An immigrant from Ireland, Maire was promised work in America as both a faerie and a mortal. As she was a young girl at the time, and still somewhat romantic, she took the former and promptly found herself abandoned by her prospective employer. He had apparently had the bad grace to go and die on her before she arrived. So, in a very ill humor, Maire took her bags to the next freehold, and the next... Her indomitable spirit, combined with the fact that very few motleys wanted too many redcaps among them, kept her moving further and further west. When asked why didn't head back to Ireland, she replied, "Already been there. Don't like it at all."
Eventually she ended up in the Duchy of Goldengate and became attached to the underside of the ducal court. She performed her duties well, at least until she caught sight of a certain magical harp and tried to take a nibble of it. Now she sits at home and broods on the matter, obsessed with a magic she only dimly understood.
With a kerchiefed head, button-down sweater, and long plaid skirt, Maire is a the picture of a parochial school proprietress gone to hell. A long way from the promises made of America in the Old Sod, her visage bears the weight of fifty-five winters. Short, but not small, she has a tendency to waddle when she walks. Her eyes are a bright green; perhaps the only remarkable thing about her appearance.
Even in fae mien, her appearance is somewhat ordinary. Yes, she has the redcap wide mouth, but it's more likely to be wide with chattering than chewing. Her eyes go from green to red but that's hard to notice among the creases and folds of her well-lined face.
Maire is a sloppy drunk and Duke Aeon's dismissal kicked what was nearly her last support out from under her. Now there is only the bottle between her and Banality and she has a sneaking suspicion that it's not so much a barrier as a funnel. Still, at this point, she'd almost welcome the release form the nightmare that changeling existence has become for her. When talking with others, she tends to go off on extended tangents about her views on the politics of the court. Being primarily worm's-eye views of the lords and ladies, they are astonishing accurate. Her conversation is cut with profanity and crying jags as well as long moans about what a pleasure it was to serve the Duke before he changed. Curses upon that harp!