Disclaimer:  Time/Warner and DC comics own the
characters mention in this fic.  I claim no rights to
them and I am earning no profit from this.

Notes:  I'm actually not sure where I should post
this, but in a feeble attempt to branch out into other
fandoms . . . I wrote this.

***

Paint 
by BK (bkeleven11@yahoo.com)

***

"Babs?"

"What?"

"It's dripping."

"How much paint did you put on?"

"Too much, obviously."

Barbara pushed her way through the large clutter that
had deposited itself on her living room floor.  She
rushed over to where a blond with a perplexed
expression was crouched over a puddle, motionless. 
"Dinah," she held back a groan.  Barbara used her own
roller to smooth away the excess paint to other
portions of the wall.  "You're supposed to lay that
plastic down."  She gestured to the pile on the
ground. 

"I did!"

Barbara pointed to the small shiny square, "That's not
enough."

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Common sense?"

Dinah dramatically clutched at her chest, "Oh, how you
wound me, Babs."

"I try my best," she motioned to the puddle on her
hardwood floor, "Now clean it."

Dinah sponged up the messy goop on the floor with her
hands.  "How was I supposed to know that painting a
wall would be so difficult?  I haven't done this
before.  And besides, isn't paint supposed to *stay*
on the walls, not drip all over the floor?"  She felt
the teeniest bit of guilt, yelling at Babs.  She *did*
volunteer to help when she saw the bucket of paint. 
But she just didn't realize that it would be so . . .
boring!  "Eww," she held her hands out, "Look at
this!"

"That's disgusting."

"Exactly!"

Barbara eyed Dinah, "You didn't have to use your
hands, you know?"

"I know, but by the time I realized, it was too late."

"Here," Barbara handed her a damp towel.  "Can you get
to the sink without dripping all over my carpet?"

Dinah clutched the yellow cloth gratefully and headed
towards the kitchen, "Now, that's a promise I can't
possibly make."  By the time she was finished, Barbara
had already cleaned up the mess on the ground.  "You
know, this is harder than I thought it would be," she
commented, flopping herself onto Barbara's plastic
clad couch.  

"You already said that."

"And it's still true.  Why are we doing this anyways?"

"Would you pass up three dollars a gallon?"

"It wasn't three dollars a gallon, its fifteen dollars
for a five gallon bucket."

Barbara raised an eyebrow.  "That's the same as three
bucks per gallon."

"No, it's not."

"Simple arithmetic.  Three times five is *fifteen*."

"No, you overpaid because there is no way we are going
to go through five gallons."

"Why not?"

"It's *white*, Babs.  *White*."  Dinah thumped the
wall with her palm. 

Even though she knew better, she asked anyways, "What
has that got to do with anything, and what's wrong
with white?"

"It's *boring*!  So boring that people who buy it will
fall asleep from boredom and *die* from the fumes!"

Barbara shrugged, "Well, my walls were getting dingy."
 Changing the subject, "Get up, and I'll let you used
this special do-hickey."  Barbara held out a
contraption in her hands.  

"No!  Not the special do-hickey!"

"Get up, Dinah."

"No please?"

"Please."

"That's all I wanted."  She eyed the hunk of plastic
skeptically.  "But I don't want to use the special
do-hickey."  

"Too bad."

Groaning, Dinah slid off of her seat unceremoniously. 
"Fine, master," she scoffed.  Grabbing the long item
from Babs' hands, she pulled and twisted the various
parts of it.  "What is this?"

Moving over to Dinah's position on the floor, she
pointed to the tip of it.  "That, my dear inept
friend, is a roller."  

The other woman's eyes narrowed and she huffed loudly.
 "I *know* that.  I may be blond, but I'm not stupid. 
How do you get the paint in it?"  The item that she
held in her hands was one of those high-tech rollers
that didn't require a paint tray.  Barbara had found
it on one of those infomercials.  The paint was
supposed to be drawn into the long pole and pumped out
of the end easily. 

"Look at the directions."

"Directions are for chumps."

"Be a chump."  

Dinah's sour expression didn't lighten.  Grabbing the
paper with the instructions, she carefully studied the
picture.  "Well, don't we just have all the answers?"

Barbara ignored her, already working on the wall that
Dinah had previously abandoned.  

"Hey, boss lady!"

"Yes?" she replied distractedly.  

"When's your boy toy getting here?"

Still facing the wall, Barbara frowned at the
nickname, "At two."

"Super!  Another half hour of quality time with my
do-hickey and menial labor."

Barbara looked over her shoulder, grinning.  "Does
that mean you'll actually work?"  

"Not a chance."  She threw down the roller, frustrated
at its lack of cooperation.  "The directions lied,
Babs.  I shoved the pointed stick thingy in, I flipped
the switch to 'fill', and I pulled the wretched pole. 
It is *not* working."  

"Are you sure?"

Dinah crossed her arms, eyeing the roller venomously. 
"Like I would lie about being out-smarted by a hunk of
plastic and metal."

"Well, then once Bruce gets here, we'll let him take a
look at it, he's good with those types of things."

"What?"  Her eyebrows practically shot up into her
hairline.  "Mr. Dark and Grim is coming *here*?  Why
didn't you say anything?"  She gave her friend the
evil eye.  

"Because you wouldn't have helped if you knew,"
Barbara confessed.  

"Darn straight!  I might just be inclined to leave!"

"You wouldn't leave now, would you, Dinah?"  She
looked innocently at the other woman.  "And give him
the satisfaction that he scared you off?"  Babs voice
was sugary sweet, making Dinah want to throw something
at her all the more.  

"No, I guess not," she said crossly.

"It's not that bad, is it?"  Barbara's face reflected
her shock as she felt her chair being dragged away
from the wall.  "You're not too mad, are you, Dinah? 
I really didn't plan this.  I just told Dick and he
volunteered Bruce himself, something about spending
more time together and stuff.  Dinah?"

Dinah ignored Barbara's explanation as she positioned
the red head in front of the television.  

"Dinah?  Are you mad at me?"

The woman known as Black Canary flopped herself onto
the couch and flipped on the T.V.  

"Dinah?"

"Shh.  Days of Our Lives is on.  Oh, Babs, you gotta
see this.  That chick right there, Hope, is on the
verge of possibly becoming her evil alter-ego Gina
again."  From the corner of her eye, she could see
Babs confused expression growing into worry.  "Well,
hon, no use wasting our time and energy when two grown
men can do the job for us."

Relieved, Barbara smiled and settled herself in front
of the television.  "Want something to drink?"

*****
End