Who: Alexia Winters and Petit LeBeau What: Lunch! Where: Prague. Because. When: Sometime that isn't usually associated with Lunch. Warnings: Swearing, probable snark. Not much other than that, I'd imagine.
After Petit awoke from her catnap, Al was still mopping up the rest of the carnage on the main floor of Guildhall. It wasn't usual for him to spend so long doing actual manual labor of that particular sort - he'd been in battles and produced carnage of this level long ago in the distant past, but beyond that, he was utterly lost to the thought of actually lifting a finger to clear out the arms and legs and heads and all the other parts of bodies from a battlefield. Guildhall made an especially annoying field of battle, since it had two floors upon which the undead had fallen, and more outside. He refused to use his powers to clean up the mess, because there was no pride in it.
He soaked the rest of the bloody mess up with a mop before dropping the mop in the bucket and walking it to the porch. Alexia dumped the bloody water into the rose bushes before pouring more water from the hose over the ropes of the mop. His arms ached dully from the exertion and he heard sounds of stirring coming from within. He looked over his shoulder and down the hall through the screen door to see who it was.