it should be no consolation to piper that paige immediately shuffles into the kitchen with a look of scandalized reproach, brows furrowed together, mouth screwed up. "i did too buy the stupid baking powder!" there is actually a completely different, possibly worse reason for paige's avoidancy, thanks! "it's not my fault this kitchen looks like it was organized by somebody with ocd from hell. here -- see, i put it right in here, with all the other boxy things." voice is muffled, then reemerges from the pantry, a box of baking soda in her hands.
there's hardly any time to call paige on her mistake, she continues, "and another thing? distribution of tasks." the box thunks onto the crowded counter so she can loft her hands to her hips, more brazen by the minute and thrilled to use some buzz word terms learnt after enough HR meetings. "there are three people in this house -- four, even! and who cooks the least?" a beat of wandering thought. "well, okay, maybe phoebe and i are tied, but --," she gestures both hands, fingers splaying up, "i've been so busy stocking up on potions, i practically live at the apothecary shop and, frankly, we're lucky i didn't mistake psyllium husk for baking powder." she finishes with a hard tap to the top of, again, the box of baking soda.
Piper didn't even pause her knife. She just shifted her weight to one hip, the blade coming down with a precise, rhythmic chop-chop-chop that felt distinctly threatening. Her eyes tracked Paige as she shuffled in, completely unmoved by the look of scandalized reproach on her youngest sister's face. Piper’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically merged with her hairline as Paige emerged from the pantry, triumphantly brandishing her prize.
"That is baking soda, Paige. Not baking powder," Piper said, her voice dropping into that dangerously calm, flat register she used right before she lost her temper. She didn't look down as the box thunked onto the counter, keeping her eyes locked on Paige instead. "Which means if I used that, my cake would taste like metallic soap and rise about as much as Leo’s enthusiasm for doing the dishes. And it's called organization, so things don't get lost in the vortex you call a purse."
She finally set the knife down, crossing her arms tightly over her flour-dusted apron as Paige launched into her corporate HR defense strategy. Piper’s head tilted, her jaw clenching slightly at the phrase 'distribution of tasks.' She let out a dry, humorless scoff, her eyes narrowing as Paige tapped the wrong box for emphasis.
"Oh, I am so sorry to interrupt your gruelling schedule of organizing tiny glass jars, Paige, really," Piper sarcastically shot back, stepping around the island to close the distance between them. "But seeing as Phoebe is out doing some big interview, and I am running a club, raising a magical toddler, and trying to bake comfort food so we don't all kill each other, yeah, you get the grocery run. Now, since you clearly didn't look at the label, what is the actual reason you were hiding? Because you only bring out the buzzwords when you’ve broken something, orbed something into a volcano, or accidentally bound our powers again. Spill."












