Chambre de Pierpont

Pierpont had been seated beside his fireplace, his legs kicked upon a small table as he read Machiavelli's "The Prince" for the third time, his fingers brushing the pages as the fire flickered.

He heard someone enter his room and he could not help but roll his eyes and sigh. He turned to see a woman standing in the room.

"Can I help you, madam?" he blinked, not looking up from his book.

Pierpont contined to flip through the pages of his book, nodding as he gave a wave of his hand.

"Quite alright, madam," he sighed.

Pierpont turned his gaze to her across the room, "I think you will find that your lady in waiting's chamber is either across the hall, or directly beneath you by stair." He stood to his feet, gently placing the book upon the fireplace mantle, before he made two stomps on the wooden floor.

He looked up at the woman, "my own boy, Gerard, is below and comes when I stomp," he could not help but smile. Having not yet been at court, he got a kick out of the idea of a servant running to his beck and call, even by stomp.

Pierpont gave a bow, "It is alright, my lady." He gave a laugh, smiling, "I, myself, am still getting used to this place...I am Pierpont Guyot."

Pierpont nodded, "I am sorry for your loss."

He shrugged, "I see nothing wrong in making new friends."

He picked up "The Prince" and placed it back on a small book shelf in the corner of the room. "I have not yet met her majesty, but I assume she is very kind, as my sister speaks of her often."

Pierpont nodded, searching for another book. He never could stay still for too long.

Pierpont turned to face her, not wanting to speak to her over his shoulder. "Her name is Coralie. She is still a little new, but she says she loves it here, and loves their majesties."

He turned back to the bookshelf and grabbed the book "Utopia" and took it in his hands, turning to face Isabelle.

"You said you were here to visit her majesty?" he tilted his head a little, as his own sister did when she asked things.

OOC: Sorry for such a long wait!

Pierpont nodded, "yes, my sister told me the king has been gone for some time." He frowned a little, recalling what else his sister had told him.

He forced a smile. "It is a shame. I rather wanted to meet him."

Pierpont turned around, nodding as he looked at the cover. "My father admires Sir More's devout words and teachings, and thinks he speaks in a way that many and every man should speak." He tapped it, "it is one of my favorites, though I think it perhaps far-fetched," he gave a shrug, smiling, "a bit of cynicism on my part, I suppose."

Isabelle smiled and sighed deeply

Cynisim, you say? Oh...so you never read Nicolò Machiavelli, I suppose. His "Prince" is full of cynicism. I don't think sir More can be compared with him, Monsieur. But I could be wrong. I'm not good in politics or things like this. What about you? Are you married?

She asked with a curious, kind smile

OOC: No problem

Pierpont gave a smirk, "I have actually read it three times.I think it is an interesting concept to think that some would go to such lengths for power, but then again, I think some do those things to others without want or desire for elevation in life."

He shook his head, "No, they would never compare. Sir More dreams of the perfect society, whilst The Prince begs the question of what some would do to gain power and teaches us how to attain it without remorse. Sir More wishes us to guard our souls, while Machiavelli tells us the soul is disposable."

Pierpont laughed on the inside. Already she asks if I am married? he thought to himself.

Pierpont shook his head, "I am not married. I fear I do not often stay put in one place," he shrugged, "the life of a soldier." He slowly moved to a small table beside his bed and took ribbon of black cloth in his hands. He tied back his long hair, as he often kept it when around company and had it down in private.

"What of you madam?" he looked back at her. He motioned to a chair in the room, offering her a seat.

Pierpont gave a nod, moving around the room as he hurried to his trunk, opening it to see if he could find some hypocras.

Pierpont stopped and turned around, giving a nod of his head. "I'm sorry to hear that, madam." He stooped back down to look through the trunk further as she spoke, and as his back was turned he raised an eyebrow at her comment. He reached for the bottle of hypocras and pulled it out, along with two goblets.

Pierpont glided over to the table in the room and filled the goblets with the sweet, spiced wine. He walked a goblet over to Isabelle, before taking a seat in the chair across from her.
He placed his arm on the arm of the chair as he gave a slow nod. "I suppose we both should have such a right," he took a sip from his goblet...

Pierpont nearly spit out the wine in his mouth, yet he swished it around in his mouth for a moment as a slow smile spread across his face.
"I am always looking for new friends," he emphasized the last word, "madam. Perhaps we shall be of help together."

Pierpont closed his eyes, giving a laugh as he took another sip from his goblet. "I am afraid, I have rather been lacking in female friends."

Pierpont felt her hand on his arm, and he gave a grin, turning to look upon her. "May I be plain and blunt with you, Isabelle?" he bit his lip.

Pierpont gave a smile, nodding, "I am certain of that."

Pierpont looked her in the eye, the look on his face dreamy as his eyes scanned her face. "You say you are a widow, which tells me two things. That you are not only no longer a maid, and that you are perhaps old enough to be my mother," he smiled.

Pierpont took a swig from his goblet and began to move his fingers around the rim. "I don't know who you think I might be, but I am certainly not your typical philandering Frenchman," he sighed. He looked her hard in the eyes, again, "I like a woman of virtue whom I know I can trust when in a room of men, not some woman who wishes to-enjoy their freedom-as you said," he spat. "When I speak of friendship I mean, Friendship, and nothing more as the very idea of going where others have tread sickens me," he wiped his mouth, "besides. If I wanted a whore, I would go to a brothel."

Pierpont took another swig of wine, "So, Madam, again, if you are looking for a friend and nothing else," he nodded his head, "I am perhaps the only gentleman you will find at court. Otherwise, I suggest you go to England where I am certain your love of...freedom, will be much appreciated," he smiled.

Pierpont tilted his head, giving a smile. "Ahh. And so you have proven me to be correct. That you are certainly not the woman I would want anywhere near me." He drew his hand away slowly as he leaned back in the chair. "Madam, women like you are the precisely vile women I warn my sister of, and bid her avoid."

Pierpont leaned forward grinning as he looked at her skirt. "And darling," he smiled, "just because I don't want to touch your used parts, does not make me homosexual." He reached for his goblet, "And even if I was. I should think women like you would've driven me to it," he burst into laughter.

Pierpont took a large gulp of the last of the wine in his goblet as he watched her head for the door. He burst into laughter again, leaning back in his chair as he dramatically placed the back of his hand on his forehead. "Oh, good heavens, woman!" he laughed. He leaned forward again, pulling down his tied back hair, "I am gentleman. To gentle women, that is," his smile faded quickly, "but if you want to be treated like a whore, by all means, I shall oblige."

Pierpont stood to his feet and followed her to the door, "Yes, certainly, mistress de Guise," he waved a hand. He bent into a have bow, letting his hair fall over his shoulders. He looked up at her and smiled, "And you know where not to find me," he winked. He watched her leave and quickly closed the door behind her, pacing back to the bookshelf at the end of the room. He reached for "The Prince" again, and flipped the pages, smiling with amusement.