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.