The room you've found yourself wandering into looks for all the world like an escape, because somehow you've gotten outside. There's no fancy beach resort or deserted island; just gentle rolling hills as far as the eye can see, and a small grove of shade trees. Under the trees lie a blanket and a cooler full of whatever your heart desires, as well as a picnic basket. Looks can be deceiving, however, because there's an invisible force of some kind keeping you trapped here. England has already figured that out, because he's attempted to fly back to somewhere he knows and keeps ending up right back at the grove of trees, no matter which direction he chooses or how high he goes.
How is he flying, you might wonder? Easy. Large, feathered white wings are beating the air, holding him aloft as he considers this predicament; hovering just over the trees. He's not wearing a toga, as one might expect of a winged England. He is dressed casually in a sweater vest, shirt and tie. (His clothes are specially tailored to accommodate the wings, of course.)
[So... this isn't the superhero event or any of the hotel's other magic, nor is it England's magic. He's not the Britannia Angel from canon, but is rather from a Marvel X-Men sort of AU, where mutants and mutant politics are a part of every day life for the nations. Permissions are basically anything but potty stuff. Males or females both welcome, canonmates heavily preferred. Don't mind responses coming from
featheredscone; I'm using that account for additional icon space.]