The stage was set, and Aaron stood on it, gazing out at the growing crowd, which had finally started to show signs of life after Lina's little pep talk. The contestants had lined up on the side, an eclectic mix of townspeople, all eager—or at least curious—to show off their talents.
Aaron glanced down at the scroll in his hand, which was supposed to contain a list of the day's acts. He'd barely skimmed it, because, honestly, how bad could it be?
Answer: Very. Extremely. Catastrophically bad.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen," Aaron called out, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. "Let's get this show started. First up, we have… uh…" He squinted at the scroll. "...Grog the Mighty, with his… sword-swallowing act."
The crowd gasped. Of course there's a sword swallower. Because what's a talent show without the very real possibility of disembowelment?
A giant of a man, built like a boulder with legs, lumbered onto the stage, holding a massive sword that looked more suited to cleaving enemies in two than being shoved down someone's throat. Aaron took a step back, eyeing the sword with a mixture of disbelief and morbid curiosity.
"Alright, Grog," Aaron said, his voice taking on that familiar deadpan tone. "Let's see what you've got. Just… you know… don't die on stage. I'd rather not spend the rest of my life explaining to the townspeople how their favorite sword-swallower accidentally skewered himself because of my 'revolutionary' talent show."
Grog nodded with the seriousness of someone who clearly didn't understand sarcasm, then raised the sword high above his head.
Aaron leaned toward Lina, who had joined him at the side of the stage. "You think there's a Plan B for when this guy impales himself and bleeds out in front of a live audience? I'm not exactly trained in disaster management."
Lina gave him a sideways glance, her lips twitching as she tried to suppress a smile. "Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Yeah," Aaron muttered, folding his arms. "That's usually how it goes with me. Things always go perfectly well and nothing ever catches on fire."
Just as he finished speaking, Grog began to lower the sword, inching it slowly toward his open mouth. The crowd held its breath, completely entranced by the spectacle. Aaron, on the other hand, was pretty sure this would be the moment when things would take a turn for the worst. After all, it was him at the helm of this disaster, and when had anything ever gone according to plan?
In a shocking twist of events, Grog successfully swallowed the sword—his throat bulging in a way that made Aaron gag—and raised his arms in triumph. The crowd erupted in applause, and Aaron blinked in surprise.
"Huh," he said. "Well, what do you know? No one died."
Lina clapped beside him, grinning. "See? Maybe your luck's turning around."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Don't say things like that. The universe can hear you. And it loves irony."
Grog took his bow, waved to the crowd, and carefully removed the sword from his throat without any blood or internal organs following it. He left the stage to thunderous applause, and Aaron had to admit—okay, maybe this talent show thing wasn't a complete dumpster fire after all.
"Next up," Aaron announced, reading from the scroll again, "we've got… Mira the Enchantress, with a display of mystical fire-breathing."
The crowd ooohed in unison, and Aaron sighed. Of course it's fire-breathing. He had barely survived one stage collapse; now he had to deal with someone literally spitting fire? Great.
A young woman with fiery red hair (no surprise there) took the stage, carrying what looked like an old wine bottle filled with some kind of flammable liquid. Aaron watched her with a mix of fascination and horror. His brain was already going through all the ways this could go wrong—starting with accidental self-immolation and ending with him being blamed for setting the town square on fire.
Mira smiled at the crowd, raised the bottle to her lips, and took a deep swig. Then, with a quick flick of her hand, she produced a flame, and with a mighty breath, she expelled a torrent of fire into the air.
The crowd gasped in awe as the flames roared above their heads. Aaron, however, wasn't as easily impressed.
"Uh-huh," he murmured under his breath, nudging Lina. "I give it about thirty seconds before she sets the stage on fire."
"No faith?" Lina teased, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Aaron shrugged. "I mean, have you met me? My faith in anything not exploding is practically nonexistent."
As if on cue, the second burst of fire came dangerously close to the wooden stage backdrop, and Aaron winced. "See? What did I tell you? We're about five seconds away from having a bonfire for an audience."
Mira, clearly oblivious to the impending danger, continued to breathe fire with increasing enthusiasm, each blast bigger than the last. The crowd was loving it. Aaron? Not so much.
"I feel like I should have invested in a bucket of water or, you know, a fire extinguisher," Aaron muttered, rubbing his temples. "But I'm sure everything's totally fine. Nothing bad ever happens when you mix open flames with cheap, flammable stage materials."
Lina laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You're terrible."
"Terrible?" Aaron scoffed. "Nah, I'm just realistic. Or as I like to call it: pessimistically accurate."
Just as Aaron predicted, disaster struck. On her final breath of fire, Mira overdid it. A massive plume of flame shot into the air, and one of the stage curtains immediately caught fire, sending the crowd into a panic.
"Perfect," Aaron muttered as the flames spread, licking up the wooden structure. "It's not a real talent show until something spontaneously combusts."
Lina, ever the optimist, jumped into action, rallying the nearby townspeople to help put out the fire. Aaron, meanwhile, stood in the middle of the chaos, watching as everything went exactly as he had expected.
"Well, at least no one's dead," he said to himself, grabbing a nearby bucket of water and casually tossing it on the flames. "Yet."
By some miracle, the fire was contained before it could spread to the rest of the stage. The audience, after the initial panic, calmed down once they realized no one was in immediate danger, though several of them were now watching the proceedings with a wary eye, as if they were expecting the next act to involve live explosives.
Mira, the fire-breathing disaster waiting to happen, had been ushered off the stage by Tobias, who was frantically reassuring her that she hadn't just doomed the entire show. Aaron, however, was less concerned about her feelings and more concerned about the fact that the curtain still smelled like charred wood.
"Alright, folks!" Aaron called out, trying to salvage the situation. "Let's hear it for Mira and her… explosive talent!" The crowd, still slightly shaken, clapped hesitantly. "And now, moving on! What's next on the list of potential calamities?"
He glanced down at the scroll and read the next name aloud. "Ah, right. Borgo the Magnificent, with… uh… interpretive dance?"
Aaron's face twisted into an expression of pure confusion. "Wait, what? Interpretive dance? In this town?"
Sure enough, a wiry man in flowing purple robes, his head shaved bald except for a single ponytail, floated onto the stage like he was gliding on air. Borgo was the kind of person you'd expect to see running a yoga class in a park while talking about chakras and positive energy. Except this wasn't a park, and Aaron doubted Borgo had any idea what positive energy actually looked like.
"Well, this oughta be good," Aaron muttered as Borgo took center stage and struck what could only be described as a very dramatic pose.
"I feel like we're about to witness something really profound," Lina whispered, suppressing a giggle.
"Yeah," Aaron deadpanned. "So profound that my brain might shut down to avoid processing it."
Borgo began his routine, moving in slow, deliberate circles while occasionally flailing his arms in what Aaron could only assume was an attempt to communicate something artistic. The crowd, however, was not impressed. A few people shifted uncomfortably, while others exchanged confused looks.
Aaron leaned closer to Lina. "Do you think we should explain to the audience that this is art? Because right now, I'm pretty sure they think he's having a stroke."
Lina snorted. "Maybe it's better if we just let this one play out."
Aaron smirked. "Oh, I'm definitely letting it play out. I mean, this is basically what happens in every Oscar-bait movie. People pretend they understand it, but really, they're just waiting for the credits to roll."
Borgo continued his performance—if you could call it that—twisting and contorting himself into increasingly ridiculous poses. At one point, he stood on one leg and stretched his arms toward the sky, as if channeling the energy of the universe, or maybe just trying to scratch his back.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Borgo ended his routine with a flourish, standing perfectly still in the middle of the stage, his arms outstretched as if he had just unlocked the secrets of existence.
There was a long, awkward silence. The crowd didn't clap. They just stared.
Aaron, never one to let an awkward moment pass without making it worse, stepped forward and gave Borgo a slow, sarcastic clap. "Wow. Truly magnificent. I mean, I've never seen anyone attempt that many positions without pulling something."
Borgo, oblivious to the sarcasm, beamed and took a deep bow. "Thank you, thank you! I call it 'The Winds of Destiny.'"
Aaron blinked. "Right. More like the 'Winds of Whatever That Was.'"
Lina shook her head, trying to stifle her laughter. "You're awful."
"Yeah," Aaron said with a smirk. "But at least I'm honest."
By the end of the talent show, the stage had somehow survived—well, mostly. Sure, there was still the smell of charred wood hanging in the air, and a few of the more… eccentric acts had nearly derailed the entire event, but all things considered, it hadn't been the worst disaster in Aaron's recent history.
Tobias approached him as the crowd began to disperse, clapping him on the back. "Aaron! That was spectacular! A true spectacle!"
Aaron gave him a look. "Tobias, buddy, I'm pretty sure half the town's going to have nightmares about Borgo's interpretive dance. But sure, let's call it a win."
Tobias, ever the optimist, waved a hand. "Nonsense! The people loved it. They'll be talking about this for weeks!"
Aaron sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of."
As the square emptied and the last of the contestants packed up their props, Aaron found himself standing alone on the stage, staring out at the aftermath of the day's events. The stage creaked under his weight, and he half-expected it to collapse just to spite him.
"Hey," Lina's voice came from behind him. She walked over, standing next to him as they both surveyed the now-empty square. "You did it. The talent show was a success. Well, mostly."
Aaron smirked, shaking his head. "Yeah. Mostly. I'm still not convinced we won't get sued for something, though."
Lina chuckled. "You're impossible."
"True," Aaron agreed, turning to face her. "But I make impossible look good."
Lina rolled her eyes, but her smile softened the gesture. "You know, you might actually be good at this. Maybe chaos is your thing."
Aaron raised an eyebrow. "Or maybe I'm just really good at surviving it."
Lina met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. "Either way, you've got something special, Aaron. Don't underestimate yourself."
Aaron, uncomfortable with compliments as always, shrugged it off with a grin. "Hey, as long as no one's throwing tomatoes at me, I'll call it a win."
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the square, Aaron allowed himself a rare moment of peace. Sure, it had been chaotic, and yeah, there had been some close calls with fire, swords, and interpretive dance. But somehow, against all odds, he'd pulled it off.
For now, at least.