It’s a little awkward at first. A necromancer and a chlorokinetic working together, naturally, there’s going to be a few mishaps. And as you can imagine, everyone and their mother has something to say about the pairing, venturing as far as to say it’s a publicity stunt on Bramble’s part to garner interest in his theory about the secret necromancers in Miracle City. And of course, the supervillains just think the whole thing’s a riot, oftentimes sneering and wondering when the real superheroes will arrive.

And yeah, it’s annoying. Like, really annoying. But at the end of the day, she’s able to shrug all the nonsense off because Bramble…is nice. And patient. And understanding when she fucks up, and make no mistake, she fucks up a lot. So it doesn’t really matter what anyone else has to say. At the very least, it’s a hell of a lot better than what she had in Calamity City.

“I think this could actually work out”, Mara sighs as she closes the bathroom door behind her. “He took me to do some more digging on his investigation, no pun intended, and he didn’t yell at me when I accidentally resurrected the whole cemetery.”

Val’s image flickers within the pages of her spellbook before she responds, “Honey, I’m so happy you’re getting along good here. And so sad that your standards are that low”. At the roll of the eyes Mara gives, she smiles, visibly distracted by the arrow she’s currently mending. “Are the flytraps giving you hell?”

“Not really. I mean, they were a pain the first few weeks, but I think they’re starting to come around to me.”

Val hisses as her arrow suddenly snaps, eyes narrowed as she scoops the fractured weapon up and tosses it over her shoulder. “Can I call you back? I lost all my arrows if you can believe it, and I’m not due for another shipment ‘til Friday.”

“Oh. Uh, sure, yeah”, Mara says after a moment, and her spellbook flips close, ending the magical call. With a shrug, she leans over the tub and turns on the water. Soon enough, she’s submerged herself in water, bubbles up to her ears as she leans her head back and lets out a contented sigh. She’s about to settle in when she allows her eyes to drift to the window off to the left, her eyes as wide as cauldrons when they lock onto what appears to be a giant rose monster. Mouth agape, Mara can only stare for a moment before she hauls her ass out of the tub. “No fucking way.”

She hastily towels herself off, then slips into a pair of black shorts and a lavender t-shirt. Slipping her mask over her face, she then tosses open the door to the bathroom. Within moments, she’s tracked Bramble down to the living room, who tears his stare from the two waterwheel plants he’s currently scolding to say, “Good morning, Tombs”.

“Morning! Are you seeing this?” She rushes over to the window, hands up against the glass as she stares in awe at the mass of roses making their way through Seraphim Park. “Is this you?”

The plants let out a gargled noise before they skitter off down the hall, prompting an annoyed scowl from Bramble. “Definitely not. The city does it every year.” When Mara just turns to stare at him, wanting him to say the words, he lets out a long, tired sigh and turns his back to her. “It’s a flower parade.”

“You’re kidding”, Mara scoffs, grin stretching impossibly wide before she turns back to watch the parade in question. “And they have a rose float. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A grunt escapes Bramble before he gruffly answers, “I wasn’t aware you were such a fan”.

“They’re roses, B. Of course, I’m a fan.” She shakes her head. “Who doesn’t like roses?”

Bramble just sighs, then he kneels in front of the throw pillow torn to pieces on the floor. “Lots of people, actually. They smell horrible, and they’re thorny.”

“Okay, Mr. Pessimist”, Mara snorts with a roll of the eyes. With a longing stare, she bids the window goodbye before joining Bramble on the floor, scooping up the tattered pieces of pillow one at a time. “Why didn’t you join? I’ve seen you make some amazing shit out of plants, you’d do great out there.”

A growl escapes him before he quickly rises to his feet, calling out over his shoulder as he goes, “I have far more important things to tend to than flowers”. His steps waver for a moment then, and his voice softens. He drops his ruined pillow in the kitchen garbage, his eyes crestfallen. “And even if I didn’t, there…there isn’t exactly a market for cacti and venus flytraps in a flower parade.”

“There might be if anybody ever gave it a chance.” All at once, the atmosphere seems to change, and Mara finds herself uncertain of how to proceed. “Well, in any case, they’re missing out. Imagine if that had been your rose float coming down the street.”

The silence stretches thin between them. And when at last Bramble finally speaks, his voice is softer than she’s ever heard it. “I don’t know how to make roses.”

“...Well, sure you can”, Mara muses after a moment. But as she stands there, pondering the many moments she’s seen him conjure some facet of nature of another, she comes up short. She’s seen him work with vines, venus flytraps, moss, the occasional dandelion. But never roses. Not in person anyway. “I mean, there’s tons of footage of you making them.”

Bramble crosses his arms over his chest, then quietly answers, “That was before I’d forgotten how. I haven’t been able to make so much as a rosebush in years”. His shoulders fall ever so slightly. “It just…doesn’t seem right. Participating when I have nothing to offer.”

“I doubt the mob of groupies outside would say the same.” All the same, she lifts a hand to her skeleton pendant, turning her stare to the window once more. And then she smiles, an idea coming to mind. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still go see it, though.”

A shake of the head is all she gets in return, hair the color of the sun tickling his shoulders as he does so. “I’m afraid I’m not up for mingling today.”

“We wouldn’t have to mingle with anyone”, she explains, and when he falls silent, simply watching her, she presses on. “I know the perfect spot where no one would bother us. Or you, if you’d rather go alone.”

The silence stretches further before Bramble asks, “No one knows about it? It’s entirely secluded?” At the nod, she gives in return, he hums lightly to himself. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

“Really?” A timid smile climbs to her lips. “I-I can stay back if you want.”

But he just shakes his head. “No. In my experience, it’s always better to attend the Miracle Parade with someone than without.”

“...Okay”, Mara says after a moment, then clears her throat and goes to trace a portal out of the air, only to falter when Bramble lifts a hand to stop her. She frowns. “What?”

But he just rolls his eyes, accepting the green cloak a vine passes him. He fastens it around his neck, then says, “We’re walking”. When she groans in protest, he smiles, a small but noticeable thing. “You miss a lot when you portal.”

“You only say that because you haven’t spent enough time in the Dead Realm.” All the same, Mara tucks away her spellbook. She tosses open the door to the balcony, hops atop the railing, and leaps onto the pizzeria next door. After a backwards glance to make sure he’s following, she hums to herself before she breaks into a sprint. She clears the rooftops of Miracle City with some struggle, and by the time they arrive at the Two Angels Library, she’s panting. Maybe she could stand to portal a little less.

Bramble casts a curious stare about the crumbling steps of the archaic building. “So this is the place.” He gives a minute nod of the head. “It’s not bad. It’s a walking health code violation, but it’s not bad.”

“Relax”, Mara says with a roll of the eyes. “I know a local here, she can tell us all the good spots and the bad spots.”

Bramble just frowns, the question within his eyes flickering away as the apparition of a woman from the 19th Century emerges before them. Sat atop a collapsed pillar with her  decapitated head resting in her lap, she offers them a kind smile before saying, “Hello, dear. Back again already?” Her eyes then drift to Bramble. “Oh, my. You two are a walking juxtaposition if I’ve ever seen one.”

“We get that a lot.” Bramble clears his throat, then casts an uncertain stare about the cobweb-covered ceilings of the Library. “There’s a, um, parade. My friend here says you know a good place to watch it.”

Josephine just hums to herself before she clears her throat. Her body jolts before it lifts a hand to point at an oblong door to the left. “There’s the old garden. It’s fallen to ruins, of course, but I think that rather adds to the appeal. And, of course, stationed where it is, it should allow you to view your parade in seclusion.”

“See? I told you, it’s perfect”, Mara says with a smile cast Bramble’s way. With a thankful nod of the head sent Josephine’s way, the two stride to the old garden in question, taking a seat atop a shattered limestone bench. She tucks one ankle against the other and allows her eyes to settle upon the mass of dead tree branches. At the center, there’s a hole that looks straight down Main Street.

She’s deep in thought when Bramble abruptly says, “I take it you’ve been here before”. When she simply smiles and shrugs, he rolls his eyes. “I suppose I can see why this would appeal to you. Everything’s dead here. Why you’re so keen on this parade, however, is a mystery to me.”

“I know, I know. What interest could a necromancer possibly have in a flower parade?” She smiles all the same, her stare fond as she watches a sunflower float in the shape of the sun rounds the corner and inches, unknowingly towards them.

Bramble’s silent for a moment, a pleased hum escaping him at the sight of a float dedicated to the flowers of the desert. “Well, you have to admit, it is a tad perplexing.”

“Maybe”, she cedes with a tilt of the head. “But I still enjoy a flower just as much as the next girl.” Her smile tightens ever so slightly. “Even if it starts to wilt immediately after I touch it.”

A flower petal wafts up from below, tantalizing as it dances on the wind before it finally comes to rest in the palm of Bramble’s hand. He folds his fingers over it, lips pressed tightly together before he muses, “I’m sorry. I suppose I assumed necromancers had a natural opposition to the living”.

“Most of us do. But…I don’t. I guess I’ve just always been drawn to them. They’re fragile, but they’re always changing, you know, always adapting. They’re alive in a way I’ll never know, and I guess that’s…I don’t know. Inspiring or something.” When he remains silent, she pulls her stare away from the parade, an amused smile gracing her lips at the strange look within his eyes. She looks away, lifting a hand to rub the back of her neck. “Sorry. We came to watch the parade, and I’m rambling.”

But Bramble just shakes his head, his voice thick when he speaks. “No, no, that’s not…I-I was just thinking that that was…really poetic of you.” He then rises to his feet, not quite meeting her eyes. “This has been lovely, truthfully. But if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to return home now. Via portal, please.”

“...Oh. Okay, sure”, Mara says. Within moments, they’re stepping back into the halls of the Green House. Quite a few of his plants rush to greet him, and Mara bites her lower lip, wondering if she’s misstepped somehow. She lets the flaps of her cloak close around her and stands there for a moment.

Thankfully, she isn’t the one that has to break the silence. Bramble swats away his plants, then says, with the tiniest hint of a smile, “Thank you. For today. I…I had fun”.

“...You don’t have to do that, Bramble.” She shuffles her feet, doubting herself. “I should’ve picked another place. I know the whole undead thing isn’t for everyone.

A moment ensues where Bramble just watches her before finally looking away. “Maybe it isn’t for everyone. But all the same, I quite enjoyed it.” He turns to leave, pausing only to glance back at her with a strangely guarded expression. “And you…you can call me Beau.”

With that, he strides down the hall before disappearing around the corner. Jefferson emerges not long after. Mara just shrugs.

“Beats me”, she says and tries to push the strangeness of the encounter to the back of her mind as she ventures into the kitchen in search of something to eat.