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libidomechanica · 1 year

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To fetch in the poet

A curtal sonnet sequence

Of all heroes. Toot, toot! To fetch in the poet is whirl’d into the greatnes of death; and singing light, or his pulse, or even at night he lives is holy! And saints— a laugh, a cry, the blinks o’ Earn, and o’er the slave it in my head, which we no more, let me see us whole, beside! Blew, with grace man, always face, thoughts of life is gone. Did thus some days. Pleasure and her jewels, to the red heart of lies; my foe outstretched swindler’s lie?

But did refrain because it never flinch when some stanzas back. The white thornless when she turn’d to waft here, a fleeting vision, thus I will color the devil’s line, no static beam—More like the gallant came next valley, crown’d by his sight of Phœbe served to greet, Weep no more, for why should Arthur’s reign— back to tell us women need I was found its mouth will surely dead; you still pudding and drinking sweet of sorrows on the coming.

By interest and village free, and her honey and the breast with your first half: leave the women most destroys, and wisdom’s Quixotic, and a wretched swindler’s lie? Tell me, what could give no more, because this island dwelt with reasons rare, that this island dwelt but half an hour too slow, his man of honey has a dash of a harsh and crush it under the preux Chevalier de la Ruse, when I kiss thy garments doen, which is, of course!

Is mostly stranger who knows how? The brief night,—without a Single seasonable months hence! On the still true brought so foul a crone was construe is amo, I love the fair; the ornament. ’Ve done, spread out an infant-stare a moment so that when com’st thou wilt, as thoughts o’ the clamour of six. As if t would bring in poesy, unless that draws is a love I bore to be the tree; the wife: the maids are broken board her in.

Large acquaintance tells me when pyramids, as mortal river. And crush it understand my own meaning back to old that wants to me, and he answered to him the only sad one; for freshly blew the early morning. How I have dances appear to never bound and bind a heart to me? So ill, to see pearl garland winds her height, has flown, come back to you. Washed by the banquet and Madeira strong necessity comes too late.

Be heir it, than what good newes know: is it peace be to my tale. So if, my dear, its neighbour that same year were stable, wi’ thee, in sack of such a life will be to plucks me by the impure scourge; they not claim the great tactician, and complying wife: the mair they have treated me who have years ago when I’m with skin stretched over Theotormon’s Eagles at her fit, as passions serve a knight answer his locks, had a mother groand!

Determine his silenced him whipped—how have I invoked the city listening which none were wont on wastfull hylls to sing the silent shore the Adonian feast; whereof this boy. Your bra and I need to full perfect rows where it but with fine Conceits, all her shame. The old choral wall: others rose that purple and I rose up at thy pictures, or gazing on the day, and a palpitating soft, were once more a woman of the sea.

True, the gloom of a coterie; also because and since there’s the wild thyme and yet has been elsewhere the trophy, and like halfway summiting Everest. He lights; and try to add; and last, has flown, come back from the wat’ry floor mocks your epitaphs our fair cheeks, of mild silver current glide, and follow the race? Its dwell: at entrance Theotormon once his judge’s joke for convent, studied the lava ravish’d, she three, I feel whole.

For you should I, after hastely let you shuddering air, rend away the creed and we drop scent the butter fire is bright as Love’s school, its dwelling-place of flesh, I can’t get our frail deeds might drown all lie. Prayer, both her breath, to their extreme verge the prouder o’ the Crucifix was only object, His works are here the moth for the dreary Fuimus’ of all-judging Jove; as he durst love, you believe in Heaven, far removed.

Car nor the shock of cataract seas that I feel, across my fingernails are they would not becomes a fee; mine eye or ear of seeming, Juan’s company is Heaven’s high-prompting: not that good instructed wrong to endure till I have known them to the walls: this my object, His works—paint it the woods, we sprinkled holy voice! The fireworks blistered and the skies their lady he swung, so little linnet fondly dream of Camelot.

Did he stolen light—or darkness, bound to kill or save. Moorland hill. But these, how hard as his motives, who for longer than twelve sainted. No time hath some melodie the least partake all night of Intelligence; prudence at eye level: spatter of Wisdom or her tenderness, which, having a friendship, love, of having Love upon the evening faire Beauty, life, and full of the gear that loosely flew her zone in sight; mine ransom me.

Himself is mild, that’s call my pain, till be bards: thought of vintage! We held break, and the ground. Still would I see; my forces razde, thy lieutenancie to this sweete Art can be shown, a vestal shrine, god being stupid, for I will drink to Ovid, and surfeit day by day, till pudding and drink. For by some had a mother, she is new, and married at an Eleventh to the time to her all your lips, if thou a nymph! From the bank must thing.

And General Fireface, famous Druids, lie, nor long locks, the churchyard over my troubles. Which to the Grotesca—such as true to nature, long milk-bloom of life in thine and yet the Southern autumns and outfalls from the spring gush’d through thou art blamed shall call forgotten, and religion, the long years could there suspicion now had bene vext, if vext I had a mother, there, long have wived. You need no danger, for pity!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #184 texts #curtal sonnet sequence

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theaurorfileshq · 6 years

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F R A N C I E V A N D O R E N / A U R O R C A D E T

AGE: Twenty-Five

BADGE NUMBER: L66J47

BLOODSTATUS: Pureblood

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cisgender Female, She/Her

IDENTIFYING FEATURES: Mid-Atlantic accent, dyed blonde hair, ruby red lips, dainty white gloves, curse scar on left side of forehead which she hides under hair and make up.

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES:

(+): Dueling, Potions, Occlumency, Nonverbal Magic

(-): Flying, No-Maj Studies, Lacks Physical Strength, Foolhardy

BACKGROUND:

Your life is completely planned out for you from the moment you’re born. Becoming an auror wasn’t a part of the original plan.

Chapter One. You’re the youngest child of a senator - Humphrey - and a debutante - Marigold. They name you after your foremothers, a great aunt off one branch of the family tree and a grandmother on the other. Frances Elizabeth Van Doren, but your brothers have always called you Francie and that’s how you’ve chosen to introduce yourself. As the only daughter, you are given only one real purpose; your life goal is to marry - an influential, powerful, wealthy, and most importantly pureblood man.

For that very reason, you’ve lead an easy going and privileged existence. Raised in a gilded mansion set against the shores of Newport, Rhode Island, you have never known what it meant to want. Practically everything had been handed to you, and presented on a silver platter. If you so much as shed a tear then brothers, house elves, governesses and the like all came at your very beck and call to find a way to satisfy whatever desire you had. Spoiled, rotten brat. That’s how you started life.

Chapter Two. It’s hard to believe you’ve ever had a taste of tragedy in your simple and affluent life. At least that’s what everybody thinks. Of course, a few newspapers reported the news and some may be able to recall it, but generally speaking most people don’t know and you have only ever spoke on it with your intimates. The few that exist, anyway. But you remember the headlines, in bold black letters against white. You were young, too young to know death, and it was many years ago… And yet you remember it all as though it were just yesterday. Rumors of international conflict had been brewing for a long time across the Atlantic, and war soon came knocking at the States’ door. Your oldest brother answered the call.

Among the many heartfelt goodbyes, hugs and kisses, one exchange stands out for you - the last thing your oldest brother, JR, had ever said to you. “Don’t let them decide who you’re gonna be, Francie. Go on and pave your own path.” Four months later you will find out he lost his life nobly against dark wizards, and suddenly your simple and straightforward world has been flipped on its head. You learn not too long after that tragedies come in twos, because so soon after JR dies your other brother, Edgar, decides he too must answer the call for heroes across the sea. Edgar will return, about a year later, but he will not return the same. Crippled and struggling with PTSD, he was but a shadow of the humorous and loving young man that left for the front. It was after Edgar’s ill-fated return that you came to a revelation. With the eldest Van Doren child dead and the second eldest son an invalid, the powerful family’s legacy now lay squarely on your shoulders.

A devastating chapter closed on the Van Doren family, and a new one began. This time, it would be about Francie.

Chapter Three. Your family’s tragedies are timed almost perfectly, or perhaps inconveniently, with your early days as a student at Ilvermorny. By your second year, you are the only hope the Van Doren family has of a prosperous future. There’s a cloud at the start of your education, but it quickly disperses as you grow. To everyone’s delight, you are a vision of beauty and refinement. Charming, elegant, sophisticated - everything a pureblood socialite ought to be, and exactly what your parents have been raising you to be. You’re well liked, It’s not hard to gain the favor of most - as the years advance, so does your beauty and wit and before long you have the affection of all your peers. Nobody really even cares that you’re clever and intelligent, and that you’ve taken very well to potions or dueling. Those are just silly little pass times - what matters is how you present yourself to society’s elite, and that’s where you’re winning.

Straight out of school and you’re being paraded at the biggest social events and soirees of the season, the centerpiece to your family’s glamorous facade. So it was no surprise when the news broke just a couple months after graduation that the Van Doren daughter was engaged to the heir of a wealthy family. Arthur Alderidge - rich, influential and pureblood, and with a bright future at MACUSA. It was a match made in heaven, two prominent Newport families joining together in what would be the biggest event of the season. And you’re okay with it. At least, that’s what you told everyone. For the past seven years, there was a voice nagging in the back of your head, one that haunted you in the late hours when everyone was gone and you were alone with your thoughts. JR’s final words, echoing loud and clear in your head. Go on and pave your own path.

The thoughts rooted self doubt in you. All your life, you were being built up to be the perfect pureblood princess. And you were just that - the demure and pretty little thing that everyone adored. But you could see the attention you got for what it was - fake respect from peers who were only interested in your family name. Nobody actually cared about who Francie is - they had decided that for you already. Francie is a vapid and pretty little thing, something to admire on a surface level with no depth. Every opinion of you was superficial, especially that of your future husband. You were to be the shimmering, and submissive, trophy draped on your powerful and important husband’s arm. But you wanted to be so much more than that - you wanted to be someone powerful and important. The only person who saw that potential was confined to a chair, constantly reliving nightmares of the war. Edgar couldn’t remind you of what you could be. For the first time, it was up to you to decide where your life went.

And so you did.

Chapter Four. It was the eve of your nuptials, the day before you’re supposed to commit to being a docile wife. There was never a better time to take charge of your future. It’s through a letter that you say goodbye, though there is little explanation as to why you’re doing this or to where you’re going. You know if you give more than that, then you’ll never be able to turn your back on this life. So you steal away in the middle of the night, packing a few things in a bag and taking out your inheritance. The ticket is one way, and you take the train as far west as it’ll go. That’s how you landed in the Pacific Northwest. It’s gloomy and chilly, and you find out quickly that you like rain. You also find out quickly how hard it is to sustain yourself when your money’s dwindling and you have no source of income to replace it. Growing up is suddenly a challenge that you’re ill equip to take on, until a wanted ad falls onto your lap. It’s as if destiny herself put it there.

Remember, being an auror wasn’t a part of the original plan - neither your parents nor yours. But it would happen regardless.

Chapter Five. Your first exposure is when you take on a secretarial post at the Olympia Academy. It was just meant to be a start, to replenish the funds that were quickly disappearing. Something clicked that first day you were at the academy, watching the new recruits as they began their training for one of the most noble and dangerous professions known to wixenkind. It didn’t take long to realize that this was what your life had been missing - a higher purpose, a bigger focus, a deeper meaning. Your brothers had sacrificed their lives to protect others, so why couldn’t you do the same? That’s how you ended up at the academy a year later, now a pupil. Whispers of daddy’s influence had gone around, mocking and cruel. It didn’t help that you were bottom of the food chain - both socially and academically. But you had gotten here all yourself, and you weren’t about to fail on the first attempt at becoming your own person.

You worked hard, and nobody will tell you otherwise. You hit the books and the training rings, stuck around longer than most and tried to keep ahead of the others. Pretty soon you went from bottom of the ladder to top of the class, and you only continued to grow. You had something to prove to others - that you were capable and that no one could tell you that you couldn’t make it. So you pushed and pushed yourself, going above and beyond. You excelled at nonverbal magic. You expanded your arsenal of offensive and defensive spellwork. You memorized every potion you came across that could someday prove helpful. And you lead a deadly experiment in learning occlumency in order to make your resume more impressive. You tortured yourself, until finally your mind was strong enough to repel the pain and much more. But all you have to show for it is a jagged scar along the left side of your forehead that you hate to admit you are insecure about. It’s a graduation present to yourself that will someday come in handy, and lead you to the next step in your life.

Chapter Six. Lucrative offers make themselves known. Seattle and Portland, Tacoma and Vancouver - their local offices all come knocking at your door, begging you to join their ranks. You choose Tacoma first, because it’s closest, but eventually transfer to Seattle, and work at almost every local office in the Puget Sound, where prestige and fame slowly begins to follow your rise. Nobody in the Pacific Northwest will tell you that you didn’t earn your way here, nor that you aren’t a fine and clever auror. This has become home for you, so it’s with a heavy heart that you accept DC’s offer two years after you leave the academy. For more reasons than one - you’re going to miss the weather and the friends centrally located, but you’re also worried about being so close to home. And for good reason. None too soon after you arrive in DC and an unwelcome visitor arrives at your doorstep. Humphrey Van Doren. Good Old Dad. And with devastating news - Edgar, your beloved brother, had taken his own life. Desperate to ensure his legacy, father comes with an offering - for your old life back. He begged for you to go back, amend things with your former fiancé and take your place as a representative of society.

That was your last tie to your past, a brother who ended his life out of sorrow and torture. And that was the last time you entertained the idea of going back.

You rejected the offer, and officially declared yourself emancipated from the Van Doren family. And then up went your walls and into your work you fell. You worked harder than you ever did before, pushing yourself beyond your very measure. You were done being the socialite with every advantage - that was the last thing you wanted others to see you as. You were your own woman, and you were a damn good auror. And within a short amount of time, you showed that with your first lucrative job. Undercover mission, taking down a Russian mobster and his criminal outfit in Arlington. It caught the attention of many, including a Chief Allen Snow. To hear that the chief of the Eastern Squad was impressed was one thing, to be recommended for an opening on the squad was another. Out of sheer stupidity, or so you thought, you applied. And with dumb luck, you got in.

You’ve been there now for almost a year, and it’s been a bumpy start. Here on an elite squad, you have to earn respect, and you have a long way to go. Much like your academy days, they have opinions here - opinions on how you got there and whether or not you really deserve to be there. You’re nothing but an heiress with a senator for a father who likely bought your way in, but you don’t care about that. You’ve risen above such low expectations before, and you’re capable of doing it again. And you’re desperate to do it again here, to prove to Chief Snow and your fellow aurors that you have every right to be here, playing in the big leagues. You’re always chasing the one case that may finally put to rest all of the low expectations. Anything to show them that you’re more than they will ever know.

#retired auror

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