History Repeats Itself [Hathor & Marcus]

"I'm not sure if you would like to hear what I have witnessed of the French, nor the opinion us English hold on your people."

"I would be delighted to, actually."
Hathor was actually not particularly interested in what he had heard, unless it was something juicy. Something that would prove how good she was, and how much the French had offered instead of the English.
But none of these happened.

When Marcus spoke about his thoughts on how arrogant he believed the French were, Hathor raised an eyebrow, quite a bit annoyed at that. He was accusing the French of arrogance, when he hadn't looked himself into the mirror in the first place. It was pathetic how he appeared to know everything when in all truth, he barely knew anything!

"Arrogant, too, mostly from their history of leading the fashion scene with some bizarre attires. The nation was well and truly crushed during the World War, though, which would give the idea most French men are not... very good at keeping what is their own..."

"The French Court had always been one step ahead from yours. Your Kings couldn't even be happy with their Queens. Queens they had chosen. Instead, you always needed Mistresses, mostly French women. Women who knew everything about love, and sex. Women that knew how to please a man."

But Marcus didn't stop there. And when Hathor though that would shut him up, his next statement simply pushed her beyond the point where she could hold herself in place. He was pushing her, and he was about to face the consequences.

"Many say the French are elegant... But, then, others say France is full of whores.

Hathor's eyes went wide, unable to understand what she had just heard. The wicked smile on his lips made her disgusted, and as he turned around, musing about how he was not one to pay for his pleasure, Hathor finally came undone.
As the man moved away from her once again, Hathor went right after him, stopping him in the deserted corridor and grabbing his arm, turning him to face her. She was not done.

"Whores ? This is what you call women that you can not handle? This is the rumor you English trash had spread since the Medieval times, when most Mistresses were of the French Court. Just because your men couldn't be satisfied by your low life Queens. "

Taking a minute to take a few breaths, Hathor kept on with her speech.
"I am Hathor Valois, Monsieur Westbrook. And you have no right to call me anything, when you don't even know the slightest bit about me. Did you actually believe I would open up to you, like the girls you usually surround yourself with? If so, you may leave. I have nothing to lose. I never did."

It was Hathor's turn to turn on her heel and walk down the empty hall, not really knowing where she was going. But she was moving away from him, before she had to break his bones.

"Cocky Englishmen.. ugh!" She mumbled more to herself than anyone.