Write about a mess you've cleaned up. -- TM

Everything was a mess. Destroyed really. All around her was the aftermath of the battle, silver and pewter and porcelain just barely visible beneath the red and black and brown that encrusted it. Angel couldn't know, could he? He was so very particular about his weapons. Fastidious.

Which Fred really didn't get. There were dust bunnies big enough to be classified as a new species in more than a few parts of the hotel. She should know, she'd spent enough time crawling on floors and under tables, tucked out of sight. Well, or so she thought. But watch out if Angel caught you putting back something was was supposed to be sharp a little less sharp than it was before.

Because. Just because. He knew.

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