France strolled through the bustling streets of his capitol, stopping frequently to take in the scent of freshly baked bread from the popular local bakeries. His leisurely pace set him apart from the chaotic steps of the tourists, who always seemed to be late for something. A particularly rude American shoved his way past him, throwing him off balance as he bumped into his shoulder. France scoffed at the man, and watched as he barged his way through the rest of the crowd. "Why can't people just slow down and enjoy the city?" he mumbled to himself. Despite witnessing years of tourist attraction in the country, France could never understand why no one could deviate from their vacation plans and experience the city the way it was meant to be. After all, Paris was the city of love, not travel guides.
His train of thought was derailed when he caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman, who had been mesmerized by the red roses in the window display of a florist shop. Her auburn hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her flowing skirt was just short enough to keep things interesting. France did a quick check for a wedding ring, and after confirming that she wasn't married, he primped his hair, straightened his collar, and approached the girl. He wasn't sure if she could speak French or not, so he decided to start with a suave "bonjour," to break the ice.
The woman turned to him, and a smile spread across her face, revealing a wide set of crooked, overlapping teeth, which had yellowed over years of neglect. On the corner of her lip were a couple of crumbs from a scone. France desperately tried to look somewhere else, only to find that she had two squirrels for eyebrows.
"Well, hello there... What's your name, handsome?" she said suggestively, in a thick, British accent. France cringed and drew back in fear, wondering how he could have tried to pick up this girl. She looked so great from behind! That was the third British girl he'd almost flirted this month, where were they even coming from?
"Um... it's Francis!" he lied. Even though it was so similar to his real name, it was the only thing he could think of, and he certainly didn't have time to explain how he's literally a country. He turned to run, and slammed right into another person, falling onto the sidewalk at his feet. He looked up to see the man leaning disapprovingly over him, and when his eyes finally focused, they met with a familiar set of green ones, which always gave away his feelings. Today, he could sense a twinge of annoyance in them, with an underlying tone of... relief?
"Well, if it isn't Frog Breath! What are you doing here?" England demanded, "And why the bloody hell did you tell that woman your name was Francis? Are you so drunk off of wine that you forgot how to pronounce your own name?"
France rubbed his temples in frustration. "That's too many questions at once, Angleterre." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the girl had left, then replied "This is Paris, stupid. If anything, I should be asking you why you're here. That woman was so hideous, I didn't know what to do! I was under pressure, and I didn't want her to find me later, so I lied about my name." He paused for a moment, "and I can't get drunk if I'm only drinking wine!"
"Ha! You're always acting drunk, and everyone knows it," he retorted. "And Francis? That just sounds like a retarded version of France. It's so original, I'm going to use that one!" England said, laughing at his own sarcasm.
France got to his feet and regarded his verbal opponent at eye level. There wasn't much else to say in the matter, and England had talked him into a corner, but he wouldn't give up without a fight. His eyes averted from England's stern gaze to his watch. Damn! He only had a few more minutes until an important meeting with his boss. Knowing that he couldn't let England leave with the upper hand, he ripped a piece of paper from his daily planner, and scribbled some information on it.
"Here," he said, "call me when you want to finish this. I've got a meeting soon." He thrust the note towards Britain, who snatched it from his hands and examined the phone number written on it.
"Don't expect me to call you, Francis!" England said spitefully. He watched France grit his teeth after hearing his new name, and wondered what kind of person he would turn out to be if he didn't have people like France to torture everyday. He quickly stopped himself from continuing these thoughts, or else he would develop some sort of appreciation for the frog country. He turned to leave, and stomped away in the opposite direction he had come from.
"Oh, you'll definitely call me, Angleterre!" France called after him. "If you don't, I'll declare war on your ass!"
England continued walking, but he waved two fingers behind him so that France could see. "It wouldn't be the first time! And don't say my name in French!"
France smiled as he watched England leave, thinking about how much entertainment he could get out of their next encounter. He noticed the way that his arms and legs seemed to move in perfect synchronization with one another, and his hair whipped slightly in the breeze. He looks so great from behind!