From the look on her face, Kenzi might be thinking that comparing this to paint was like an asshole saying 'I'm not as bad as Hitler!'. Not a fantastic standard to be living by.

"Thanks," Kenzi smiles shortly and starts dabbing the kerchief on her torso - but it'll do about as good as a band-aid on a bullet wound. She busied herself trying to think of ways he could pay her back. Preferably with cash.

"Don't suppose you know the name of a good dry cleaners?"