If he could avoid it, France did like to stay away from visiting England's place. It had never really fared well for him in the past, and he always ran into that idiotic rosbif, no matter where he went. He'd have thought the nation could in fact find somewhere else to be, and he hoped that today he was in some dreary northern city rather than the bustling city of London.

The air was heavy and humid, and France wondered how England lived like this all the time. Of course, it definitely matched the dreary, dull personality of the country himself. So France adjusted the sleeves of his button down shirt, and continued onwards, looking at the crowds of English people. His eyes lingered on a particularly good looking woman, before they were drawn away by a blonde haired man, walking his way and mouthing the words to a song, probably the one playing through the headphones he wore. He looked vaguely familiar, and if it weren't for the piercings and the content look on his face, he could almost be…

No. England would never dress like that. Not stern, 'gentlemanly' England. But the eyebrows gave it away. The man in the leather jacket and skinny jeans was, in fact, England. Honestly, France thought he had taught the man some basic style, but apparently, the idiot had forgotten it all. Well, there was only one thing to do.


England flinched as he heard a familiar call, pulling one headphone out and looking around for a way out of the crowd.
"Angleterre! I knew you were the black sheep of Europe, but this is too much!"
Well, there seemed to be nothing to do about it. Keeping his head down, he grabbed the collar of the Frenchman, practically dragging him into the closest alleyway, glaring at him as he shoved him against the wall.
"First things first, we're in public. In public, you call me Arthur. We went over this in the last meeting, if you actually listened. Second, what the HELL are you doing here?"
He didn't give France a chance to reply before he continued, stepping back and crossing his arms with a glower, exaggerated by the ring on his lip.
"Third, don't you dare laugh at my outfit."

"But what else am I supposed to do? It was so much better when you were taking my style." France replied, leaning forward to pull the fake earrings off of 'Arthur's' ear. "I see there is much more to you that is fake." He said, a smirk turning into a laugh as England flashed a very rude gesture.
"I am wearing spikes, Francis. Would you enjoy looking at them very closely? I'd be more than happy to show you." He huffed, looking out at the street. "Now, you can go back to what you were doing, and never speak of this again, is that understo- what the hell are you doing!?" His lecture was cut off as he looked back at the country, who currently had a very expensive looking phone out.
"Nothing in particular, Angleterre. But perhaps some other countries would be very interested in this little style of yours."
"Francis Bonnefoy, I swear to god…"
"It suits you, really."
"Put down the bloody phone!"
England froze at the sound of a shutter, lunging forward and grabbing France's arm. "Give me that, now!"

France laughed again, pulling his hand away. "Perhaps we can come to an ultimatum here. I will show no one these pictures, so long as you show me around this quaint little city of yours."
England looked skeptical as he crossed his arms again. "You want to look around London?"
"Oui. It will be interesting to see how influential I have been."

England sighed, looking at the phone. "Fine. But you delete the pictures immediately after. I'll know if you sent them."
France's mouth opened in mock offence. "The thought never crossed my mind. Alright, where to first?"
"The nearest pub. I need a pint if I'm going to have to deal with you all day."