Aaron had always been good at turning serious moments into sarcastic one-liners. It was, arguably, his most consistent talent in life, right next to making enemies out of anyone with more than three brain cells. But as he stood in the middle of a crowded marketplace, watching Nostoria's bustling streets from the sidelines, he couldn't help but think: Man, I'd kill for a good Wi-Fi signal right now.
Leaning against a stone wall, arms crossed, Aaron watched as people went about their business, trading goods, gossiping, and probably plotting minor political coups. The usual medieval fare. It was the perfect setting for a joke, but he didn't even know where to start.
"I could roast the clothes," he muttered, eyeing the roughspun tunics and questionable hats. "But they'd probably ask me what 'drip' even means, and explaining streetwear to medieval peasants is just too much work."
He took a breath and stretched his arms out, cracking his neck. "I'm stuck in a world where the highest form of fashion is… well, whatever that guy's wearing." He pointed at a man whose outfit was a strange mix of animal pelts and poorly dyed fabric, resembling something like a Halloween costume gone wrong. "Looks like a mash-up between a Viking cosplay and one of those carpet salesmen who insists you need a new rug."
Despite himself, Aaron smirked. Making snide remarks was easy, but it felt hollow today. He was itching for a real conversation—something that let him use his darker brand of humor. He wanted to shake things up, but this wasn't exactly Earth, where everyone at least pretended to get his sarcastic rants. Nostoria was more… straightforward.
Or, at least, most people were.
His mind wandered back to Kaelyn. Now she got it. The blacksmith with the sharp eyes and sharper tongue. She could go toe-to-toe with him in a battle of wit, and she didn't flinch when his jokes dipped into darker, more uncomfortable territory. She'd laugh at things most people would recoil from. Which, honestly, was a little worrying for both of them.
Aaron glanced around, noticing an older couple arguing over the price of what appeared to be a very misshapen turnip. Perfect. He sidled over to the vegetable stall, eyeing the turnip like it was the answer to all his problems.
"Ah yes," he said aloud, though not necessarily to anyone in particular, "the noble turnip. Staple food of peasants and future content for existentially sad farm-to-table restaurants in the city. We love it."
The couple looked up at him, confused.
Aaron smiled, holding the turnip up as if it were a rare gem. "In my world, this would be marketed as an organic, non-GMO, vegan superfood. You'd pay like, twenty bucks for a salad made out of this thing and be told it's a 'detox meal.' But let's be real, you'd still leave hungry."
The man looked at Aaron like he'd just sprouted a second head.
Aaron shrugged, putting the turnip back. "Guess that joke didn't land. Maybe you're more of a carrot crowd."
Before he could spiral into a string of increasingly weird vegetable-based puns, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Talking to turnips now? Must be a new low, even for you."
Aaron turned, grinning as Kaelyn approached, her arms full of supplies for the forge. She had that casual confidence he admired—like she was comfortable anywhere, even while balancing a sack of coal on one shoulder and three bundles of wood under her arm.
"Well," Aaron said, his voice taking on a faux-solemn tone, "I figured if I'm going to talk to someone who understands me, a vegetable is a safe bet. Low expectations, no judgment."
Kaelyn chuckled, shaking her head. "You've officially lost it."
Aaron smirked. "Officially? Babe, I've been off the rails since my first existential crisis at age seven. That's when I found out Santa wasn't real. Total mood killer."
Kaelyn raised an eyebrow. "You believed in Santa?"
"I was a kid," Aaron replied, shrugging. "Hadn't yet become the jaded, sarcastic man you see before you. I was young and full of hope. Then, bam—reality hits. The guy in the red suit is a fraud, and I was left questioning every major institution. First Santa, then the Tooth Fairy, and next thing you know, you're staring down the barrel of capitalism, trying to make sense of the 'American Dream.'"
Kaelyn paused, watching him with an amused glint in her eye. "I thought you'd already given up on most things before you got here."
Aaron snapped his fingers, pointing at her. "Exactly! That's why I'm thriving in Nostoria. No capitalism here. Just swords, poorly made furniture, and a medieval barter system. It's like I'm finally free."
She laughed, but there was a curious look on her face. "You ever going to stop roasting everything around you?"
Aaron pretended to think about it. "Probably not. But, hey, at least I'm consistent."
Kaelyn put her load of supplies down for a moment, stretching her arms. "You know," she said, her tone shifting slightly, "not everything here is worth mocking. Some things are... good."
Aaron cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Like what?"
She met his gaze, her eyes steady. "Well, for one, people here don't spend all their time glued to magical boxes or arguing over who's the better superhero."
Aaron grinned, sensing an opening. "Don't get me started on superheroes. Back home, everyone's obsessed with them. You'd think they were the saviors of society or something. Newsflash: most of them are just billionaire narcissists with way too much free time."
Kaelyn smirked, crossing her arms. "You sound like you've got a bone to pick with them."
"Let me tell you, the whole Avengers thing? Big team-up movie with superheroes fighting aliens? It's basically just a more glamorous way of saying 'bunch of rich people with daddy issues solve their problems by punching things.'" He paused, then added with a grin, "Plus, if we're being real, Iron Man is basically just Jeff Bezos with cooler gadgets."
Kaelyn chuckled, her expression softening. "So what you're saying is... you'd make a terrible superhero."
"Me? A superhero?" Aaron scoffed, shaking his head. "No thanks. I'd be the guy everyone calls when they've screwed up and they need someone to point out how ridiculous their plan was. I'd be like the anti-hero who's just there to roast the real heroes for their bad decisions."
"Sounds about right," Kaelyn said, smirking.
Aaron leaned against a nearby stall, crossing his arms. "And don't even get me started on how unrealistic it is. Superpowers are cool and all, but none of these guys ever deal with the real consequences of their actions. Like, Thor can level a city, and somehow he still gets to go home, chill with his hammer, and no one makes him pay for the damages?"
Kaelyn raised an eyebrow. "You want superheroes to... pay taxes?"
Aaron snapped his fingers again, a grin spreading across his face. "Exactly! That's the kind of accountability we need. Captain America can save the day all he wants, but somebody's gotta foot the bill when he throws his shield through a skyscraper. I'd love to see him arguing with the IRS about his 'heroic deductions.'"
Kaelyn shook her head, laughing. "I'm starting to see why you left your world behind."
Aaron shrugged. "It wasn't so much leaving as it was getting accidentally dropped into a parallel universe. But yeah, if I had the choice, I'd say this place has a few perks. I mean, sure, the plumbing situation is... questionable, and I'm pretty sure everyone here bathes like twice a month, but hey—no superheroes wrecking stuff and getting off scot-free."
Kaelyn watched him for a moment, her smile softening. "You know, you're pretty good at pretending like you don't care about anything. But you do."
Aaron froze, her words cutting through his usual sarcasm like a hot knife. He wasn't expecting that level of insight—especially not from Kaelyn, who usually played along with his jokes. But here she was, calling him out on his own game.
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. For once, Aaron didn't have a snappy comeback.
Kaelyn tilted her head, giving him that knowing look. "You care. You just don't like to show it."
Aaron sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well... caring's overrated. Doesn't usually work out."
She stepped closer, her voice softening. "Maybe. But it's worth it sometimes."
Aaron looked at her, feeling that strange twist in his chest again. He wasn't used to people seeing through him so easily. But with Kaelyn, it wasn't scary. It was... comforting. Like maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to be the sarcastic, emotionally detached guy all the time.
"Thanks for the therapy session, Dr. Kaelyn," he said, his voice light but sincere.
She smiled. "Anytime. I take payment in sarcasm and roasted superheroes."
Aaron chuckled, feeling the tension between them ease. "Deal."