Conor collapsed down on his couch exhausted. Was it March yet? Ever since his impromptu performance in Deep Ellum before the Unseelie Court of The Marchioness he’d been very busy.
The denizens of the Winter Court, both highborn and low, had discovered a new “flavor of the month” in Conor. It seemed as though every party, every celebration, every debauch of the season demanded the presence of "Conor of the Bluebonnets." Winter was at a zenith of power it had not enjoyed in some time and was eager to celebrate.
Hospitality demanded certain concessions to the… darker… nature of the Winter Court. After all, Conor couldn’t claim the excuses of mortality or even allegiance to Summer. To refuse all would be rude… and it was something he couldn’t afford to do both politically as well as financially. His mind was still his own, but he had done things that would probably shock his new friends… well maybe not Ren. But then, she was Fae (of a fashion) herself.
Even still, there were lines he wouldn’t cross… especially with regards to mortals… and the constant aggravation of actually having “morals” and yet still having to abide by the laws of hospitality among the Winter Court was completely and totally exhausting. Sometimes he couldn’t help but give offense, and he’d had to battle more than one highly irked champion of Winter. Which was a form of entertainment for the other fae as well. He had a few new bruises from the most recent “misunderstanding” with a trollborn.Still… the fae beneath his skin also had to admit with a rakish grin… Winter knew how to party… hard.
The Spring Equinox would soon be here, sometime after St. Patrick’s day… Conor hoped that once Summer was in power again his workload of gigs would slow… or at least the gigs that he would rather not talk about to his friends. February was something of a blur.
Thinking of March reminded him of bills. While sprawled on the couch, he fished his phone out from his pocket. He loved being able to check his bank balance on his phone (one advantage of being Fae and not a wizard; technology worked just fine thank you). As usual, he was mentally preparing to see which bills he could pay now and which he’d have to wait for…
… that balance couldn’t be right.
He did a little digging into recent activity and sat there completely gobsmacked. People were buying his music on iTunes and a few other online vendors… but who? Then he realized… all the performances he’d been doing all winter had made his name known among a powerful and influential subset of music connoisseurs in Deep Ellum.
Well how about that.
Conor couldn’t help himself and he started humming the old Mama Cass song, “Sing for your Supper.” His step-mother had loved 60s music like The Mamas & The Papas back in Ireland… seemed especially appropriate today.
Sing for your supper, and you’ll get breakfast;
Songbirds always eat
If their song is sweet to hear.
Sing for your luncheon, and you’ll get dinner
Dine with wine of choice
If romance is in your voice.
I heard from wise canary,
Trilling makes a fellow willing;
So, little swallow, swallow now.
Now is the time to
Sing for your supper and you’ll get breakfast.
Songbirds are not dumb;
They don’t buy a crumb of bread, It’s said…
So sing and you’ll be fed.
Comments