France

There is absolute grace in his being as he speaks; his voice sounded of dripping honey. His blue eyes are alive with an obvious interest, peering at the person in front of them with a small, knowing smile. The softness contained in his expression reveals him to be a rather carefree man.

His hand casually raises, offering a greeting to those who were, most likely, already looking in his direction. How could they not? His fingers are long and masculine. His smile seems as though he is aware of something secretive. The warm timbre of his French accent easily escapes into the air, the cherry on top of his beauty. "Ah, bonjour. I am France; I'm sure you are pleased to make my acquaintance." The languid wink that he gave was effortless, a single fluttering of his dirty blond lashes.