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halfamoonTitle: Sisters' Home
Fandom: Charmed
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Phoebe
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Phoebe has at last found her calling.
Word Count: 1,322
Written For: Half A Moon Day 6: Secrets and/or Lies
Warnings: Wicca Religion -- I do want to note that I am not currently of the Wiccan religion, but I have been in the past and understood too well some of the forces that drive people into some religions. I'm not at all saying that EVERYBODY goes into non-mainstream religions for those reasons, but I know more than a few of us have.
Please do not get me wrong. I have all the love in the world for those of other religions, including Wicca. But I was literally following Gods and Goddesses of which I knew very little, and I've spoken to others who had this same thing happen. Wicca is a wonderful, peaceful religion, but not everyone who gets there goes for the right reasons. I hope what I'm trying to say here makes sense. :/
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She had always felt as though she didn't belong. Long before she learned she and her sisters were Witches, Phoebe had always felt like an outcast even in her own family. Her sisters were right: She did open her legs too often in high school, and beyond, but it was to be liked. Yet, even in the midst of the crowd of popular kids, she had still felt as though she didn't belong. She had not stolen their boyfriends, despite what they thought, and hated the nickname Freebee Phoebe. She still hated that name!
And she still felt like an outcast. Except in certain, particular stores, like the one she and her sister, Piper, were currently standing in. Piper made a face. "Come on, Phebs, let's go," she whispered, tugging Phoebe toward the door covered in garland, bells, and designs Phoebe's studies had taught her to recognize as protective wards.
"Piper, she's one of us -- "
Anger flashed in her usually patient sister's eyes. "No," she snapped, "she's -- "
"Come, sister Witches!"
"See?" Phoebe asked, grinning. "I told you she's one of us!"
"Let me offer you some protection charms on the house! I recognize newcomers -- "
Piper rolled her eyes. "I recognize people who are -- "
"Oh, just hush and go stay in the car, will you? I'll be out in a few minutes."
Piper looked taken aback. "Phebs," she frowned, "are you really getting into all this stuff this much?"
"This is who we are, Piper," Phoebe returned, reaching out and fingering one of the feather garlands strewn across the inside of the door.
"Feathers from a red naped woodpecker," the shopkeeper spoke enthusiastically. Phoebe could tell Piper was struggling to be nice and refrain from rolling her eyes a second time. Piper had always been the nicest of the sisters, the homemaker, and the family mender. She had been the only one who had cared enough to keep in contact with Phoebe after she'd ran away to New York. Prue had undoubtedly encouraged her to let her go "sew her wild oats" as Piper and Grams had both referred to it, but Piper had insisted on calling it at least every other month, no matter how great the baggage between them.
Phoebe wished her sister could see why being Witches was a good thing for their family, at least the three of them who remained, but she knew, too, that Piper had her own battles with the Witchcraft, fearing how it clashed with her Christianity and determination to be good and uphold morales. She always had been the goody two shoes. An old song came to Phoebe's mind, and she tapped her foot at the memory. "Please?" she whispered to her, almost begging. She gave her her best puppy-dog eyes and knew, with a triumphant grin, that she had won when Piper sighed.
"Fine, fine," she muttered. "But be quick about it! I've got a big job in the morning."
"I will, and I'll help you bake anything you need to bake!" promised Phoebe as Piper ducked quickly out the door.
"Your sister is not too sure of herself," the shopkeeper asked, looking to Phoebe, "is she?"
Phoebe shook her head. "Nah. Piper's always been shy." But she was more confident than most people realized. Despite all her worry, Piper knew, deep down, that she usually made the right decisions in all of life's big choices, and she knew that was genuinely a better person than either of her sisters and always had been. Prue was confident of her beauty, her strength, and the money she made. Phoebe wished she could have confidence like either of them, even though Piper had confided in her before that she wished she could be more confident like her. It was almost laughable. Even only they knew how much she had always lacked confidence!
Phoebe blinked as perfume suddenly spritzed in her face. "What can I do for you, dear sister?"
"M-Merry meet," Phoebe stuttered, and the shopkeeper's entire countenance lit up even more brilliantly. Phoebe grinned toothily in response. She had said the right words, and it was akin to opening a secret door. This Wicca religion was calling to her much more than her sisters. She already understood why but didn't know how to get them to understand. It was like slipping into another world while still remaining healthy and remaining in the "real" world. From what she had already read in their family's Book, she and her sisters should have enough power between them to vanquish any enemy, but their craft was opening up other doors to them that had never before been opened.
Saying "Merry Meet", for instance, to one of their own religion was an instant, quiet recognizer. The other Witches were immediately at ease, and willing to share their knowledge and friendship. She didn't have to open her legs to make friends, or lie, steal, or be a patsy as she had done with the other popular girls. She could see real Fairies now, Demons too, but battling Evil was a price Phoebe was more than willing to pay for all the good things that came with their religion and their new status quo as the Charmed Ones. She almost wished she could shout out at the top of her lungs to the whole world that she was a Witch, and not just a Witch, but one of the best and most powerful.
But she knew better. If she did that, most people would look at her worse than they had when she'd been strung out in those first few months she'd been in New York. She'd tried to stop her pain and loneliness, tried to find a place where she belonged by doing whatever drug had been offered by whatever crowd with whom she'd been hanging at the time. She had not been herself. She had never really been herself -- at least not for many years. She'd realized at a very young age that people didn't tend to like her, but they did like someone who shared their interests or gave them the things they wanted.
But here, amongst Wiccans like herself, she didn't have to do any of those awful things. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else, and she didn't have to give away things. She was greeted with kindness and trust the moment she spoke those two, simple words, and nobody looked at her like she was crazy when she spoke of fighting Demons, seeing Fairies or Trolls, or even doing drugs. They accepted her as what she appeared to be to them, and she did not feel judged or used by them. In a room full of Wiccans, or even with just one other Wiccan, Phoebe no longer felt alone.
"I was wondering," she said, a true smile trembling and stretching over her lips, "what you might have for someone new to the Craft?"
"Oh, yes, my dear, you have come to the right place!" The other Wiccan grasped her hand. Phoebe did not feel spooked in the slightest, as she had when people had started grabbing onto her in New York or when the boys had began to feel her flesh in ways she had not asked them to. Instead, she let the other woman pull her along through her shop, and her heart sang. She hummed the '80s rock song she had thought of when considering her sister's higher moral status. Let Piper keep her morales. Let Prue keep the good job and the determined responsibility and superiority of the older sister. Phoebe at last had something good at which she could excel, something besides being everybody's popular little friend, somewhere where she felt at home with strangers who did not seem strange at all but rather like the sisters she had been seeking her entire life. She was home, Phoebe thought happily, and not because she was in San Francsico!
The End
Fandom: Charmed
Author: Apache Firecat
Characters: Phoebe
Rating: PG-13/T
Summary: Phoebe has at last found her calling.
Word Count: 1,322
Written For: Half A Moon Day 6: Secrets and/or Lies
Warnings: Wicca Religion -- I do want to note that I am not currently of the Wiccan religion, but I have been in the past and understood too well some of the forces that drive people into some religions. I'm not at all saying that EVERYBODY goes into non-mainstream religions for those reasons, but I know more than a few of us have.
Please do not get me wrong. I have all the love in the world for those of other religions, including Wicca. But I was literally following Gods and Goddesses of which I knew very little, and I've spoken to others who had this same thing happen. Wicca is a wonderful, peaceful religion, but not everyone who gets there goes for the right reasons. I hope what I'm trying to say here makes sense. :/
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
She had always felt as though she didn't belong. Long before she learned she and her sisters were Witches, Phoebe had always felt like an outcast even in her own family. Her sisters were right: She did open her legs too often in high school, and beyond, but it was to be liked. Yet, even in the midst of the crowd of popular kids, she had still felt as though she didn't belong. She had not stolen their boyfriends, despite what they thought, and hated the nickname Freebee Phoebe. She still hated that name!
And she still felt like an outcast. Except in certain, particular stores, like the one she and her sister, Piper, were currently standing in. Piper made a face. "Come on, Phebs, let's go," she whispered, tugging Phoebe toward the door covered in garland, bells, and designs Phoebe's studies had taught her to recognize as protective wards.
"Piper, she's one of us -- "
Anger flashed in her usually patient sister's eyes. "No," she snapped, "she's -- "
"Come, sister Witches!"
"See?" Phoebe asked, grinning. "I told you she's one of us!"
"Let me offer you some protection charms on the house! I recognize newcomers -- "
Piper rolled her eyes. "I recognize people who are -- "
"Oh, just hush and go stay in the car, will you? I'll be out in a few minutes."
Piper looked taken aback. "Phebs," she frowned, "are you really getting into all this stuff this much?"
"This is who we are, Piper," Phoebe returned, reaching out and fingering one of the feather garlands strewn across the inside of the door.
"Feathers from a red naped woodpecker," the shopkeeper spoke enthusiastically. Phoebe could tell Piper was struggling to be nice and refrain from rolling her eyes a second time. Piper had always been the nicest of the sisters, the homemaker, and the family mender. She had been the only one who had cared enough to keep in contact with Phoebe after she'd ran away to New York. Prue had undoubtedly encouraged her to let her go "sew her wild oats" as Piper and Grams had both referred to it, but Piper had insisted on calling it at least every other month, no matter how great the baggage between them.
Phoebe wished her sister could see why being Witches was a good thing for their family, at least the three of them who remained, but she knew, too, that Piper had her own battles with the Witchcraft, fearing how it clashed with her Christianity and determination to be good and uphold morales. She always had been the goody two shoes. An old song came to Phoebe's mind, and she tapped her foot at the memory. "Please?" she whispered to her, almost begging. She gave her her best puppy-dog eyes and knew, with a triumphant grin, that she had won when Piper sighed.
"Fine, fine," she muttered. "But be quick about it! I've got a big job in the morning."
"I will, and I'll help you bake anything you need to bake!" promised Phoebe as Piper ducked quickly out the door.
"Your sister is not too sure of herself," the shopkeeper asked, looking to Phoebe, "is she?"
Phoebe shook her head. "Nah. Piper's always been shy." But she was more confident than most people realized. Despite all her worry, Piper knew, deep down, that she usually made the right decisions in all of life's big choices, and she knew that was genuinely a better person than either of her sisters and always had been. Prue was confident of her beauty, her strength, and the money she made. Phoebe wished she could have confidence like either of them, even though Piper had confided in her before that she wished she could be more confident like her. It was almost laughable. Even only they knew how much she had always lacked confidence!
Phoebe blinked as perfume suddenly spritzed in her face. "What can I do for you, dear sister?"
"M-Merry meet," Phoebe stuttered, and the shopkeeper's entire countenance lit up even more brilliantly. Phoebe grinned toothily in response. She had said the right words, and it was akin to opening a secret door. This Wicca religion was calling to her much more than her sisters. She already understood why but didn't know how to get them to understand. It was like slipping into another world while still remaining healthy and remaining in the "real" world. From what she had already read in their family's Book, she and her sisters should have enough power between them to vanquish any enemy, but their craft was opening up other doors to them that had never before been opened.
Saying "Merry Meet", for instance, to one of their own religion was an instant, quiet recognizer. The other Witches were immediately at ease, and willing to share their knowledge and friendship. She didn't have to open her legs to make friends, or lie, steal, or be a patsy as she had done with the other popular girls. She could see real Fairies now, Demons too, but battling Evil was a price Phoebe was more than willing to pay for all the good things that came with their religion and their new status quo as the Charmed Ones. She almost wished she could shout out at the top of her lungs to the whole world that she was a Witch, and not just a Witch, but one of the best and most powerful.
But she knew better. If she did that, most people would look at her worse than they had when she'd been strung out in those first few months she'd been in New York. She'd tried to stop her pain and loneliness, tried to find a place where she belonged by doing whatever drug had been offered by whatever crowd with whom she'd been hanging at the time. She had not been herself. She had never really been herself -- at least not for many years. She'd realized at a very young age that people didn't tend to like her, but they did like someone who shared their interests or gave them the things they wanted.
But here, amongst Wiccans like herself, she didn't have to do any of those awful things. She didn't have to pretend to be someone else, and she didn't have to give away things. She was greeted with kindness and trust the moment she spoke those two, simple words, and nobody looked at her like she was crazy when she spoke of fighting Demons, seeing Fairies or Trolls, or even doing drugs. They accepted her as what she appeared to be to them, and she did not feel judged or used by them. In a room full of Wiccans, or even with just one other Wiccan, Phoebe no longer felt alone.
"I was wondering," she said, a true smile trembling and stretching over her lips, "what you might have for someone new to the Craft?"
"Oh, yes, my dear, you have come to the right place!" The other Wiccan grasped her hand. Phoebe did not feel spooked in the slightest, as she had when people had started grabbing onto her in New York or when the boys had began to feel her flesh in ways she had not asked them to. Instead, she let the other woman pull her along through her shop, and her heart sang. She hummed the '80s rock song she had thought of when considering her sister's higher moral status. Let Piper keep her morales. Let Prue keep the good job and the determined responsibility and superiority of the older sister. Phoebe at last had something good at which she could excel, something besides being everybody's popular little friend, somewhere where she felt at home with strangers who did not seem strange at all but rather like the sisters she had been seeking her entire life. She was home, Phoebe thought happily, and not because she was in San Francsico!
The End
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