(Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Hetalia: Axis Powers in any way. Also, I'm sorry if any of the French is a bit off.)
"What the - is that England?" America drawled in utter surprise. The nation was utterly unrecognizable.
Her hair had been chopped short, curling in every which way around her neck in a messy sort of way - something surely undignified - but it did it in a messily good way. She wore knee-length books, making her torn jeans ripple at the knee. Her green shirt was hugging her frame. Not to mention the leather jacket.
"Stop gawking, America, you look like an idiot." She tapped America's dropped jaw, smirking. "Same goes for you." She pointed a delicate hand at the Frenchman, smirking playfully.
As she flaunted away her hips swayed to the beat of a song that only she could hear. Everyone was left staring after her as she walked into the conference room.
"It would seem our dear Angleterre has slipped back into her punk phase. Not quite as exotic, but still fairly...appealing," France said when she slipped up next to America. "She must have been trying to seduce me."
"Seduce you!"
"Did you see the way she was looking at moi? Of course, that was the focus of her attention. Not that anyone could quite blame her, no? I can be quite overwhelming."
"We'll see about that."
Throughout the meeting America tried his upmost to catch England's attention. She, however, was seated across the table from France. The two kept smiling at each other, whispering words when no one was watching. No one except for America that was.
"Can I talk to you a moment, England?"
America had cornered the Englishwoman before she could slip away from the conference without a trace. How could she even be interested in France of all countries? America just had to know.
"I'll see you outside, cherie," France said, kissing her cheek. She smiled after him mischievously. America felt sick because of the absolute sugar in the gesture.
"What is that, England? How could you even be interested in that jerk? Don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about either. I know you do," America couldn't help but snap.
England huffed and crossed her arms. "My life in none of your business, America."
"It is when it involves him! He's a jerk, England! He's just going to hurt you."
England took a step closer. "Would you be a better candidate then?" She stepped closer still, smiling with amusement. The previous look of annoyance was wiped away. "Would you happen to be jealous, Mr. Alfred F. Jones?"
"Yes!"
England smirked.
"Really?"
"So what if I am?" America challenged.
"You're so unobservant, Alfred." She smiled now, not a smirk, an actual smile. England wrapped her arms around Alfred's neck. "I was trying to make you jealous."
"What? But France?"
"Is much too overbearing and definitely not my type. Now you are going to take me to dinner somewhere nice. Definitely not McDonald's." She grimace in displeasure at the very notion.
Alfred jumped at the idea. "Pick you up at your hotel in an hour?"
"Perfect." She paused, "Avoid France at all costs. He thinks I'm going out drinking with him and the rest of that silly trio of his." She released Alfred while in thought.
"Alice!"
"What? They're not that bad. Well, except for France." England shuttered. "How could you ever think I could be into that frog?"
"He's probably thinking the same about me."
"Probably."
"Are you going to dress that way more often?"
"Maybe. Just for you."
