“Heads up!”

Perched atop a power line, Mara reaches into the sleeves of her black cloak, procuring ten cackling skeleton heads. She tosses them at the spider army that’s begun its advance down 31st and Woe, fist-pumping the air in delight when her flaming projectiles meet their mark.

Evidently, it’s a lonely sentiment. Thorny vines creep down the dilapidated post office and abandoned coffee house that flank her on either side. Beau descends from above, his evergreen brows furrowed as he envelopes his own squadron of the army in a thorny prison. “Do you just sit around all day thinking of dreadful little jokes?”

“Of course not”, Mara objects, spinning her staff about and accidentally whacking herself in the eye. Cheeks aglow, she lets out an awkward chuckle, then rights it and leaps down beside him. “Lately, I’ve been working on a theme song for us and-”

Hands morphed into two cacti fists, Beau rolls his eyes and snorts, “We don’t need a theme song” as he smashes the spiders into twin piles of goo.

“Okay, but don’t we, though? I think it’s time we started thinking about our brand.” She cuts herself off, purple streaks trailing from her fingers when she presses them together and points them at a spider, smirking when it collapses into a pile of ash. “Wouldn’t it make sense to have something that makes a statement about who we are?”

The look Beau sends her is fond, even if the tone of his voice seems to imply something else. “And who are we exactly?”

“Well, that’s, heh, the point of the theme song”, Mara lets out a tad unevenly before she clears her throat. “So that’s a no then?”

A full second passes before he averts his stare, a small smile upon his lips when he says, “It’s a maybe”. He then looks over her shoulder, jerking his head as he straightens his stance. “I think we’ve found the mother.”

“What makes you say…that?” She trails off at the sight of a giant spider hissing atop a statue of the founder, Angelo Ortiz. Her shoulders fall as a groan escapes her. “And it was such a good day.”

A torrent of spiders rushes towards them, Beau affording them all little more than a scowl before he clenches his hand into a fist. “That’s up for debate.”

“Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross”, Mara shudders, directing streak after streak of purple magic at the spiders and yelping when several begin creeping up her temporary cape. “Fuck!”

A green blast of moss and marigolds consumes the army before Beau emerges, his eyes incredulous as he stares down at her, stomping through a path of dandelions as he muses, “You are a necromancer. Aren’t you supposed to have an inclination to death and bugs?”

“Well, you’re a chlorokinetic.” With a huff, she summons a dark cloud and comes to rest on it criss cross applesauce, chin propped in her hands. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice to plants?”

Beau approaches the giant spider, his smile taking on a playful smirk. “Don’t put me in a box.” He summons his cacti gauntlets and, with just three quick punches, the mother spider shrieks before it, and all its accompanying spiders, explode in a disgusting pink goo. He simply stands there for a moment.

“Now, I’d call that a good day”, Mara happily declares as she strides forward to wipe some of the goo off his face. His smile grows warmer, only to almost immediately thin out at the sight of an approaching crowd. She straightens her shoulders before she tucks her hands into the flaps of her cloak. “Play nice.”

Sporting a decidedly not nice expression, Beau mutters, “I always do”, his eyebrows furrowed when someone shoves a microphone in his face. “What do you want?”

“What my colleague here means to say.” Mara elbows him gently, then turns back to the reporter. “Is we’re happy to answer any and all questions you may have concerning Madame Arachnid's latest attack.”

The reporter casts a sideways glance her way, watching her as if she’s something he might’ve scraped off the bottom of his shoe. “Actually, we were wondering if we could get a statement from Bramble concerning Cupid’s decision to attend the Super Masquerade Ball this year. Think it has anything to do with you having recently come out of retirement?”

“I wouldn’t know. Cupid and I haven’t spoken in years”, Beau responds briskly. “But seeing as she is the city’s chosen hero, it’s fitting that she should attend the Ball.”

Another reporter pushes forward, her eyes wide when she interjects, “Since we’re on the subject, is this partnership official or just temporary until you patch things up with Cupid?”

“Would you look at the time? There’s a giant vat of waste that got knocked over at the First Angel Plant, so we really should get going.” Without further ado, Beau summons a beanstalk that propels them into the air, a heavy sigh escaping him as he directs it to carry them above the skyline.  “I’d like to apologize on their behalf.”

But Mara just shrugs, her smile genuine as she lowers to sit upon one of the outstretched leaves of the beanstalk. “You don’t have to. Believe it or not, that's one of my better moments with the press.” When he just looks at her, seemingly conflicted, her smile grows stronger. “That’s a good thing. That means things are getting better.”

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it”, Beau muses, then looks away, his eyes shielded by his shaggy yellow hair. “I hope you don’t take any of that stuff about Cupid and I seriously. We stopped a few bank heists when she first moved here, and the world’s just never been able to forget it.”

She just shrugs, then says, “Hey, it’s okay. I mean, let’s face it, y’all were a match made in heaven. No pun intended”. She hadn’t quite realized just how much, of course, until she actually moved here. But it’s not like it’s a problem. She looks over at him, lips pressed tightly together before she says, “But hey, I mean, the Ball’s coming up soon. Maybe y’all could reconnect while you’re there”.

“...While I’m there?” Beau frowns, seemingly confused. When Mara returns his perplexed expression with one of her own, he scoffs. “It’s typical for partners to attend this thing together.”

Surprised, Mara can only lift her eyebrows before looking away from him. “You mean, you want me to go to the Ball with you?” 

“Yes”, he says matter-of-factly. “Who else would I go with?”

A breath escapes her before she answers, “Literally anyone else in the world. I’m not exactly winning any popularity contests”.

“I think the mob of groupies outside would beg to differ.” At the slight nod of the head Mara gives, Beau sits up straighter, as if emboldened when he holds out a hand. In the palm of which, mind you, sits a cactus. She turns a confused stare upon him, and he bites his lower lip. “I was trying to make daisies…Come to the Ball with me?”

Mara smiles, careful as she picks up the prickly plant and holds it close. “Okay.”