffed and hooved the ground impatiently, moving her eyes away from the incessant sun. He touched her nose briefly, promising food and water soon. Their consciousness’ brushed and he felt her breathe easier as understanding crept in.
Maddock swung his pack over his shoulder and pushed open the door to the tavern, eyes locked to the bar. Just one drink two drinks and he’s be on his way home. It was his treat for dealing with this mindless errand, the only respite provided aside from the exhilarating canter through the woods to get here. He forcefully set his things on the bar. “One ale, fill it until it spills.”
Peter pulled back the barstool and sat, resting his chin on one hand and eyeing up the fae which took up the bar around him. His eyes locked on a woman’s. Shit. Isadora. He quickly glanced away. It couldn’t be her, Peter risked a glance back over. No luck, it was. He hadn’t seen her in – hell – nearly a century. Not since his days of bloody knuckles and making himself into the fool. It was better just to leave now before she noticed, he’d live without the goddamn beer, a glimpse of the past was not needed today.
As he stood to leave, the bartender slammed the drink in front of him, ale sloshing over the side. “Ey, Peter Maddock! Sit and stay awhile, why don’t you, the night’s just begun,” the bartender all but shouted, alerting any fae within the surrounding mile of his presence. So much for an easy escape, he glanced back to the warrior fae.
“I wasn’t lurking. I was standing around–it’s a whole different vibe ” Bruno defended to his drinking companion. The day court pub was starting to fill up with the night crowd looking to relax with a day court cellar cool beers with friends. The golden sun set earlier as the winter solstice drew near. The nights in the Day Court were cooler, but the air still held the sun’s warmth amidst the twinkling twilight. The pub faced the beaches and the surf crashing can be faintly heard over the pub patrons friendly chatter. “I may be a library hermit, but I’m not a creep,” he smiled lifted his cool beer to his lips. He took a large swig, a cat-like smile still curled on his lips.
***
The last of the pure sunlight had filtered through the pub windows and all Maddock could feel was exhaustion and the soreness in his thighs. Horseback wasn’t a necessary means of travel, he could have stretched his wings or hired a coachmen but time with his steed, Vixen was always welcome. A royal healer wasn’t given such freedom often. There were important herbs in the Day Court they’d run low on and with little work to do, he’d decided to put one of the lesser healers in charge for the next two days so he could stretch his legs. The Day Court pub was his respite, his relaxation. At least it usually was. “Well would you mind being ‘not a creep’ sitting down? People are going to think its an invitation for conversation and I can tell you I’m not in the mood.” Maddock peered behind him at the incoming fae, and turned a pointed stare to the librarian.
&&. cauldron above, ( peter maddock ) was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it ( he ) is affiliated with ( the spring court ). ( he ) is a(n) ( 250 / appears 36 ) year old ( high fae ). it’s been said that ( he ) resembles ( richard madden ). ( he ) has been said to be ( loyal & empathetic ) but also quite ( blunt & stubborn ). ( he ) is currently serving as ( the royal healer ).
name: peter maddock
zodiac: cancer (june 22nd)
allegiance: spring court
wings: heavily feathered in dappled brown and white, like those of a hawk
tw: animal abuse
“let it hurt, then let it go” - r.h. Sin
personality.
maddock is inherently empathetic and caring, his especial small spot being the underdog – the bastards, the prey, the naive. he can get stuck in his own head, lost in healing or the thoughts of an animal, causing him to seem brusque or aloof. he is closed off to those he deems untrustworthy, and is more at home with the stablehands and soldiers than those in the court, even after all these years.
memories.
tumbling through fields, wrestling with pups, little boy elbows and dog slobber everywhere at once. a childhood in the spring court was all a boy like maddock could ask for. a realm where animals roam and a high fae can lure them close with as little as an open hand and some grain. little peter spent so much time with the family hounds and horses, his family feared he’d fall prey to their ways. despite the proclivity towards animal empathy among the spring court, his family held superstition over how close one should get to animals. his nurse was forever being scolded for allowing him to sneak away into the kennels and roll about with the mutts.
maddock’s mother was the prized mistress of a duke, it was not a happy day when she fell heavy with child. fearing infamy, she begged him that if his son ever returned to court – bastard or not – he would be legitimized. only after giving him all he wished and agreeing he never need provide for either of them, did he accept her terms. she sold all of her courtly clothing and bought a modest cottage. her only memory of the duke a glittering sapphire earring she passed to their son. his mother remarried within years of his birth and was gifted with another child, a half lesser fae girl.
her disgust with his close bonds to animals led to her nurturing the growth of his healing abilities in often cruel ways, hoping for a glimmer of usefulness in his abilities. sitting outside the kennels, running aside his favorite hound – a mutt from an accidental litter – an arrow might whiz by and pierce its skin. between confused sobs, his mother forced him to call upon that healing magic, slowly stitching the skin together over and over, the animals pained thoughts ringing through him. after years he became incredibly fluent in the art of healing, his skin growing hard as stone in the process. his mother took pride in showing him off like a party trick to any guests who passed through.
despite her fall from grace, she desperately wished better for him. he was a true high fae, a powerful being, and she refused to allow him to remain coddled in the countryside with his half sister. she plotted his return to society, as a recognized son he could move somewhat freely within the court if not easily. as soon as she was able, she sent him off to make his way, ensuring all he had for company was an unruly and reticent horse, proven to be unwilling to bond to any master.
maddock fought the change, finding work as a stable hand, brawling in bars and inns, picking fights with nobles, drinking himself deep into his cup. during one of those nights drinking and brawling, he met a courtly noble who took a liking to him. after much resistance the man took him on as a personal project, training him in the ways of courtly manners, swordsmanship, and honest values. maddock’s loyalty was won, the dog had a master.
their friendship deepened and he was able to make a respectable name for himself in the spring court. many, when they look at him now, don’t see the angry bastard, but a refined gentleman with the edge of the countryside in him. after a century of playing the courtly game, making a living as a veterinarian and doctor, he was bestowed the honor of royal healer.
despite his mother’s discretions he is still often found with the court’s hounds, horses, and hawks. his own horse and dog prized by him.
wanted connections;;
duke or other court member who took him in.
a lost love or unrequited love.
his father or potential half-siblings.
