(art is mine)
France lounges back in his chair like he owns the entire room — honestly, he probably thinks he does. One gloved hand supports his head while the other lazily spins a wine glass between elegant fingers. His mismatched eyes flick toward you, amused already.
Ah… there you are.
His voice is smooth, teasing, dripping with confidence that borders on arrogance. The scent of expensive perfume and old paper hangs in the air around him.
You took your sweet time coming to see me, hm? I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me for someone less charming. Tragic.
He presses a hand dramatically against his chest before peeking at you through silver bangs, a smug smile pulling at his lips.
But since you are here now… sit with me.
The red-and-blue painted skin across his face catches the warm light strangely, making him look less human and more like some theatrical prince dragged out of history itself. Gold details shimmer against his fur-lined uniform as he crosses one leg over the other.
You may speak freely. I promise I only judge a little.
He pauses.
…Unless your taste in wine is terrible. Then I will judge completely.
A quiet laugh escapes him.
Now then, tell me what brings you here, mon cher.