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joachimnapoleon · 1 year

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Book Review: My Brother Napoleon

(Dedicated to @usergreenpixel for all the great reviews she's written for us. :)

I only recently found out this book existed, thanks to someone randomly posting a picture of the cover on Facebook. I couldn't find much info about it other than that it was a historical fiction novel. The one garbled review about it I came across described it as being about "Josephine's brother Napoleon."

Overall I came away with pretty mixed feelings; didn't hate it, didn't love it.

The book was published in 1971 (this seems to have been a little golden period for Caroline-related books; both Joan Bear's biography of her, and Hubert Cole's dual biography of her and Murat, came out the following year).

It is written in the first person (which, as I mentioned in an earlier post about it, I'm not a huge fan of), from the perspective of Caroline. It starts off with Caroline describing how she fell in love (or rather, lust) with Murat the first time she saw him, at Mombello when she was only fifteen years old. This also happens to be her first time seeing Napoleon's new wife, Josephine, for whom she develops a seething hatred that day because... well, the rest of the family hates Josephine, and she also makes Caroline conscious of her own shortcomings.

Her gracefulness irritated me and made me feel uncouth. I resolved there and then to do all I could, along with the rest of my family, to bring about her disgrace and downfall.

Luckily Murat swaggers in shortly thereafter and Caroline's bloodlust recedes back into regular lust. Of course Napoleon won't hear of her marrying Murat, who has a sordid reputation (which includes rumors of him having slept with Josephine). Caroline is promptly sent off to Madame Campan's school, where she meets her future arch-rival, the cloyingly sweet and naive Hortense, whom she is determined to loathe from day one.

Eventually Caroline has her way and Napoleon caves and lets her marry Murat. Murat is sent to Italy while Caroline is pregnant. When she gives birth to her first son, all she can think of is maneuvering to have him made the heir of Napoleon, who is still childless. Napoleon eventually sends her to join Murat in Italy, where she finds her husband has been sleeping with a different woman every night. They have their first major quarrel followed by some nice make-up sex and Caroline is soon pregnant again. She ends up back in Paris for a time, until Napoleon finds out Murat is accepting bribes in Italy, ratted out to an agent of Fouché by one of his captains. Caroline returns to Italy and helps Murat set the captain up to take the fall instead; the captain ends up hanging himself after his arrest. Napoleon finds all this very much amusing and rewards Caroline for it by making her husband the Governor of Paris, and jokingly says he should make Caroline Minister of Police.

Caroline and Napoleon have an interesting dynamic. Napoleon routinely invites her into his confidence to a greater extent than any of his other siblings, whose ineptitude he is constantly lamenting, and even lets her speak her mind on politics and the course he should take--but his mood is unpredictable, and when Caroline crosses the wrong line (which she does, frequently), he can lose his temper quickly. There are also some scenes where he assigns her to undertake certain little covert missions for him in a manner reminiscent of M and James Bond.

Your task, Caroline, is to gain Moreau's confidence and discover whether or not he is interested in removing me by an act of violence.

Napoleon also delights in seeing her fume over her siblings acquired titles while she remains without one. She gets the upper hand here, at last; after working herself into a full-on fainting spell over Napoleon's refusal to name her a Princess, Napoleon drafts an announcement for the Moniteur on the spot announcing all his siblings have been raised to the rank of Princes and Princesses.

Of course this isn't enough to satisfy Caroline, especially once the crowns start being doled out and arch-rival Hortense ends up becoming the Queen of Holland. But for the time being there are more important things to worry about: like pimping out her ladies-in-waiting to Napoleon so he can prove he's capable of making babies, since this is the best way to guarantee Josephine's downfall. Eventually it works, and the Bonaparte family have their Pyrrhic victory: Josephine is divorced, but announces on her way out that she's taking Napoleon's star with her. By this point, Caroline has achieved her goal of becoming a Queen; Napoleon has entrusted her with keeping her volatile husband under control in Naples.

Caroline is chosen by Napoleon to escort Marie-Louise, his new wife, back to France. Caroline wants to befriend Marie-Louise for mostly selfish political purposes, but despite the new Empress' bovine-like demeanor and naiveté, she proves immune to Caroline's wiles. Caroline eventually returns to Naples, and the brief interlude during which her relationship with Murat had reached the height of affection is soon at an end. Caroline is pregnant again, but ends up having a miscarriage. Murat blames her for the miscarriage, and their relationship marks a permanent turn for the worse.

Thereafter his moods became unpredictable. He was friendly one moment, antagonistic the next. I had once feared for his reason, and now that old fear was revived. It seemed to me that Murat had become two separate personalities.

It isn't just the miscarriage, but also Murat's growing belief that Caroline wants to oust and/or control him, combined with his growing disillusion about Napoleon's treatment of him.

This is the first point in the book where Murat is actually given any real substance or personality other than being a sex-crazed buffoon who makes an occasional snide quip here and there. King Joachim wants to do what is best for his subjects; he chafes under Napoleon's rules, wanting to be able to trade with countries other than France. He is already starting to envision himself as an independent King of a united Italy; this happens at the same time Caroline is growing increasingly fearful of Napoleon's own megalomania.

Napoleon, as I realize now, was completely crazy at this moment; crazier than Murat and far more dangerously so. But I was carried away by the hypnotic influence of his words, or more correctly by the hypnotic influence of his voice alone. I believe in him as one, with a bent for religion, believes in God. He had cast me into a sort of religious trance.

But after the debacle of the Russian invasion, Murat is convinced Napoleon's downfall is on the horizon, and Caroline is reluctantly forced to reach the same conclusion. When Austria sends Count Adam von Neipperg to Naples to speed along treaty negotiations with Murat, Caroline promptly takes him to bed to help things along (the latest in her line of lovers, which also includes, but is not limited to, Moreau, Junot, Daure, Lavauguyon, an unnamed Austrian ambassador, General Mcdonald, and a Monsieur Clavel).

But Murat balks at signing the treaty when the time comes; Caroline tricks him into doing it. His mind completely unhinged by the strain of the situation, he mistakes Caroline for the visiting Madame Récamier, and signs what Caroline tells him is a "confession of ingratitude and treachery to the Emperor Napoleon." In the morning, Murat has no memory of the scene, and declares that he must have been drunk, but decides to let the treaty stand since Napoleon is doomed anyway.

Anyone who knows the real story can guess the rest: Napoleon falls (twice); Murat goes to war with Austria, loses, flees to France, and ultimately ends up facing a firing squad in Calabria; Caroline ends up in exile in Trieste. Kenyon's Caroline is utterly emotionless in describing any of this, or anything else in the book, really. She is very much a carbon copy of Turquan's Caroline: a Machiavellian succubus, capable of lust, malice, intrigue, and little else. If that was what Kenyon was going for, he nailed it. If he wanted to make her relatable or empathetic, not so much. Stylistically speaking, Kenyon isn't a bad writer, but the only character that really had any significant depth in this story was Napoleon. He could've done so much more to flesh out the complexity of her relationship with/feelings for Murat, and I couldn't help but be disappointed by just how shallow this aspect of the book is. The part describing Murat's death and Napoleon's exile to Caroline is short and very matter-of-fact, and I genuinely can't tell if Kenyon was simply incapable of empathizing with Caroline or if he truly just didn't think she possessed actual normal human emotions like love or grief, or introspection, and just wrote her accordingly. But she just comes across, from start to finish, as very wooden and almost non-human. Having not read any of Kenyon's other books, I can't say whether this is par for the course with his characterization or not.

What I did like about the book were the depictions of the Bonaparte family squabbles, which were entertaining and well-written, and Napoleon in general (Kenyon seemed to have a good read on him, at least). And Caroline's back-and-forth with the unexpectedly combative Marie-Louise during their carriage ride back to France together was also a fun scene.

If I had to give it a rating, I'd go with a 6/10. It had its moments, and the writing isn't bad, but I just couldn't help but be disappointed by the characterizations of both Caroline and Murat.

#books #Napoleon #Napoleon Bonaparte #Caroline Bonaparte #Caroline Murat #historical fiction #book reviews

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digital-chance · 10 months

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[NovFut] Rowan Reyes Intro WIP

introduction to the main character of Nova Futurum. more information will be added over time.

Basics //

Rowan Reyes is 22 years old and is a masculine presenting non-binary person who uses they/them pronouns. They work as an apprentice within a cybernetic repair shop within the heart of Nova Futurum, which allows them to utilize their skills in technology in hacking/cracking without getting caught. They also are fiercely loyal to their friends and would do quite a bit for them. Rowan and their dad have a strained relationship, due to their dad being often absent in their childhood. Thanks to their cybernetic implants, their strength and physical abilities are enhanced and allow for covert operations.

Punk Life: Rowan goes by GH0$T when they're traversing the underground. They often travel with their gang of punks, who they have grown up with and are all vey close to each other. GH0$T didn't like hurting innocent people, but they had no qualms about stealing from the rich and powerful, often operating with a lot of a lack of self-preservation in order to save the operations.

Appearance: They are white with slightly tanned skin. They have short tousled blue hair that reaches their eyebrows, occasionally styled up in spikes. Due to their gymnastic style of traveling routes, they are lean with a slight build at around 5 feet 8 inches (173cm). They have a tattoo on their torso, along with having various cybernetic implants along their body. Their left arm from mid-bicep down was lost during a car accident when they were small. Thanks to the abundance of cybernetic implants and prosthetics in the market, they were able to get their arm prosthetic shortly after.

History //

Birth Story: Rowan's parents had a one-night stand and only stayed in contact once in a while through social media. A year or two after Rowan was born, their mother dumped them onto their father's doorstep. Their father has taken care of them ever since. They have never seen their mother after then, which is also when she blocked them on social media and (presumably) moved

Growing Up: Rowan and their dad lived in the slums of Nova Futurum, in a small apartment. The Reyes family struggled to pay the bills which caused their dad to take several jobs, working long hours. Rowan often was left alone as a child, in-between coming home from government mandated schooling until their dad came back around 21:00 after his work ended. Occasionally they hung out with their neighbors and the other close residents's children but they also spent long hours teaching themselves how to code and to crack into mainframes and databases.

Teenage Life, the Beginning of Rebellion: After the government released their mandated AI software that was required by law to be used by all citizens, Rowan learned a way to crack the ai and use it for their own purposes, not for government approved. When their neighborhood friends heard about this, they wanted Rowan to adjust their ai's too. Soon enough, Rowan had a side-business running while they were a teenager. They worked with their friends, who self classify as punks now, to promote their business and to expose the government. When not working or going to school, Rowan and the punks explored Nova Futurum. They wanted to know what the city was like and got to see first-hand what horrors the government covers up.

wip

Relationships // (wip)

Father - While not always physically there, Rowan and their dad always have each other's backs. He doesn't always approve of Rowan's lifestyle but agrees that the government has gone way too far. He does his best to support his kid in any way that he can, without getting caught.

Henry - Rowan and Henry met while Rowan was on a exploratory run around Nova Futurum. Rowan pissed off a cop and led a long chase to shake off the cop and ran right into the bar Henry works at. They both were surprised to see each other, Rowan because they didn't expect anyone to working that late in the night, and Henry because of Rowan's sprint inside the bar. Rowan hid out in the bar and chatted with Henry in the meantime. They became good friends with Rowan and the punks declaring the bar as one of their homebases. [MORE]

BSF

Punks

REAPER

Extras //

playlist: - human too - the 1975 - sweet - cigarettes after sex - tbc

My Art //

from my art instagram - flowerstarpatch

find more art of them [instagram post] [toyhouse]

[ notes ] more information coming soon, i just have to format it in a way i like

head back to the story intro [Nov Fut]

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asvterias · 2 years

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hello honey how about writing a yandere caroline forbes where she and the reader were friends when they were human and caroline was secretly in love with her and used to push boys away from her out of jealousy, but when she became a vampire her tendencies only increased

𝖬𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖳𝗈 𝖡𝖾 ~ 𝖢𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖻𝖾𝗌

Warnings: Yandere Themes, Yandere Behavior, Obsession, Blood and Gore, Character Death & Torture Mechanisms

Pairings: Yandere!Caroline Forbes x Fem!Bestfriend!Reader

Summary: Caroline Forbes was madly in love with [name] that everyone else around her sensed it even though the blonde put up a protective best friends’ facade for the [Last Name] girl. Now having heightened emotions only troubled [name] for the worst when that love coverts into an unhealthy obsession.

Word Count: 2,043

Tag List: @stqrfish @yurdreamgirlfriend @carolslittleslut

*gif is not mine*

“You wouldn't date him, right?” Those words echoed in your mind every time that you would see Caroline's eyes boring into yours. Perhaps, it was jealousy that Caroline felt overcoming her.

Maybe it was protectiveness or mainly because you were just human who were constantly being surrounded by supernaturals.

Even when she was human, she had a soft spot only for you. So ever since, Katherine killed her in the hospital, you hadn't left her visual perception. She somehow managed to gain her blood urges around you when she was starting.

Caroline didn't come to realize that the Pierce woman had helped her in a way— now that she's more stronger and faster than she was capable of before.

With new found abilities from transitioning to a vampire, she was more clingy than usual but you paid no attention to it.

That was until, Damon always started flirting with you, obviously trying to make Elena jealous. Now, Caroline can be a real bitch when she wants to and the blonde definitely tears those useless boys apart when necessary.

Currently, one of those ignorant boys happened to be Damon Salvatore at the very moment, who spent every opportunity to talk to you with either a snarky comment or witty reply.

According to the blonde, Damon was like a pimple that you couldn't just get rid of, no matter how hard you try.

Caroline didn't see it that way so a a random school night after she dropped you off, she stormed into the Salvatore house and knocked him out with vervain.

The next thing that Damon sensed was that he was harshly woken by the sound of his skin sizzling by a vampire's weakness — vervain which made him cry out in pain. Despite feeling basically burned alive, he managed to spot his ring on the floor a mere few feet away from him.

He was about to reach for it but something held him back from doing so.

Growling in annoyance as the vampire looked down at his restraints. He tried to break free from them but he only received the shackling of the chains and hissed every time he did so. Even though he was getting burned by vervain with every little movement , Damon was persistent on being set free.

“Don't.” A voice rang out from the darkness which caused the raven haired man to stop, “They're covered with vervain so you'll just weaken yourself.”

The Salvatore boy wrinkled his eyes in confusion and he lets out a pained cough, “Wait a minute, I recognize that voice. Caroline, is that you?!”

The blonde ignored the vampire's outburst and erupted from the darkness saying, “Congratulations, do you want a cupcake?” She rolled her eyes before speeding toward him, gripping tightly onto his neck, “She's mine. [Name] is mine so don’t think for one second that she’ll ever get with you.”

“Chill blondie, you're crazy besides I was just using her to make Elena jealous.” Damon remarked back, somehow managing to make sentences.

This brought fury in Caroline's eyes. How could he just use you like that?

Grabbing the back of his head hearing him groan in pain, “She is not some toy for you to use and than place her back on the shelf when she is needed again. She needs someone who can appreciate her, worships the ground that she walks on, she needs me.”

“Why do you care about her so much?” He let out a breath of relief when she lets go of his hair, painfully.

“That's really none of your business,” Caroline seethed, walking in front of him. “[Name] will never find better. She has me and not even you can stop that.” The blonde continues before grabbing his face tightly, “Now you're gonna stay in here and rot.”

“You can't do that!” Damon exclaims, “Stefan will come looking for me.”

Using her vampire speed, she was at the exit door in a instant, “And if he comes in my way, I'll kill him too.” She declares before closing the large metal door, ignoring Damon's pleas as she smirked to herself before speeding away.

Suddenly her phone binged and your name contact showed up on her phone. The blonde smiled brightly at the phone and answered your text before speeding off into the night.

“Hey, I got the text what’s going on?” Caroline had put up a fake facade, only for you. The blonde knew beforehand what this meeting was about but acted clueless about Damon's current situation.

This was becoming a daily routine for Caroline. Torture damon and leave him to fend for himself and not without tending to you first, making sure that you hadn't found someone. Sometimes if Caroline was feeling generous, she'd give him some blood.

“Damon's been missing.” Elena announced, biting her nails anxiously, “It's been a week.”

“Don't worry, we'll find him.” Caroline sat beside you, taking her hands in yours which you immediately accepted. Taking a breath of relief and she gripped it tighter.

“I'll do a locator spell.” Bonnie announces. You frown at this. Of course you wanted to find Damon but Bonnie was mentally and physically tired. Besides, she was dealing with alot on her plate at the moment.

“No, you can do it another day.” You started, “You need rest and I mean a lot of rest.”

The bennett witch was about to complain but you cut her off, “You've been overworking yourself and it's not good for you. As your bestie, I command you to get a good weeks rest.”

“[Name], I love you but I'm fine.” She shrugged you off, “The sooner I get the spell done, the sooner everyone's happy.”

“Well quite frankly I don't care what everyone else wants, bon. You're getting a week's rest and I'll be there to tend for you. End of discussion.”

Despite being a human, you had argued with the witch until she reluctantly gave into your statements. When you and the bennett witch were out of sight, Caroline stated that she's gonna go home. Leaving the two vampires there with no say in the matter and she sped off into the night.

Looks like she was gonna have to take a detour.

Once Caroline made her presence known back at the cellar where she held Damon captive. The oldest Salvatore brother noticed the girl and he began speaking, “Great you're back, now let me go!”

“Hmmm...I don't think so,” Caroline says as she struts towards the boy, “Let's do things my way, per usual. Well it’s not like you have a say in the matter .”

“Fine, whatever.”

“I already have new problems that involve you, luckily my sweetheart came through and postponed it.” The blonde shrugs, “Now, my first question. Can a vampire grow a heart back?” She pretends to think with a finger on her cheek.

“What kind of—“ Damon choked on his words as Caroline's hand budges itself into his rib cage, gripping onto his heart. “Caroline, now wait, let's talk th—“

The Forbes girl ignored the pleading vampire and with one swift pull, her bloodied hand held the Salvatore's heart. His body thudded to the dirty ground soon after.

The vampire's eyes, now lifeless still remained open could tell the tiny details before his useless death.

“Guess that solves my question.” She answered, looking at the dead heart in her hand before throwing it on the ground. Now Caroline was on her way to your house, hopefully she won't do anything that she'll regret.

Her plan involving you was pretty simple. Get you hyped up and then she'll drug you and keep you all to herself. Luckily, since the newbie vampire loves you so much, she didn't take you to the dark eery cellars that she held Damon captive in.

Instead, she had you trapped in the comfort of the Salvatore cellar. Obviously she made it a bit more roomy for you.

For the first time in her life, she was nervous. Caroline Forbes was never nervous, she was confident but only one can take away that confidence and it was you— her weakness. Anxiety bubbles up in her stomach as she waits patiently for you to wake up from your slumber.

“[Name], come on please at least eat. I'm sorry.” Caroline pleaded. Your heart broke at this. You've never seen the blonde so desperate in her life.

“How do I know that you won't hurt me?” You asked, fear evident in your tone.

“I will never hurt you, I love you.”

“I'll eat your food on one condition.” Caroline stood up at this, intrigued by what you have to say. “Was Damon telling the truth?”

She froze, “W-what did he tell you?”

“He told me that you were in love with me.”

“Maybe, he was right.” Caroline held onto the tiny bars, “I love you and I'll kill anyone who comes in our way. Just look at what happened to poor old Damon.” She caressed your face, frowning when you flinch back slightly so she drops her hand in hopes to not scare you even more.

“You're crazy Caroline.” You shook your head, leaning your forehead against the railings.

“Only crazy for you, baby.” She calmly stated, running her hands through your hair. Somehow, you felt yourself warming into her touch. Maybe you were going insane to even seek comfort in her words.

What was the word again? Stockholm Syndrome is what you're experiencing now. It's not like you praise Caroline for killing Damon but he was leading you on so karma came for his ass.

“Caroline...this is wrong.” You breathed out, shifting your face towards hers.

“Then why does it feel so right?” The blonde questioned. Within the stillness between the two of you, your lips found hers in a soft manner. The kiss felt so real to you and the lip-locking remained passionate until she bit lowly on your bottom lip. When air became a necessity for you both, you pulled away from the kiss.

Unexpectedly, her hand reached your neck and with one swift snap, barely flinching at the loud sound. The last thing that you heard was her voice, “It will be just you and me, together forever.”

Your body fell limp to the floor and all the blonde could picture right now was your betrayed expressions at her actions.

She had to do it for the sake of herself and you. Caroline wasn't thinking with her head but instead with her heart. Her heart demanded that you would be with her forever so that she could keep you safe. Seems like her heart did overcome her head in the end.

The Forbes girl waited for a few minutes before unlocking the cell door and picking up your body.

“I did it to keep us safe.” Caroline started, “I did it to make sure that we stay together.”

“You turned me into a vampire against my own will,” You cried, watching the regret overcome her eyes. “You'd think that I'd be happy with this.”

“Gosh, [name] why won't you just accept the fact that we're meant to be together.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, can't believing what you're hearing from your bestfriend. “I don't know who you are anymore Caroline.”

“Stop denying us, [name].” The blonde deadpanned and she sped off, probably to get you a blood bag. “We are meant to be whether you love or hate it.”

Her words echoed in your head as you sank on the ground beneath you. You had no chance of escaping, no chance to enjoy your life in the way you wanted. You were like a drug and Caroline was your addict and now you know that the blonde has no intentions of giving you up.

#꒰ 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌/𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 📌 ꒱#tvd yandere #tvd oneshot #tvd yandere oneshot #caroline forbes #caroline forbes x fem!reader #yandere!caroline forbes

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thefirstcourtesan · 11 months

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If ACOR had gotten two books as originally planned (something I only learned after checking out your blog omg), how do you think that would've changed the story, and how would you have wanted the story to go (even if it was just in terms of pacing for example)? I really like it and I think it's one of the better written Choices books but I can't help but feel that the last few chapters from after the hiatus were a little rushed (+ the timeline overall is kind of confusing even if the story is strong - I studied Roman history in school and I remember thinking "didn't these events take place over several years irl, did ACOR really condense them into just a single year?")

I love this ask!!!

So I am pretty sure ACOR was supposed to be 18 chapters + a second book, instead the hiatus happened after chapter 17 (my guess is that the original book finale had to be scrapped because it didn’t make a sense as a launching point for the finale chapters). I think the plot stayed intact, just super accelerated, so it lost some of the impact.

My guess is that book 1 would have ended with Caesar returning to Rome and the reveal about Ciginerix being alive and being one of his guards. It would have fit the narrative path of the book and would have been a huge cliffhanger to set up the second book. It also would have had book 1 be pre-Caesar and book 2 be post-Caesar.

I think book 2 would have seen us spy on Caesar and seduce him, but over several chapters, not just one and I think we would have gotten to romance Cleopatra. We would still have tried to poison him and failed, but again not after one chapter which made it seem rushed and dumb. I think we would have had more of a story with Ciginerix instead of just one diamond scene to covert him to our side or not.

So, I think the finale chapters covered everything that book 2 would have, it just had to condense in and speed it all up and I think some things would have hit differently/better over 18 chapters instead of 4.

(And yes the actual timeline makes no sense, it condenses 7 years of history into about a 1.5 years).

#ask misha #a courtesan of rome #playchoices

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kieranupadrasta26 · 1 year

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Letting it be known: Deals Scripts Actually Work!

I felt like a covert operative, going on interviews for occupations that could have been fitting well before I had turned into a recognized and generally distributed pro at selling.

I needed to cover my refinement, while biting the bullet.

To try and meet all requirements for a meeting, I simplified my resume, leaving off acquired advanced educations. I situated myself as what I had become, to some extent, as an expert: a top merchant and deals coach.

Tackling my inner self, I employed onto a task that had a stopgap preparing program. Some portion of it comprised of watching a videoed suit enlighten me regarding the math of outcome in selling.

Settle on a ton of decisions, count your outcomes, and fix what is broken, yet entirely nothing more. Counsel and, surprisingly, explicit models I had given in a portion of my top of the line books that he evidently private-named, and sold as unique.

In any case, that was alright, I told myself. I would have been an obedient merchant in particular; not a sage, and surely not a pundit. I planned to find out about the frameworks and the strategies that were as of now set up, and see what had changed since I had moved my concentration to discussion and client support stages.

I was given two contents, which were difficult to peruse, not to mention present. Seeing the best reps were utilizing an alternate song and dance, I asked them for THEIR contents, which helpfully, they had decreased to composing and liberally imparted to me.

(Had they realized I was a guaranteed prearranging virtuoso, their notes could have stayed in drawers while I staggered over my pomposity.)

My PC hadn't been set-up, so I was "work area driving," standing by listening to others pitch. Squirming and eager, I was inquired as to whether I needed to get everything rolling without a PC. Check here Kieran Upadrasta

Call hesitance increments with latency, so I seized the opportunity. Furthermore, wouldn't you know it, following a brief talk, I sold the primary individual with whom I talked.

In graduate school, exactly the same thing occurred on a more limited call, when I was selling office supplies.

"He's a MEISTER!" the supervisors declared in those days, noticing that I appeared to play out the content perfectly, and obviously with the right outcome.

Here, the employing supervisor just said, "I realized you could make it happen!"

Which carries me to my point: Contents work, whether you have confidence in them, or not.

I've generally known and taught this reality, however presently I was reaffirming it in the current day, in a time of Twitter, Facebook, performing various tasks, safe and hesitant purchasers, and famously limited ability to focus.

I was reasserting the benefit of involving in exactly the same words, word for word scripts, on genuine calls as a dealer, not as a specialist that was pitching individuals on utilizing one of the contents I had composed available.

At this new business environment, I didn't compose the words I expressed, and it's great. I needed more item information to form a reasonable show.

After my underlying request, for the following two days, I kept on making deals. However, on the fourth and fifth days, I blanked. No one purchased, however I thought my introductions were getting to the next level.

I understood I had fallen an ordinary and unsurprising snare.

I had wandered away from the call way, rethinking it, attempting to make it more limited, more sensible, and as I would like to think, more rational. I went from being a fledgling to a smarty pants to a drooping salesman, in somewhat over seven days.

On the 6th day, I returned to the text that I had utilized on my absolute first call. What's more, I began selling, once more.

On one level, it goads me to feel that their content was better than my endeavored refinements of it. All things considered, I've had a vocation, and a fruitful one, further developing introductions, similar as this one.

Additionally, their content appeared to be excessively lengthy, and excessively gimmicky, with over the top straps, for example, "Sounds great, doesn't it?" showing up in unreasonably many spots.

Yet, these contemplations, I understood after my two-day droop, disregarded a groundwork of fruitful selling, known as the KISS Technique.

"KEEP IT Basic, Dumb!"

I was contending with the content, which is imprudence, an optional increase, a possible success for my inner self, as it were. Helping out it, recounting it write for-write, delivered an essential increase, deals and commissions.

Before, after fresh recruits could grumble to me, their project lead, that they were out of nowhere drooping, I'd pose a basic inquiry, "Would you say you are on the content or off it?"

"Gracious, I'm utilizing it!" they'd guarantee, in all truthfulness. In any case, when I observed their discussions, I heard how deep into the dejection they had floated.

One of my clients, a previous Marine, said: "Selling is so natural, it's hard!"

By this, he implied assuming you follow the recipe, you'll eat. Leave out specific fixings, or add such a large number of your own, and you'll starve.

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averagejoesolomon · 2 years

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Phew, I have GOT to learn how to write these chapters in less than 3,000 words. Thanks for waiting! Here's one of the most important chapters of the whole book! Sure hope I didn't blow it! If you're new here, you can read Full Circle in full on Ao3. Enjoy! Oh, also: TW for minor use of religious themes

Chapter Fourteen

The sun rises on the Lincoln Memorial as the crowds begin to build.

Light shimmers across the Reflecting Pool, casting the Memorial’s grand staircase in a sharp, golden glow that doesn’t quite reach beyond the marble threshold. Matthew Morgan waits at the top of a mountainous climb, lost among a collection of towering pillars. He shares his presence with the shadows, but he hardly needs their company. His cover is found among the amateur historians, the early morning joggers, and the everyday American citizen.

He dissolves easily into the echoing conversations and the flashes of Polaroids. Tourists toss around languages that don’t hold a place in Hay Springs, but he understands them anyway. Neither the school kids nor their chaperones pay him any mind, and he belongs here. He belongs everywhere.

The ceiling soars high above, framing his steady stature into something small. The entire chamber stretches well beyond him in just about every way imaginable—in body, in spirit, in mind, and in time itself. He looks upon stately letters carved into stone, once spoken by a man far greater than he will ever be.

“‘This nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom—and government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.’” The voice crawls up behind him, paired with footsteps born of wealthy shoes. “We simply don't talk like that anymore, do we, Mr. Morgan?”

Director Smith has traded in his usual suit and tie for a simple button-down. Even through Matt’s periphery, the sight feels strange, but this moment calls for casual. “Is this location clean?” Matt asks, eyes steady on the wall in front of him.

“Cleaner than my office,” says Smith, falling into place at Matt’s side. The pair of them stand wedged between two monstrous columns, two men up against something far bigger than themselves. “Which, at the moment, is home to enough bugs to rival the Natural History Museum’s collection.”

Matt keeps his gaze leveled on the inscription, reading over the same words for the dozenth time. “And you’re clean?”

“Believe it or not,” says the director, “this is not my first clandestine rendezvous.”

A certain sternness outlines Smith’s words and at once, Matt remembers who he’s talking to. This ain’t amateur hour. This is the Director of Operations, and his pops taught him better than this. “Sorry, sir,” he says. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“Yes you did,” says Smith, a serene smile stretching over his lips. “But that’s quite alright. You’re on edge. I’ve brought you to one of the most public places in DC, to have one of the most covert conversations in DC, and these aren’t ideal circumstances for even the most veteran agents.”

On edge. No. Not likely. On edge is a cow late for labor. On edge is an unexpected rain, threatening to flood out fresh seed. On edge is creeping through his mama’s hallways after curfew, praying she don’t hear the floorboards creak. Matt’s spent enough time on the edge to know that he jumped over it months ago, and he’s been hurtling toward a rocky bottom ever since. It’s high time he reached the end of all this, if only so he doesn’t have to keep falling.

“I’ll admit,” Matt says, “I was mighty surprised when I received word of this location.”

Smith tucks his hands in his pockets and circles back toward the center of the chamber. Matt doesn’t follow, but maintains a visual of the director as he admires the surrounding marble work. After some time, Matt closes the distance, but doesn’t hover. The two of them walk separately, but together, among a sea of unsuspecting strangers.

“It’s true—I wouldn’t normally choose a location like this, but I’ve heard that public settings are something of a strong suit for you.” They gravitate toward one another once more, and the scene looks easy. Coincidental. “And plus,” Smith goes on, “there’s something to be said for being in the presence of great men.”

Matt’s focus is scattered across stone as he notices everything he can about his environment. He notices a couple holding hands as they read over the engraved walls. He notices a black labrador, dressed in a smart, red harness. He notices children falling just a little too close to the barrier ropes and he notices as the adults shoo them away. There’s an undeniable comfort in knowing that he can blend in so easily with such a chaotic crowd, but it’s accompanied by an equal unease in knowing that someone else could do the same.

It’s a testament to the true split of his attention that the twenty-foot shrine entirely escapes him. He only looks up because he spots Smith doing the same. “It’s strange, don’t you think?” says Smith, admiring the statue. “The way we immortalize men? The way we can turn some into god-like legends?”

Matt examines the bearded face and the inscription above, speaking of temples, and hearts, and salvation. His next words are a habit. A home. A belief so deeply struck into him that to remove it would be to remove a very piece of himself. “‘I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have none other gods before Me.’”

“Old Testament.” Smith eyes him, and Matt does his best not to meet the gaze. “It’s rare for a man your age to speak with such devotion.”

“Only that it’s the very first commandment, sir,” says Matt. “In a list of ten, He put that one at the top. The least I can do is remember it.”

“Even so,” says Smith. “It’s admirable.”

“I’m a simple man,” he says, and he doesn’t shrug. He doesn’t shift. Their conversation happens through words alone. “I don’t honor any man above God, no matter how great, just the same as I don’t hang another flag above the stars and stripes. That’s just not how it’s done.”

Smith takes a single step closer to the statue. Then another. It takes skill to hold such a delicate conversation among this crowd, and even more skill to wear a smile through it all. “I’ve always enjoyed your loyalty,” he says. “I could spot it on you from the moment we first met, and you’ve only proven me right ever since.”

Matt nods, once. It’s all he can spare. “Thank you, sir.” He tucks his own hands into his pockets. “My mama would be awfully proud to hear you say so.”

The closer Smith gets to the statue, the smaller he looks, leaving Matt behind to watch as he shrinks before legend. “And while we’re on the subject of loyalty,” he says, coming back around, “I can’t help but notice that Mr. Solomon isn’t with you today.”

He’s falling. Falling, falling, falling toward the end of it all. “No sir.”

“You two are usually attached at the hip, are you not?”

He’ll surely split into a million pieces upon impact. “Yessir.”

“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Mr. Morgan?”

It ain’t a question. Matt feels it in his Army training, his intelligence training, and in all of his unofficial training back home. Sometimes questions are really just orders in disguise. “Rest assured, sir,” he says, “I’m not gonna like a single moment of this.”

Smith makes another pass around the chamber, as though giving Matt a chance to catch his breath. His movements are flawless, swaying when he should, stepping in the right places, and flying completely under the radar. Not for the first time, Matt realizes that Smith is good. He has to be.

When they meet again, Matt knows he has to get it out before his throat tightens up on him. “I have reason to suspect that our agency mole is working with the Circle of Cavan.”

Some words are so covert that they cannot be said aloud. Some words are cold enough to send a chill into the bones of every agent they touch, and the risk of speaking them into the world is never worth the chance that someone else might hear them. There are many reasons why spies speak in code, but chief among them is because some words simply aren’t meant to see the light of day.

If the Circle of Cavan is among these forbidden phrases, then Smith does nothing to show it. Though it felt heavy coming from Matt’s mouth, it lands on Smith without weight. “You’re aware that the Circle of Cavan is something of a fairytale in our business? Not many people consider it a serious threat.”

“Due respect, sir, those people are wrong.” All at once, it falls from him. Every scrap of information, every line of research, every late night spent putting the pieces together. His secrets spill out of him. This argument has been in him for weeks now, taking up space in his lungs, and it’s a relief to finally breathe once more. “Now I know I’m a newcomer to all of this, but I think we need to seriously consider that this organization has been operating under our noses for some time now, maybe even back to its Civil War origins. If we don’t begin to treat them as a credible threat to democracy, they’re just going to keep funneling information to God-knows-who—but my bet is on the communists. I know we’re working up against ghost stories, but I think—”

“I think you’re right.”

“But sir, if you would just listen—” He stops. The words twist around his tongue, sending him tripping, fumbling, until the thoughts finally land where they should. “I’m sorry, did you just say—?”

“I think you’re right, Mr. Morgan.” Matt spends a whole lot of time convincing himself that he’s wrong. He’s not quite sure what to do, now that his suspicions have been confirmed. “We’re in a new era of spycraft, brought on by a type of war that we’ve never seen before. It has emboldened a number of our enemies, and I would not be surprised to find that the Circle was among them. If they get any real power, we’ll see a significant change to the way the world operates.”

The part of him that trained with Joe Solomon is telling him to notice things, but he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be noticing. If anything, this conversation is far easier than he ever anticipated. “So you agree that this is a considerable threat?” he says. “The Circle?”

Smith’s patience is clear in his features, but there’s a wear to him. A warning. “Ioseph Cavan nearly toppled the American government with the single shot of a pistol,” he says, and Matt can’t draw his eyes away from Lincoln’s statue as he says it. “At the time of their inception, the Circle only had access to the weapons of their day—rifles and sabers, mostly. Now we’ve created bombs big enough to blow us all into extinction. Imagine what they could do with that sort of power.”

“Well now, hold on,” says Matt. “This nuclear stalemate is between us and the Soviets. The Circle doesn’t have access to that kind of weaponry.”

“Don’t they?” Smith asks. “Who’s to say the Circle isn’t working with the Soviets? Who’s to say they’re not working domestically? And who’s to say that they’re not somewhere behind the curtain, pulling the strings on both sides?”

“Ain’t that a bit of a stretch?” Matt’s mind wanders to Moscow, wondering if maybe he should have spent more time looking over both shoulders, when he’s only been looking over the one. “What would agents of the Confederacy want with an international conflict?”

Smith doesn’t even have to think about his answer. “Greatness.”

“Excuse me?”

“Greatness, on a legendary scale,” Smith explains “Their men want to become great, god-like tales, and great men are only produced by war.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“No?” Smith’s hands stay in his pockets, but his voice seems to gesture around the entire chamber. “Look around, Mr. Morgan. Lincoln alone was not great. It was his circumstances that made him great. His war. It was his men and their individual actions that made him great. Do you believe it to be a coincidence, that America’s most significant war also produced its most prominent historical legend?”

“The war didn’t make him great, the end of it did.”

“You cannot have an end without a beginning,” Smith reminds him. “Perhaps they believe that a war between a single nation was not big enough. Perhaps they believe today’s great men require global conflict. It’s hard to say for certain—especially without a source on the inside.”

His stomach drops to his belt, and he’s falling once more. He always seems to be falling. This is his only chance, before his hope wrangles a lasso around his neck for one final time. “Joe is Circle.” He blurts it out, and it tastes like rust, scraping against his mouth. “That’s our source on the inside. That’s our mole. He’s been feeding information to his Circle contacts right under our noses—right under my nose.”

For a moment, Smith drops his cover. He drops his perfect stance and his inconspicuous sidestep. He drops his lingering glances and lands, instead, directly on Matt. Consideration brims from each of his features as he studies Matt, caught in the squint of his eyes, the pinch in his lips, and the strong set of his jaw.

Finally, he turns back to the statue. “I had my suspicions.”

Boom. Impact.

“You—” Again, words fail Matt with every breath. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“Mr. Morgan, please try to give me some credit,” he says, returning to that easy speech he finds such comfort in. “I’ve had my suspicions about Joseph Solomon for some time now, but I haven’t been able to conduct a proper investigation without tipping him off. He’s quite talented, particularly in countersurveillance.”

One second at a time, the world begins to make a little more sense. With each word Smith gives him, Matt comes to realize answers to questions he never knew he had. This is why Matt was put on the assignment. This is why it couldn’t be anyone else. Even the ease of today’s conversation begins to make more sense once Matt realizes that the director has known all of his secrets from the start.

“So,” Matt says, realization unfolding in real-time, “you sent me into this op knowing that I’d be able to get closer to him than anyone else.”

Matt lived with him. Matt befriended him. Matt understood him. “And it seems you were successful,” Smith says.

Joe likes to say that there may be honor among spies, but there is no trust. Normally, Matt will brush this off the usual doom-and-gloom stoicism for which Joe is known, but it feels particularly apt in this moment. He’s been made into an asset against his will, by the agency that owns his life. This time, he was working for the good guys, but a bile bubbles up at the base of his stomach, wondering if he could be just as easily manipulated by the bad.

It’s a lesson Joe’s been trying to teach him from the start, but sometimes Matt learns best by doing things the hard way. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I could have been wrong.” Smith says it with a shrug, as though it’s so simple. As though any of this could ever be simple. “The last thing I needed was one agent falsely incriminating another. If there’s anything worse than a mole, it’s infighting. A house divided, after all…”

His heart beats up against his chest. His face turns flush. His knees are weak and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to stand. “So then, what’s next? Are we—do we—?” The questions don’t come, which is just as well. He only has one that he truly cares about. “What’s going to happen to Joe?”

It’s the question that weaves its way into his nightmares, sinking into every inch of sleep. Despite his best efforts, he’s lost hours by imagining the worst. Once this gets out, Joe will have two sides working against him, and not even he can run fast enough or far enough to avoid both. He’ll be fired, fined, and put on trial. He’ll be imprisoned, exposed, and possibly killed.

But Director Smith doesn’t say any of that. “With any luck, he switches to our side.”

Matt blinks. “I don’t understand.”

Smith’s smile makes a subtle return. “CIA has been trying to understand the Circle of Cavan for decades—over a century, now,” he explains. “But they operate so tightly that we haven’t learned much since their inception. If he works with us, Mr. Solomon could become one of our most valuable assets to date.”

And there’s that hope again, fleeting. “But how do you plan to bring him over?”

Smith wanders on his heels, turning toward the front of the chamber, where the sun has finally risen all the way into the sky. “Your job is to bring opposing assets to our side, is it not, Mr. Morgan? It’s your job to build up their trust and convince them to pledge their loyalty to the United States?” He begins walking away and, this time, he won’t be coming back. “I want Joseph Solomon on my side. It’s your job to make sure that happens.”

“Sir?”

“This is your chance at greatness, Mr. Morgan.” He calls it out over his shoulder, their meeting no longer covert. With the smooth slip of his sunglasses, Smith starts down the stairs, growing smaller and smaller against the massive chamber. “Should you decide that you want it.”

The offer seems to shimmer against the marble, carving into the stone that builds Lincoln's throne from the bottom up. The possibility hangs heavy in the air of the Memorial, with the promise to live as a legend. Greatness, within reach.

But Matt doesn’t want greatness. Right now, for better or for worse, Matt just wants Joe.

#Full Circle #I hope yall are ready for the next chapter because its going to kill me

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