Artisanal Honey
Roleplaying Log: Artisanal Honey
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

Dinah and Babs try to put furniture together and instead get a little heartfelt.

Other Characters Referenced: Frank Castle, John Constantine
IC Date: June 12, 2019
IC Location: Sherwood Florists
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 12 Jun 2019 07:07
Rating & Warnings: PG
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

"Okay, attach… leg B to… corner unit J, and use four of Screw #5 to attach…"

Dinah turns the instructions this way and that, squinting nearsightedly at them. "No, that doesn't make sense. We've only got three of those long ones. Wait, are *these* the #5 screws?" she asks, poking at the neat pile of parts laid out.

Their new IKEA desk, destined for Dinah's bedroom, currently sports two wheels, three legs, and a thoroughly useless amount of slope compared to the floor under it. "We can't have one end of the table taller than the other!"

She throws the paper violently away, making it fly all of two feet, and reahes for a stemless wineglass on the hardwood floor. She's in a worn old white men's undershirt and lightweight pink booty shorts for sleeping, and her hair's pulled back in an efficient ponytail.

"Are we *sure* we're not missing any components?"

* * *

"I did an inventory," Barbara protests as she looks over the instructions again, frowning at them. "I even counted — there were four legs. We didn't use one of the legs for the desktop supports, did we?" Then the instructions go flying and Barbara flops onto her stomach to reach for them ineffectually. Then she rolls helplessly onto her back on the open floor, stretching out like a starfish.

"We should have paid the 99 bucks to have someone do this for us." Says the woman who can build a functioning computer from a handful of paperclips, bubble gum, and the interior hardware of a calculator. She sighs and also reaches for her glass, pressing up onto her elbows just enough to take a drink from it.

She rubs slightly at the extra soft t-shirt— 'Chicks Dig Dust Covers.' Her own legs are bare and long, with hints of short terry shorts beneath the hem of the shirt. It's summer in Gotham, and the temperatures are sweltering even at night. Her own hair is loose in softened red waves.

"We could just set it on fire," Babs offers, helpfully, lifting her glass to Dinah.

* * *

Dinah narrows her eyes at Barbara. "Fire. Don't tempt me," she mutters. It's not a 'no'. She sips her wine and finding it empty, gets to her feet with a flexion of bare legs. The bottle on the table is proven to be empty, and she frowns at it as if personally insulted.

Another bottle of wine is retrieved, and she unscrews the aluminum cap with a twist of her wrist. "God. One thing I miss about dating the trust fund brigade— no more seven dollar bottles of wine. You really need to get on that whole 'winning the lottery' thing," she chides Barbara. "Or go marry Dick or something, and let me live in the manor with you guys."

She kneels down next to Barbara's spot and tops off her wineglass, then rolls her weight onto a hip and braces an arm behind her for balance.

"How are we not able to do this?" she demands, a little rhetorically. "I can strip a carbureator with my eyes shut. But I can't get the damn Arm B into Slot C?"

* * *

"I'll tempt you if I want to," says the slightly tipsy Barbara. She finishes off her own glass before she holds hers aloft so that Dinah can refill her own. "Sometimes a seven dollar bottle of wine is better than those thirty dollar bottles."

Though, mention of her just marrying Dick has her sitting up a bit more so she can drape her legs around her knees with what is (hopefully) a full wine glass. "Don't think that's in the cards, Di."

Then she is looking at the lopsided desk with a serious squint. "We could start over." She doesn't sound like she wants to do that.

* * *

"I know, girl. I'm just giving you shit. It's about as likely as me getting back with Ollie," Dinah says with a wry tone. "And yes, I know I'm being hypocritical," she says, anticipating Babs' next words.

She eyes the furniture dubiously. "Alternate plan: Chuck this in the fuckit bucket and do something else," she proposes. "We can trip over it for a few days and eventually get around to finishing it."

She eyes her glass, a little bleary-eyed, then looks up at Babs. "You ever think about it? Getting married?" she inquires. "I mean in the literal sense, not the little 'Babs Dream Wedding' journal you started in high school," she admonishes the ginger.

* * *

"Yeah. Sometimes things just don't pan out." Barbara takes another longer drink from her wine once she's sitting back up again. She glances around at the furniture, and then raises her glass in a toast. "To chucking it."

Then the conversation turns course, and Babs shifts uncomfortable on her butt. Then she shakes her head. "No. Not really. Goes back around to our whole woes of dating people — how can I put myself into that situation with someone who doesn't know who I really am or who does and has to handle all the weight that goes with that?" She sighs out a harder breath.

"More likely just to find someone to be with, without that whole commitment thing." She looks sideways a bit. "Did I tell you that I kissed Frank when we were out in Pennsylvania?" She doesn't give Dinah room to answer. "It took him a few hours to process that." She looks down into her wine glass. "Don't think I'm marrying Frank Castle anymore than I thought I'd marry John."

* * *

"You didn't *have* to tell me," Dinah reminds Babs. "You can't keep shit like that from me. You go around with this half giddy, half guilty look and I keep thinking it's a good day to clean you out for poker night."

"I mean, you totally should have, because I deserve to know and I crave gossip as much as I love a chance to lecture you about bad decisions," Dinah says, scolding.

She sips her drink and curls her wrist to rest the glass against a collarbone. Legs shift and slide, fidgeting. "I'unno neither," she admits. "I guess I'm a little jealous of the role reversal here. I'm not used to *me* being single." She grimaces at her wine. "Tindr's good for a rowdy night out once in a while but it's pretty fucking useless for, like. Meeting someone."

* * *

Barbara rolls her eyes, but there's a little half-lit smile that sneaks into place and she is looking both a little giddy and guilty — Dinah called it. Then she shifts a bit on her butt again. "I'm not sure it's going to work out the way it should, or could — I can never take him home to meet Dad. He's not exactly someone I can take out to a Gotham function. And he lives and dies in New York." Her shoulders lift slightly. "I've stopped doing that whole wishful daydreaming of a future stuff. I barely know what's going to happen a month from now."

She drains away the wine with a backward tip of her chin, and then she's clearing her throat as she looks at Dinah. "I wouldn't be jealous… sometimes being single is easier. I get the lonely thing, though."

* * *

Dinah slides the bottle nearer to Babs, though doesn't pour her any more unless requested. She's considerate about Babs' preference for alcohol intake, though no one will ever accuse Dinah of not being an enabler, either!

She watching Barbara's face, then sighs and reaches over and runs her palm briskly up and down Barbara's shin near her, reassuringly. "It's… y'know, honestly, since you and Helena moved in? It's been a lot easier," Dinah admits, and slides onto her side to prop her temple up against elbow and palm, facing the redhead. "I'm not rattling around this empty house listneing to it settle into silence every night. I can't say I loved *John* being here, but … I mean, it's kind fun. You, living here. It's like one long sleepover," she says, lips qurking at a grin. "Makes me feel a lot less… I don't know. Not alone, being able to just like, burrow into the sofa with someone for a movie night instead of just watching netflix on my phone in bed until I pass out."

She snorts suddenly, fingers drumming on Barbara's leg. "Oh christ, I just thought about the Dads meeting Frank," she says, tittering. "I don't know who'd be angrier, yours or mine. I am 100% sure Jim has been wanting to pistol whip someone and is just waiting for a good excuse to do it." She snorts, then laughs at herself even more at the accidental outburst.

* * *

Babs requests. This last year has really increased her drinking. It's been a rough one. She takes another deep swallow before she shrugs her shoulders slightly. "It has been a lot easier. Living with Alysia was hard — she started to notice that I was out, getting into accidents more. How the hell was I supposed to explain how my spleen got punctured?" This is more said to Dinah's walls than Dinah herself. "You know that I'm not going anywhere, right? Frank's in New York, I'm in Gotham; I'm here with you, Di. Until the end."

That sentimental moment is shattered by Dinah's titters about Jim meeting Frank. "It might not be so bad now that they know he didn't shoot up that police convention, but with the anti-vigilante laws? I don't know how Dad could just ignore that. Frank still has a lot of… blood in his book." She shifts uneasily on her butt. "Which makes being anything serious really, really hard."

Then, almost cautiously, she asks, "Are you going to be okay with Frank coming by a bit more often? He's not exactly John with the cigarettes and drinking all your booze, and walking around in his boxers while casting wards around the house."

* * *

"Frank's weird, but he's okay," Dinah tells Babs rassuringly. "He's got a dog, and that's always a good sign in my book. I mean, he's weird like, us weird, not like—" she makes some vaguely mystical gestures, then emits a rude noise with her mouth. "Hurr, lookit me, I'm gonna get smashed and summon demons in the living room."

There are still some eldritch scowls in the mantlepiece from that, and Dinah scowls at them.

"So… I mean yeah, if you start like, wanting to get with Frank, and you wanna do that here, I'm not gonna mind," she assures Barbara. "He's … I don't know. At least respectful of the house. I might even get him to help me fix that siding, like he offered."

She reaches over and weaves her fingers through Barbara's, squeezing. "You've always got me, too," she assures Barbara. "Artisan honey and essential oils and we'll adopt like, ten cats," she promises the redhead. "'til the end."

* * *

"You're weird," Babs fires back in that middle school level maturity. Then Dinah is clarifying, and the redhead smiles. "He admitted to being a vigilante. Twice." Then she shakes her head at the reminder of John's antics. "I collect broken things — guess I just didn't know how much John didn't want someone not as broken as he was around."

She doesn't look at the eldritch leftovers, but instead looks at Dinah. Her smile eases up into place. "You know, I think it would take a lot for Frank to want to do that in this house. We've only kissed. I'm not sure if Frank has room in his head for anything more."

Then she wrinkles her nose good-naturedly. "It is summertime. I bet we could leverage him for some handyman work." Then she's caught up with Dinah's hand, and the warm words has her collapsing down against her friend in a deep lean that includes head nuzzling. "Okay, but we're also going gluten-free and vegan."

* * *

Dinah squeezes Barbara's fingers between them, listening. She shrugs at Barbara's assessment of Frank. "Hey, I'm not the only one who's good at making people make bad decisions," she says, and pulls a mocking face at Barbara.

It's ruined by a lighthearted, slightly buzzed giggle. Dinah squeezes Babs' hand until they both settle down on their sides facing one another on the cool hardwood. She rests her hand on Babs' waist while they cozy up with a bump of knees and hips. "But you're not good enough at it to make me give up cheeseburgers," she admonishes Barbara, and grins cheekily across the close distance between them as silky blonde hair shifts and spills against the floor near her elbow. "Keep trying though, that never-say-die attitude's /super/ sexy," she assures the redhead, and with a laugh leans over to give Babs a kiss on the cheek. "Everyone loves being lectured about their diet, I hear."

* * *

"Hey," Babs starts to protest, but there's a smile there. The giggles help, and soon enough the two are in a collapsed pile, IKEA furniture totally forgotten. "He's getting better at the decision-making."

She folds her hands across her stomach, wine glass near by but not accessible. She scoffs at Dinah's rebuttal — hell, rebuke — of her idea. "They have these amazing bean burger patties. And nut cheese. You will be just fine. Of course, you will need to eat avocado oil mayo. No eggs, baby." Then she turns her cheek into the kiss, and she smiles.

"The only thing we lecture each other on about food is who ate the leftovers." She squints at Dinah. "You realize that I hadn't had any of that pasta after I brought it home, right?"

* * *

Dinah sticks her tongue out at Barbara, looking down at the ginger. She reaches over absently and pulls a few loose red hairs away from Babs' forehead and face, smoothing them away out of long habit.

"What do you care? I thought you wanted to go gluten free," Dinah tells Babara, with a mocking lift of her brows. "I said I'd replace it. And in my defense: I was hungry, and I wanted pasta, and there was pasta in my fridge I didn't have to cook. I don't think I can really be blamed for my decisions here, that logic's pretty sound, innit?" she inquires, nodding as if prompting Babs to accept her (clearly) immaculate chain of reasoning.

* * *

"I don't want to go gluten free," Barbara protests even if she did very much say she wanted to go gluten free — in jest, Dinah! In. Jest! "I want my cheeseburgers, and pancakes, and hot dogs, and everything else. So, I guess we will just have to settle for essential oils and honey." She mocks a thoughtful look. "What kind of essential oils can you use to get rid of a Joker?"

Then she glances at Dinah broodingly. "Your fridge? Am I going to have to buy a little college-sized fridge for my room to squirrel away all my stuff? I could booby trap it instead. Touch my leftovers, get an eyeful of pepper spray." She's kidding. Mostly. Probably. She wouldn't dare!

* * *

"Booby trap OUR fridge, and I'll put depilating agent in your shampoo," Dinah threatens. She laughs, suddenly. "Oh god, this is turning into 2004 all over again. When Dad gave Jim all those doughnuts packed with tabasco sauce," she reminds Barbara. "And then it just escalated from there."

She laughs a few times, grinning, and shakes her head at the memory while her blue eyes look to the hardwood. The grin fades to a smile and she looks over at Barbara again. A finger scratches at Babs' hand on her stomache, trying to tease out a handhold again. "Y'know it… I know we're mostly joking, but the idea's kinda growing on me," she admits, a little more quietly. "Rolling right into some ridiculously urban hipster retirement. With you," she clarifies. "I mean… god. This is probably the most stable element in my life," she says, lifting her head to flicker between the two of them. "Us, I mean. Am I crazy?" she asks, looking for some brutal honesty.

* * *

"God. Our dads really are the end goal of antagonizing your loved ones and friends." Barbara is smiling easily now, settled in against Dinah as she looks up at the ceiling. She keeps her hand around Dinah's and she smirks with amusement at the scritching motion. But then Dinah's taking it seriously, and she smiles warmly at her friend. "Hey, right now? I know for sure that we're stuck together. So, we can plan on it, and then if we end up with two ex-vigilante boyfriends we drag along into artisanal honey bliss, then we do it." She squeezes Dinah's hand. "Not crazy. But we both know we can retire now." Which means they probably won't ever retire.

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