Independent Barbie laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she surveyed the chaos again. “You know,” she said, crouching beside Crafting Barbie with a grin, “when I heard the crash, I thought maybe Ken had tried to ‘help’ again. But nope! Turns out it was you, a wall of yarn, and gravity conspiring for dramatic effect.”
She reached down to help lift one of the shelves back upright, steadying it with her shoulder as she grabbed a screwdriver from her bag. “Alright, operation Yarnageddon cleanup begins,” she announced. “And I’m impressed. You’ve got a whole system here! Weights, textures, color coding? You’re like the Marie Kondo of textiles. Except you actually create joy instead of just sparking it.”
When Crafting Barbie gave her that hug, Independent Barbie blinked, caught off guard for half a second before softening and hugging her back, warm and sincere. “Hey, of course. That’s what we’re here for, right? You make the art, I make the chaos manageable.”
She leaned back a little, smiling at Hades pawing at the pink yarn. “Though I think your assistant here might have other plans. I give it ten minutes before we’re playing tug-of-war with him.”
Then, quieter, a touch more heartfelt: “And for the record? You don’t ever have to thank me for being here. That’s what sisters do. You’d do the same if my power tools exploded.” Her grin turned mischievous. “Which, to be fair, happens more often than I care to admit.”
She tapped the side of the newly repaired shelf with satisfaction and gave Crafting Barbie a little nudge with her elbow. “Alright, boss. Show me where you want the next batch. I’ll handle the heavy lifting. You’re the brains, I’m the biceps.”
Independent Barbie winked. “And when we’re done, you’re getting off your feet, and I’m making us margaritas. Yarn therapy’s great and all, but tequila therapy’s faster.”