Stolen from his family at a young age, Van Buren remembers only a few moments of his family life; holidays, the first time he saw the snow, and one memory looking out the window at the construction of the John Hackock Tower. A few days after it was completed, he was taken for his skill at oration, "reading" (mostly reciting from memory) out of books to his family at all times of the day. Sure that someone able to deliver a speech so perfectly would be a fine tool, the Keeper snatched him up, taking him to the apex of a fiery red tower in the Faerie where he was chained between two posts and carved down into a piece of living stardust which slowly grew and grew over the years.
He was used to send three kinds of messages: the first, written speeches he was to memorize and repeat exactly. The hag used some kind of charm on him so that he could remember, but that contract was never available to him as she did not want him coming up with "improvements" to her messages at the last minute; indeed, some of them were almost completely nonsensical. It was his job to deliver messages, not understand them.
The second and third messages were similar in intent: delivering some faerie token, often appearing quite mundane like dropping a branch or summoning some astronomical sign. Other times the message would be in the form of broken hobgoblins, other changelings, or prized possessions of the gentry.
Often he would be sent to courts that did not want him to give the message, or to meet Gentry that would want to punish him for speaking harsh words. Thus he learned to be stealthy, but mostly, to hide among the stars standing as still as possible, where nobody would be able to see anything odd about him.
With many enemies and nothing to bring him back, he perhaps would have lived an awful strange life, navigating the skies and the Hedge, bringing terror and wonder even into the hearts of the other fae and not being able to enjoy it for it was beyond his human comprehension. It was not until he finally escaped his Keeper, breaking the chains that bound him as the Hag and her sisters flew around him on their broomsticks, cackling madly and leveling curses that would have cowered a smarter man, or one to whom the anger of the fae had more of a hold, that he flew in the skies of his own accord, searching the Hedge for something familiar, and finally finding it; the Blue Tower. Ripping the skies open in an archway made from floating clouds, he fell into the Harbor with a flaming trail of fire and dust, losing consciousness as he crashed into the water at enormous speeds with the comforting knowledge that he would at last be free.
Van Buren was found by police after the meteor explosion on the bay, and he was hospitalized as it was expected that he was a casualty of some boat capsized by the event. It took several days to recover, not just from the impact of the collision, but also from the wounds he suffered during his escape from the hedge. Deep gashes all over his body caused him to lose a lot of blood (or stardust, to the eyes of the seeming). Fortunately, one of the Enchanted works as a nurse at the hospital and got word to the local freehold before he was able to give himself away; they quickly warned him against sharing his true name with everyone, and thus he came up with his current name (though with the holes in his memory, he may already have given his real name away...). They also told the rest of the motley, who met him again for the first time in that Hospital.
After he was released he found himself in a cab, heading back to the Blue Tower, and beyond it, to an old burnt out apartment complex viewing its west side. He went in and found it a wreck, the eastern-facing rooms had been consumed and below was a giant pit of splintered wood and rubble. But the side that faced the Tower was slightly less damaged, and the hallways and stairs just strong enough to support his weight. Eventually he came to a single room, and alone of the entire complex part of the outer wall remained unburned. He walked towards the window and looking out, realized that this was where his last memory of home had been, still unchanged from where he was standing, by some miracle or purpose.
Afterwards he began working for the Spring Court as a messenger, traveling all around the city and getting a name for himself as someone who was prompt, direct, and respected. He went overseas to Paris to work out a deal in the shadow of the Eiffel tower; He found himself in the sewers of Boston, smashing the face in on an Alligator-Man, and leaving the smeared blood as a reminder that people were off limits. To fill his time he turned to reading. books and magazines on ancient philosophies and modern psychology fill his home, stacks on top his coffee table and wide screen TV, rows next to a computer monitor used more often as a bookend than as entertainment, on the table holding the tablecloth down, on the chairs, at least, on the three or four that are hardly ever used. He needs bookshelves, some say, but those are filled with potted plants and vines, the living growing vibrant renewal of life that resonates so strongly in him and the themes of regrowth which he is constantly researching.
His home is modern, two stories with four rooms on each floor. He lives alone, though he sometimes entertains company, mostly his motley however. He is slow to be invited to a party, and as the friendly neighbor that everybody likes but nobody knows anything about, only gets included as an afterthought. His car is black and new, his clothes business casual, his scene... nonexistent. He trades stocks on the advice of his business partners, though he profits mainly through having a diversified portfolio, which ebbs and flows along with the pledges he makes. But he hopes to change that, and while material wealth isn't an issue, intangible wealth is, and he spends the little time not invested in other activities furthering himself, trying to make sense of what he saw, what he is, or at least knowing where the line is between sanity and madness.
There might be holes in his memory. Timothy honestly cannot say. He spent so much time locked up in the tower, away from all human contact, that he could not tell if days went by without event - anything unusual was simply forgotten. He spent so much time in other Arcadian realms that he could rightly judge the flow of time or the meaning of where he was or what he did - he simply focused on following the directions he had been given. So Timothy does not really remember events that occurred in Arcadia. When asked to describe what he experienced, he produces long winding stories that go on and on about his thoughts or the wonders and horrors he tried to ignore on each journey. They all end, of course, when he escaped - but there is nothing there of events that broke the scenery.
That's not to say nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. Clearly he spoke to people who came up to the tower; certainly at least once, he was unable to escape a vengeful fae lord whom was offended by the message and messenger alike, hell, he might even have children by some newly-captured Changeling to be, he wouldn't know - it wasn't normal and so he tuned it out for his sanity's sake. But some hint remains. When confronted with something he should remember, but doesn't, he finds himself staring intently, as if he was about to say something but forgets as soon as he is interrupted. Sometimes that can be several minutes, as if all time has gone by. Or perhaps, he actually does say something -- but completely forgets it again when he's done talking. If it's the latter, nobody's ever told him. The emotion they evoke remains though, and thus he finds himself oddly trusting them and being able to decide if something they say is right or not just by what seems to be instinct. In reality, he is thinking about it. Just not consciously, and finds himself unable to articulate his reasons beyond... "it just feels right."
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