Absit Omen RPG
Role-Play Boards => Muggle London => London => Roh-Ballentyne Residence => Topic started by: Iona 'Bruce' Ballentyne on June 08, 2019, 02:19:00 PM
-
It had been a decidedly uncomfortable day. At a ridiculous hour, Iona and Zora had been woken by their daughter banging and stumbling into the apartment after a clearly rowdy night out for the New Year. At 8 that morning, the pair had chosen to wake their daughter rather abruptly, and deliver her an ultimatum. For months, Zora had been growing deeply frustrated with Waverly and her lack of ambition. Iona had ignored the frustration, having rather selfishly found the company at home to be appreciated after 3 years of being out of work. Now, she saw what her wife saw. Now, she realised that their daughter needed a kick up her arse.
After the ultimatum, Waverly had stormed out of the apartment while Zora and Iona had tried to get on with their day. There was a definite tension clear in the air throughout the day, but they’d tried to ignore it.
In the early evening, Zora left. She’d agreed to take a few nightshifts in order to get Christmas free. It surprised Iona how much she actually minded Zora doing the night shifts. It was a strange thing to sleep alone. She did, in fact, barely sleep on those nights. As such, she tended to find herself staying up a lot later than usual in the hopes of sleeping when she took to the empty bed.
It was fairly late when the front door opened. Iona had been relaxed on the sofa with her feet up and a good book. Her curly hair had been pulled back into a scruffy ponytail and she was wearing the warm pyjamas she’d received for Christmas. Taco was sprawled out on her lap. Iona jumped and span her head to see Waverly make her return. Their only daughter reminded Iona of the feline creature she’d learned to transfigure into. Even their cat Taco would go out wondering for hours at a time. He would always, however, return home for food. Waverly, no matter how angry, always came home for food.
Partly, the red headed witch wanted to stay silent and just ignore her daughter. It would prevent another argument and uncomfortable discussions. But where would that honestly get her? Zora and Waverly were one of a kind when it came to stubbornness, and throughout their time as a family, Iona had always been that bridge, the one to take a first step.
“I plated up some tea for you, love. It’s in the fridge.” She said, not looking up from her book. “Omma’s at work.”
-
Everything was closed for the holiday and her friends were scarce after last night's revels, so there was sad little to distract Waverly from the family drama. Just to be contrary, she'd Apparated to Edinburgh and did nothing in Scotland rather than doing nothing in London. Then she'd Apparated back, met up with Tam Handrow and smoked a bit over kebabs. Waverly hated Tam and Tam hated her, but that's what made the alliance bearable.
Waverly set her purse on the kitchen island and spared her mum only enough of a glance to confirm it was just her there, just her and the cat.
"I ate," she said even as she opened the icebox to see what it was they'd left her. She felt bad. No matter how much they fought food was a constant.
"Thought she said she wasn't going to work so much," Waverly said. She shut the fridge in favor of filling the kettle.
-
Iona showed no reaction to Waverly having already eaten. She was the mother of a teenager, and well used to having prepared something only for it to be not eaten because the girl had eaten something far less healthy before returning home. Iona also happened to put it down to a lack of appreciation for her cooking. Neither wife nor daughter ever had an abundance of compliments for the food put before them by the red head. The leftover plate of chilli would no doubt be binned tomorrow.
“She said she’d work less, not retire.” Iona spoke into her book. She heard the fridge door open and close. Then there was water going into the kettle. Taking her wand from beside her on the sofa, Iona pointed it at the mug (https://i.etsystatic.com/11498332/r/il/4aab4a/1173588731/il_794xN.1173588731_7uvq.jpg) that had been on the coffee table. It slowly levitated through the air to land on the counter by Waverly and the little tubs of tea and coffee. “Camomile.” She stated her order, placing her wand back on the sofa and turning the page in her book.
A couple of years ago, Zora had insisted that she would be taking less shifts; Iona remembered it clearly. Waverly obviously also recalled the promise. For as long as Iona could remember, her wife’s working schedule had been a recurring point of contention. She’d known and fully accepted it when they were young and just starting out. But she’d seen more and more the effect that having a mother constantly at work had had. Waverly was clearly still quite angry about it which only added to the anger from this morning.
“She agreed to a couple of nightshifts so we could have Christmas. It’s going to be a long night.” It was already late but that made little difference. Nights alone were crap and now Waverly was in a huff, too.
-
Waverly glanced over her shoulder again when the novelty mug arrived. Her mam was still stuck in her book. By all rights, Iona could have chucked it at Waverly's head and no court would convict her, not with how she'd been treating her parents. Neither side was blameless, but Waverly was grown enough to know she wasn't making anything easy. Fixing up her mam a cup of tea was the least of her obligations.
"Bit of nonsense. You'd think she's accrued some seniority by now. What does she have to do, catch Kingstreet a second time?"[1] She fiddled around in the tins to get the packets ready. Camomile into Mam's statement mug, green into Waverly's plain white one. Damn, why was she doing this. She didn't want to talk about Omma's job or try and figure out what Mam was feeling about being left home on an evening. Waverly peeled off her coat and tried to think better of it.
"Anyway, erm, what about you though? You've gone back."
They'd gone shopping over it. Day of fun, wrestling away Mam's cargos for something with a tailor.
"Is he there?"
-
As Waverly had a mini rant about Zo having to pull a shitty shift or two, Iona smiled softly into her book. In principle, she agreed. In reality, she knew that having more years and experience didn’t necessarily mean cherry picking work hours. You still went in when you were told, that was the job. It didn’t matter how much Iona hated her wife pulling the night shift, she wasn’t about to kick up a fuss about it. She’d just be there when Zora rolled into bed the following morning. At least until she had to get up for work herself. Like ships passing in the night.
“Maybe.” Something had been mentioned about Kingstreet and Queen G, but Zora couldn’t talk work at home, and Iona tended to be glad of it. There was something very comforting about blissful ignorance when your loved one had spent a career putting her life on the line chasing down dark wizards.
The conversation switched to Iona and now, she did glance up from her book. At least Wav was trying, and not storming off to her room. Iona couldn’t help but imagine that if Zora had been in the living room with her, Wav would have done just that. It wasn’t so nice to be ganged up on, but this morning had been a necessary intervention.
‘He’ could only mean one person.
“He is.” She twisted slightly to glance over the back of the sofa to the girl making tea. “He’s the old me. Minus the dragon meat limb.” The book, open, was placed over Taco who, spread out on her lap, didn’t even flinch. “Apparently the werewolf thing is a problem.”
-
"Bollocks, what a prat."
Waverly had been younger, but it had gone from Kurby being there for Mam to Kurby being gone. It was a horrible year and Iona needed friends so it was easy to drop a lot of blame on Kurby Bagnold for how bad it got.
"He's just sore you got promoted over him." Waverly wouldn't admit that her Mam had been prejudice against werewolves. She'd always kept in her head that Iona was helping people. It became harder to believe that as she learned more about the world, but what was she going to do? She was her mum. Besides, everything was different now.
The dark joke that ran through her head was that all Bagnold had to do was let his guard down and then he come move up, just like Mam. But she didn't voice it. It was callous and she'd never wish that on anyone.
Waverly leaned against the counter to face out to Iona and began pulling her hair into a loose bundle. With a deftness, she used a clean plastic chopstick to secure it.
"I'm going to move in with Gabby. I was serious about that."
-
Iona’s pale lips twisted into a very small smile when her daughter chose to call her former friend a prat. Over the years, both Iona and Zora had shared far stronger words about Kurby Bagnold than ‘prat’. Zora called her boss a ‘prat’, clearly enjoying the word play. Iona had called Kurby far worse.
“He’s sore that I came back at all.” The former werewolf hunter corrected calmly as she gently rubbed Taco behind his ears. He was happily purring away, far too content with the affection to be even slightly bothered by being used as a book rest.
"I'm going to move in with Gabby. I was serious about that." Waverly blurted out. Iona didn’t pause in her stroking of the cat’s head, her eyes down on the feline member of the family. On her turn, he’d avoided her for a while, acting skittish and hissing if she came near. Clearly, he’d settled over time, once more coming to trust her. Iona couldn’t find herself getting accustomed to her daughter’s current behaviour.
Waverly wasn’t moving anywhere. She had no money and currently, no get up and go. Her ambition and enthusiasm had got up and gone.
“You’ve found somewhere?” Iona finally looked up. “You’ll need at least a month’s rent up front. And a deposit. I didn’t know you had that saved up, sweetheart.”
-
"It's been one day."
Of course she hadn't found anything. She hadn't even brought it up to Gabby who'd been scarce today. But it didn't mean her mind wasn't made up.
"We'll figure something out," she said then turned to the hob to tend to the kettle which was starting to hiss. What her parents didn't know what that Waverly was starting a little niffler nest, what she was making dealing for Tam Handrow. Tam was older, hadn't gone to Hogwarts, so she didn't have the connections Waverly had. Plus, Tam didn't go to the clubs, so another little audience. It wasn't much. Not yet.
She readied the two cups of tea and levitated them over to where Iona was sitting. "Figure you and Omma are right. You're fine now, right? Job done."
-
Iona stared at her daughter. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and had she been standing, Waverly may have had to pick her up off the floor. Did her daughter just say that she and Zora had been right!? Did their nineteen-year-old offspring actually admit to her mothers being right!? Iona may have had a lot to say about it if what Waverly said next didn’t concern her so much.
“Job done?” The witch frowned, a look of concern crossing her features. “We’re not trying to push you out of your home, sweetheart.” Her mug gently landed back on the coffee table accompanied by Waverly’s. Well, at least it meant that Wav wasn’t planning on disappearing immediately into her room.
“I’m selfish, Wav. I don’t want you to move out. I just don’t want to be woken up at 4am by my unemployed daughter.” Iona gave a sad shrug.
-
"I'm barely out of school and already I'm a part of the unwashed unemployed?" Waverly scoffed lightly with a smile. "Burden on society. What ever happened to 'gap year' or self exploration? Didn't know I was supposed to just churn right into the machine right away."
Her tone was light, but the sentiment was genuine. How was anyone supposed to know what their life was going to be like? She knew Zora had jumped around for a long time before landing in Auror, but there wasn't anything satisfying to Waverly about scrounging around behind a bar mat and getting sexually harassed while serving food.
"I'm not naive. I just don't want to get stuck."
-
“I thought I could smell something.” Iona grinned, throwing in her quick response to her daughter’s comment about being unwashed. She grabbed the book, picking it up off Taco and snapping it shut. The movement and sound startled the cat who lifted his head and gave her a meow of disapproval. The book was dropped onto the coffee table and Iona dislodged Taco, swinging her legs around to make room for Waverly. A sharp exhale o breath came from the quick movement, but she didn’t make anything of it, and instead pushed herself to her feet.
It was with jarred and slow movements that Iona moved towards the drinks cabinet which she opened and pulled out a bottle of bourbon. That would help her sleep.
“So, don’t get stuck. Simple.” Apparently, when Zora was working the night shift, Iona channelled her wife. Inwardly, she was quite chuffed with that. A few uncomfortable limps back across the living room and she had returned to the coffee table with the bottle of bourbon.
“We’re not telling you to-” she breathed out deeply, lowering herself to sit back down, “to marry your first job, Wav. Bloody hell, if Omma did that, she’d still be pouring pints and getting felt up by drunken idiots.” She uncapped the bottle and poured a healthy amount into the mug of tea. “Your Gampy did that. Left school at 17 and learned to drive a lorry. He hates it. But he still drives that blasted lorry. I don’t want that for you.”
-
Waverly wasn't alone in that she always carefully watched her mam take her feet. It was subtle, she never drew attention to it, but there was always that little notation of the stiffness or limp that was becoming more and more normal. Waverly didn't even acknowledge that she did it.
"I pity anyone who ever got handsy with Omma," Waverly mused and got up to set next to Iona. No matter how old she got, a snuggle with her mom always made her feel ten years old again listening to the WWN eating popcorn. She clicked her tongue to lure Taco closer.
She honestly couldn't imagine Zora any younger than thirty or that anyone would survive crossing her.
"Pst, ki-ki." Taco came over but arched her back just out of reach. Waverly reached out with her toes.
"I'd be shite at driving a lorry," she said knowing that wasn't the point. "I don't know though. Like, this can all end at any second and I don't want to waste a moment faffing around in some mindless, rote ... I don't care about being wealthy or famous, I just don't want to waste my time."
-
“That’s morbid.” Iona muttered with a frown. The point, however, wasn’t lost on her. Since being a kid, Iona had been the one to eagerly grasp at whatever she could. She’d dived into a job just for the prospect of wrestling werewolves. She’d attempted to do the seven summits until the attack had put a cork in that idea. But while Iona’s idea of not wasting a moment meant thrill and adrenaline seeking, her daughter’s idea meant drinking and partying. To Iona, that was a gross waste.
“It’s a balance.” With a shrug, Iona reached forward and picked up her mug. She twisted on the sofa, pulling up her good right leg where she was now facing Waverly. “Are you going to remember all of those drunken nights, on your death bed?” Waverly wanted to talk mortality, Iona would indulge. “I was convinced I was going to die.” She started. Iona never talked about this with Waverly. Until now. “I didn’t think about all of those experiences or drinking sessions or climbs. I thought about my wife and my daughter. I didn’t wonder if I’d wasted any time. That didn’t matter. You and Omma mattered. That’s it.”
“We’re not rich or well off, or famous. And neither of us chose jobs, no matter what you think. What happened to me was…” she paused, trying to think of the words, “well, it was @%^&ing &*%&#. But that doesn’t mean that I regret my choices. But you will regret sitting around and making nothing of yourself. Because you are wasting time, Wav.”
-
Really? Waverly was overcome by a wave of fatigue - a weariness brought on by the nearly constant judging from her parents. Last couple years it had been her school work, then when she thought that was done it had turned to careers and making something of herself. They didn't understand. She'd figure it out, but in the meantime she wasn't going to wear a nametag.
"Give it an entire rest, Mam. You can't really want to do this again."
Merlin, couldn't they change the subject? But the only thing Waverly could think to talk about that wouldn't lead them right back around to what Waverly was doing with her life was the next full moon. She winced and drank her tea. Taco couldn't seem to settle, just walking all over them.
Even if Iona wanted to keep on the career thing, keep rehashing the fight they'd been having for months, Wav couldn't bear it. Besides. It was a big deal, first full moon back.
"Full moon's next week," she said, hoping the blunt segue would be well received. "You alright with it?"
-
Not fair.
Iona’s eyes narrowed marginally as her daughter made to move the conversation from her own failings to the upcoming full moon.
Definitely not fair.
Waverly had developed into her own independent person, a fact which her mothers were pleased with. There were traits, however, that had clearly come from Iona or Zora. Being as blunt as a troll going headfirst into a brick wall? That was Zora. Iona never went in for the kill, and she tried her hardest to avoid this subject in particular. The full moon was a deeply unpleasant experience.
A week before, she would start to feel herself change. Not physically, but the usually calm witch would start to harbour a temper. Even the smallest of things could spark it. A couple of days before, she would begin to take the foul tasting wolfsbane potion; it smelt like arse and it tasted worse. On the day of, she would go to her designated safe house and be locked in a cell. Then, the agony and screaming and the blackout. The following morning, she would wake, naked, on the floor of the cell. Usually, her left leg would feel as if it had been ripped apart. Iona took care on her injured leg, the wolf did not. Then would follow a couple of days of pain, recuperation and vomiting. Up until September 2008, Iona had been a strong and independent witch. Now, every month, her wife got to hold her hair back while she threw up the after effects of Wolfsbane potion and lost her temper at her crippled leg.
So, was she alright with it?
“I’m fine.” Iona took a sip of tea and looked away. She wasn’t going to tell Waverly about all the troubles with Tawse and direwolves or her worry that there would be total disaster this full moon while she was locked away in a cell howling at the moon. “It’s crap, being back but not. The full moon used to the biggest night in my work calendar. Now I get to read all the reports, instead. Head Quill Pusher…”
-
Waverly occupied her gaze by tracing her finger on the blanket for Taco's benefit. She could have predicted Iona's response. Fine. They were all always fine in this house and always reassured each other that if it didn't feel fine now, things would be fine later. Maybe it was all aspirational. That 'fine' was the most they'd wish for.
She wasn't sorry for brining it up. Even if there wasn't much to say, Waverly knew that just asking mattered. Basically everything about being a werewolf sucked, but hearing how her mum said 'quill pusher' - oof. Add paperwork to the stack of things that would be turning Mam's stomach come the tenth.
Waverly scooted down further into the couch, her cold feet winding in under Iona's share of the blankets.
"It's good you're there," she said. "It matters that you've been through it. I mean, there hasn't been another werewolf that high up, has there? Not in the Capture Unit, right? Things could change."
What, exactly, should change Waverly didn't know. But, like many in her generation there was a deep sense that things could be better. Shoulde be better. It just sucked it had to hurt.
-
“I don’t think so, no.” Iona shook her head. “Not in the time I’ve been at the ministry.” Werewolves had historically been kept under thumb. You didn’t give a decent job to a werewolf due to unreliability. Few people were publically anti-werewolf, but behind closed doors, they certainly were. Iona had never been actively anti-werewolf, she’d never actively discriminated, but her previous job had meant she’d had a complicated relationship with the creatures. Now, she experienced it from the other side, and she’d experienced the loss of her job because of what had happened.
“It shouldn’t be a big deal though, Wav. Having a werewolf where I am, or a similar level position shouldn’t be controversial or seen as equal opportunities.” She’d made the self-deprecating joke to Bagnold on her second day about the Ministry having hired a ‘gay disabled werewolf’. A box-ticking exercise. She frowned at her daughter, “You probably didn’t see the letter in the Prophet before the holiday[1]. The Ministry are apparently rewarding my failure. Ministry are doing their bit by giving opportunities to disabled monsters.” Oddly, this was easier to discuss that the full moon itself. This was something that Iona could grasp some control over; she could fight it. A werewolf didn’t get to fight the full moon; it happened, and they lost themselves and there was nothing she could do about that.
“I hope things can change. But you can’t change public perception and attitude overnight. Until we start to see a shift there…well…there’s a thick sodding ceiling there for werewolves.”
-
Waverly's expression soured to hear her mum repeating that disgusting talk. There'd been that time in school when Waverly's friends had to pull her off someone who said something about her Mam, some gabby know-nothing who was just trying to flex and get a rise out of her. Nothing had come of it, not even a bloodied nose. Looking back, Waverly couldn't remember who'd have been more hurt by the comment, her or Iona.
She knew all change took time. And even though a lot of people sore about it, just the fact that her mum was there was something.
"They'll be eating shit," Waverly said with a little spark in her chest. "No one else there has had your experience so you're going to know far better than anyone what those people are going through. You've seen both sides. That's going to make a difference."
Waverly sipped her drink. "It's about time, really."
-
Hearing Waverly talk in such a manner gave Iona this strange glowing feeling, like a warmth in her chest. Regularly, she and Zora would despair at their daughter’s lack of drive and ambition. They both felt some sense of failure, each blaming themselves for her unwillingness to throw herself into the world of work. But hearing the way Wav speak with such confidence about Iona’s own ability to do her job, she felt proud. Waverly had strong views, and clearly agreed with what Iona had chosen to do.
Iona shuffled on the sofa, pulling her legs up properly so they were both under the blankets snuggly and warm. Taco started kneading the material over Waverly’s legs. Iona fixed her daughter with a small contented smile.
“I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about me going back.” For Zora, it had clearly been a mix of emotions. Pride and worry. She’d wanted to support Iona, but she’d always been protective. Usually, Iona quite liked it, but she needed to do this and fight back now without her auror ninja wife buffer between her and the world. “Well, if we look past your excitement at a shopping trip.” Waverly had been all too eager to have her Mam ditch her favourite cargo trousers in place of something far smarter. They’d almost had an argument at the suggestion of a dress.
-
There really was nothing like a purring cat who couldn't decide where to sit to take an edge off a conversation. It as proven, or so Waverly read, that pets calmed you down. That and you could focus on the cat to avoid eye contact. It would have been easy for Waverly and Iona to fall into a snippy row, but honestly Waverly was weary of it. She didn't miss her mum smiling and Waverly looked down.
"I mean, you can only get cursed once," she said. Waverly had thought about it. She was hesitant to say it, but Iona's new job sat much better with her than her last one. In the Werewolf Capture Unit, Mam was at risk of getting hurt and killed every moon. And the ethics of what she did, it had been getting hard to understand. Werewolves were human beings and hunting them ... but they were also dangerous like that.
"And like I said you can do more good now you're promoted out of the WCU."
No one could accuse Waverly of being happy about what happened to her mum - it had been horrific, a catastrophe. But even terrible events could mean better things to come.
-
"I mean, you can only get cursed once," Waverly said rather plainly.
“HA!” Iona laughed out loud, throwing her head back, amused. It was painfully true, wasn’t it? She’d already been bitten, she’d been dealing with the curse now for well over 3 years. Rock bottom had already been hit with an explosion. The only way now was up. Couldn’t get cursed again. Zora had been worried, but not about the dangers. Her worried had come from the hatred Bruce had already received. She’d gone from having a controversial job to being the controversial person in a job.
She calmed pretty quickly, a took a swig of her alcoholic tea. It was getting late, but she had no plans on going to bed yet. Not only did she hate sleeping alone, but after the disaster that their ‘talk’ this morning had been, Iona was relieved to be having a calm conversation with her daughter.
“I can.” Resting her cup in her lap, Iona glanced over Waverly. She was avoiding eyecontact as much as possible. Both doubtlessly easily remembered the rather heated conversations and arguments about Iona’s choice of career. As soon as Waverly had started learning about werewolf rights and the lack of equal opportunities contrasting with the enormous prejudice, Waverly had been rather scathing of the job.
“You’ve always been pretty set on equal rights for creatures, Wav…” Iona’s brow rose and she took another sip of her tea. She didn’t want Waverly on Level 4, no, but she’d always had pretty strong opinions, hadn’t she? Surely that was a starting point?
-
"Werewolves aren't creatures," Waverly reminded Iona with a snippy sing-song, as if she didn't know. One thing Waverly ought to have learned from SAWS was to allow werewolves to speak about their own situation however they liked, but if Waverly wasn't sparring with her parents she didn't know how to be.
"They're people. With lives and daughters and cargo shorts ..." There was a little light in her eye. All Waverly's life, her family had been on one side of the line, with themselves on one side making werewolves 'they' on the other. Even a few years in, it was hard to switch pronouns to include her mom.
She sipped her tea. "So radical. Equal rights for people... Blimey."
-
Iona had to try hard, very hard, not to roll her eyes at her daughter’s ‘werewolves are people’ speech that would clearly be following the unsolicited reprimand. She’d heard it countless times before. Don’t call them monsters or creatures or beasts. Don’t call them furry animals or rabid dogs. Iona had heard it all before, and the people that said these things, the people that wanted her to stop using whatever damn name she liked, had never wrestled with a werewolf, they’d never seen a werewolf’s teeth ripping flesh from an innocent human that had simply strayed into their path. They’d never felt the power as the beast knocked a person to the ground. They’d never been agonisingly ripped open by the sharp and powerful claws. They’d never witnessed or experienced a transformation. Waverly had a sheltered view of werewolves, and Iona had always pushed for that. She’d never witnessed the transformation; she’d only seen the vulnerability that inevitably followed. The sickness, the exhaustion and pain.
“No more cargo shorts.” Every last pair had been discarded. No one needed to see the mess that her leg had become, even after Athena Marrowbone’s healing magic.
“I’m a person, Waverly. I’m a person with a life and a daughter, yes. I have a wife and a daughter that I would throw myself in front of the killing curse for.” She took a moment to sip at her tea. “But on the full moon, when that transformation happens, I’m not a person. I’m not your mum. I’d rip your throat out. I’d rip Omma’s throat out. It wouldn’t matter, and I wouldn’t remember because it’s not my conscious. A werewolf is a creature. It’s a monster. It doesn’t make me a monster or a creature.”
It was something that Waverly had never understood.
“I can make a difference, yes, but I’m not going to be the person to proclaim that werewolves aren’t dangerous and regulations should be less stringent, and I’m not going to stop calling them monsters or creatures because I know more than anyone what they are capable of.”
-
The little light behind Waverly's eye, the one that came from love and belonging and hope for the world, flickered and then flared up.
"It's not the monster that can't get a job, who gets kicked out of Hogwarts, who gets thrown into Azkaban. Getting harassed going about their lives. It's the person. And you're a person ninety-percent of the time, isn't it though? You're not hearing me. You're not capture unit anymore. You can help the whole person. Not just the creature. And I'm trying to say that's a good thing. Shit, Mam."
Waverly huffed gently as if Iona was her daughter who disappointed her. She turned around on the couch to put her feet back on the floor. It was so easy to wreck a perfectly pleasant conversation because she had no idea how to say something nice.
-
The regular debate began, and Iona had to stop herself from audibly groaning. Waverly was so happy to argue the toss with her mother, and she was good at it too. Iona had suggested before that she actually put it to use outside of annoying her; a suggestion which hadn’t gone down well. Before, she’d always berated her mother for clearly not understanding. Now, she berated her because she should suddenly understand and feel pity for other wolves. To begin with, when she’d been unable to control her new temper, it had sparked some pretty explosive arguments. Fortunately, all that came now was debate and a lot of eye rolling. Waverly thought she could criticise and debate her mam’s job, but she wouldn’t have them criticise her lack of one.
“Oh, I’m hearing you.” Iona managed, calmly. She wanted to bite back about how Waverly actually needed to put her opinions and wish to fight for rights to good use instead of just talking about it. But that would only add more problems to an already prickly conversation. She and Zo had done their speech that morning, she wasn’t going to be the woman that badgered her daughter incessantly.
“It is a good thing, sweetheart.” She finally agreed quietly. “But people don’t get the person bit. It’s a good thing but it’s not easy.” The howlers had already started before Christmas. As of yet, there’d been no face to face hatred, but that would come. A tight smile came with a raise of her eyebrows. “Better than staying at home doing nothing, at least.”
-
Waverly looked at her mum quietly for a moment, then her eyebrows softened and she slumped back into the cushion again. She was smiling a little.
"I hate agreeing with you," she said. They did this. They argued around each other in circles and then it ended up they were arguing the same point at each other. She resettled into the couch and adjusted the blanket to snuggle in next to Iona.
"Staying home doing nothing. Remember when you were a writer?" Waverly smiled again and put her head on Iona's shoulder. "Remember when you were going to be a writer? Omma buying you, like, seven typewriters, all earnest and serious?"
The living room had been covered in papers for awhile, crumpled paper and clean white paper. Taco was still a kitten, trying to attack everything, putting her entire head into Chinese takeaway containers.
-
Bright blue eyes suddenly widened with amusement when Waverly brought up the writing and the many typewriters. Many typewriters. After a particularly bad full moon in the early days after the attack, Iona had taken to her bed for a few weeks. Pain and frustration had exacerbated her uncharacteristic crankiness, and she’d no doubt been deeply unpleasant to be around. One casual mention of considering starting a guide on werewolf tracking, and Zora had returned home the next day with a stack of parchment as high as the cat, several bottles of ink, and, across the kitchen worksurface, seven state of the art typewriters lined up for her approval.
Iona would have laughed out loud if her wife’s expression hadn’t been so damned serious. She’d seen it for what it was. Despite the bizarre way of showing it, it had been love, and a determination to get her to actual do something with herself. The whole thing would have been highly successful if Iona knew any iota on how to write a book.
Now, curled up with her teenaged daughter in her arms, Iona did let out a soft laugh.
“She’s intense, your Omma.” Iona rested her head on Waverly’s. “I may have mentioned once that I could make a bit of money from a book about werewolf tracking. One mention and she’s got a new career planned out for me. She cares, and while she’s a bit crazy, I’m never going to begrudge that.”
“When you were 6, and we came back home after the war, first thing that you told Omma was that you wanted to be a wizarding wireless presenter. Do you remember?” With her arm around Wav, her fingers played absentmindedly with her hair. “She’d missed you so much, and would have done just about anything. So, a few days later, set up in your bedroom was everything you could possibly need to record your own show. Microphone, recording equipment, desk, tapes, gramophone. You must have spent a week where all you did was record silly voices and songs that you’d made up with terrible lyrics. You interviewed us and my parents. All of your teddies. But that was it. A week.”
-
Waverly giggled, "aw, I remember that..."
Something about being nineteen drew out all the nostalgia of a time when things were stable and predictable and protected. Even though they'd been sheltered in the middle of nowhere during a war, her Mam and Omma had kept her safe and kept a routine. Waverly remembered these shots and snatches of memories, sitting in her old room the kit all set up, the window open ...
She remembered one or the other of them poking their head in to tell her to go to bed, and Waverly delaying by playing back what she'd made.
"I think my songs were rather good. That one about the manticore minister of magic eating children was particularly relevant to the zeitgeist," she said.
Waverly's snuggled in a little deeper. If they weren't careful they were going to start talking about careers and Waverly's in particular. She hoped it was a topic Iona wanted to avoid, too.
"Intense might be an understatement," Waverly said, doubling back. "Your new cane is brilliant. I don't know how she comes up with this stuff."
-
This was nice, being snuggled up and actually talking. Sure, the dreaded topic of careers was to be avoided if this was going to stay nice, and Iona could happily deal with that. She hated getting involved in this confrontation, anyway. Too often, her and Zora had turned into good cop, bad cop. The roles tended to shift about as to who played each, but she and Zo were doubtlessly on the same level when it came to their daughter’s future.
“We still have them, you know.” Iona drained the last of her alcoholic tea and reached forward to return it to the table. “My favourite was your interview with Mr Fluffybum” (her teddybear) “about how to make flobberworm soup, and how it tastes. You went into a lot of detail with those ingredients, sweetheart.” Those, and many childhood photographs, were saved somewhere to bring out at some point as a delightfully innocent form of embarrassment.
At the mention of the cane, Iona glanced towards it resting up against the wall. It was still eyecatching, the shiny red streaks working their way through the wood. Even that had been thought out in incredibly detail. Zora still never failed to surprise her. She’d been the witch to drag her out of bed after the attack and give her some tough love. If she wasn’t going to start pushing herself, she’d never get better. In hindsight, it had been the right thing to do, but at the time Iona had hated her wife for it. She’d been pretty vile to her during her recovery and she still had a lot of making up to do. Yet despite all of that, Zora still found something to show how soft she really was on the inside.
“Omma isn’t the loudest in the room, is she sweetie? She’d the quiet one that is watching and thinking. She’s got more time to think of this stuff while people like you and I are chatting away about any old shit. Or…” Her fingers still absentmindedly played with Wav’s hair as she spoke, resting her head back against the cushions. “They’re not keeping her busy enough at work.”
A glint of excitement suddenly shot into Iona’s eyes and she glanced back to the cane.
“I’ve not shown you my new secret power.”
-
Waverly knew her parents were different from others'. They were Warrior Mothers, always united, and best friends. Looking at them, you'd think they wouldn't get along, but Waverly remembered falling asleep to their late night laughing in the kitchen. And then the three of them, they'd always got along so well. Things changed after Iona got attacked - Waverly didn't know whether to miss that innocence or face up to the change.
She didn't have much time to mull it over. Iona weaved from saying nice things about Zora to a strange question.
Waverly turned just a little to check her Mam's face. "What're you on about?"
Iona looked impish. Waverly sat up. "What secret power!"
-
This was a moment when Iona could have totally gone with a super cheesy superpower like a mother’s love. She certainly wasn’t above that cheese; the sort of thing that had Zora rolling her eyes in faux horror. As it was, she’d not yet shared with her daughter what the pretty cane with the delicately carved wolf handle could actually do. Now, anyway, she had Waverly’s attention.
“Stand up.” She gave a gentle shove and untangled herself from the mess of legs and blanket. “Backstory.” She stated, pushing herself up to stand. “I’ve always joked about having people falling at my feet.” Never serious. “I mean, who wouldn’t?” A bright grin and a wink was shared with Waverly before she opened her hand and reached towards the stick. From its position leaning against the wall, it shot into her hand.
Before she did anything with the cane, Iona frowned across at her daughter then the floor. Without a word, she waved her left hand at the cushions on the sofa and surrounded Waverly with them, one wall of protective cushion.
“We don’t need a trip to St Mungo’s.” Nothing like setting her up for a fall! “Ready?”
-
"Uh, okay," Waverly said as she got shoved off the couch and surrounded by a bed of pillows. She looked at her warrior mother, her crazed and dangerous jokester mother, the one who shrunk her bed to the size of a shoe. Who in Merlin's middle name would have given her mother another weapon? Her other mother, obviously.
Iona asked if she was ready. Waverly winced, shrugged, and nodded.
With a firm motion, Iona stamped her cane on the floor and immediately a shockwave cracked towards her. Waverly was knocked square on her arse among the pillows, breath nearly knocked out of her. She was as surprised as anything. She lifted her head off the ground and stared at her mother.
"You are certifiable. They let this woman have a wand!"
-
This was only the second time that she’d purposefully had the cane do its thing. It was the fifth time that it had actually happened. As Tamzin Ollivander had said, it would take a few days to acclimatise itself to her intentions. Fortunately (or unfortunately for the victim), Zora had been the only one around when she’d ‘accidently’ put the cane down with enough vigour to set it off. Zora had, of course, accused that the cane was clearly already acclimatised. Iona happily denied any knowledge of such. It was, Iona pointed out, unfair to bring up how she’d always wanted this particular woman falling at her feet.
Waverly had had the special treatment. She’d been given cushions and a comfortable landing. Zora had ended up with a sore arse.
“Cool, huh?” The redhead was grinning as she offered a hand to her daughter. “It’s hush hush. Mam’s super-secret super power. Omma has major regrets.”
-
Waverly laughed in disbelief that Zora's thoughtful artisanal gift to Iona was a secret crackin' weapon. Who knew that stoic, snippy, steady Omma was so mischievous? Merlin, her mothers were dangerous together.
"You two should not encourage each other," Waverly said getting cozy in the pillow pile. "Can't believe she got that for you. Oh! Taco! Ki-ki-ki!"
Their cat was in the fire place with dirty feet and a puffed tail. Waverly leaned to get a hold of her, but Taco mewed and skittered away shaking her feet and leaving tracks of pale grey ash on the rug. Waverly gathered that Taco hadn't been in the blast radius, but had been startled enough to take cover in the nearest alcove. Taco took the quickest route to the kitchen counter where she lick-lick-licked at her shoulder.
Smiling, Waverly hugged a pillow to her chest.
"I should go to bed," she said. "You going to wait up for Omma?"
-
With a feigned look of taken offence and raised hand, Iona protested. “I have done no such thing. My wife needs no encouragement.” It was partly true. Sometimes, Zora needed a little nudge in the right direction. She wasn’t big on socialising outside of family, for example. Iona had always been a mainstay at work socials, seeing it as something necessary to build a decent team spirit amongst her staff.
But encouragement on exciting new weapons and duelling techniques or something a little out there? No encouragement needed. It was woman power all the way.
The cat, all ashen pawed and a little put out pounced across to the kitchen work surface and Iona frowned. Poor puss, she’d quite forgotten about her.
With the suggestion of bed, Iona couldn’t help but yawn, a quick one behind her hand. She was tired enough, but she hated sleeping alone. It was strange, a 43-year-old witch who’d wrestled with werewolves and had the scars to show for it, was uncomfortable going to bed when her wife was out. She smiled down at her daughter.
“You go. I’ve got my book to finish.” Clearly nothing to do with the empty bed down the corridor.
Wav got up, they shared a quick hug, and Iona was left alone in the living room where she flung herself onto the pile of cushions and wondered if her daughter would ever grow up and find a career.
END