France was never known to be a man of tact. He was impulsive and always acted on said impulse. He was defined by charisma and defining what people knew as the art of romance. To some, he was lewd and aggressive and a disgusting pervert, although he never really minded
Despite all of that, he had a conscience in the form of a devil and an angel on his shoulder. The devil was simply known as Devil. Devil, for some odd reason always wore fluffy red cat ears and a cat tail. The angel, called Angel, looked just like 'normal' France but cleaner cut and with a shorter haircut. Devil and Angel fought a lot and violently. They rarely (if ever) agreed on anything.
"Look! It's England!" Devil said with a dangerous looking smirk. Angel and France looked to where Devil pointed. France wore a smirk that looked just as dangerous as Devil's.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Devil asked. France nodded and Angel giggled. It was a miracle that they ever agreed on anything and today was the day when miracles were performed.
A/N: Why yes, I do like writing shameless cracky stories. This was inspired by a friend's party a while back.