Moving In part one

Stoick rose early and rummaged through the shelves, looking for something to eat. He lacked the leisure for a sit-down meal; today he would divide his time between his duties to Berk and monitoring the activities at home. Yesterday, his brother agreed to letting Snotlout live here and study under Hiccup, though he phrased it differently. “Only your son is daft enough to come up with this, brother.” The remark translated to “Yes,” and that’s all Stoick required.


Stoick kept watching his house, wondering about what was transpiring between the two boys. He noted Toothless nudging Hookfang away from the front door and steering him to the training arena. Toothless’ irritation and Hookfang’s slow gait suggested the proud Nightmare had been used as a pack animal for Snotlout’s move. Snotlout’s future now included an encounter with a pissed-off Night Fury; his son’s dragon protected the others and Snotlout earned a black mark for this stunt.



Stoick watched his house, wondering what was transpiring between the two boys. He was not alone in this; earlier, he stood in the plaza and watched Phlegma ascend the stairs to his front door, stopping four steps from the top. She returned to Stoick and announced their voices were audible outside and they were having a spirited debate. All morning, people greeted him with an attitude of either cheerful amusement or sympathetic support. The village decided Hiccup’s grand enterprise meant entertainment for them, and waited for developments. Gobber’s irreverent “Go find out what they’re doing; I’ve a wager on this,” provided Stoick the impetus to investigate. stood in the open doorway and studied the inside. All the furniture was on the right side of the room, and almost every crate. Scuff marks showed an effort to move the heavy barrels before common sense broke out and they abandoned the idea. He heard footsteps, thumping, and snatches of conversation from upstairs.

Snotlout was moving in.

Stoick forced a path through the furnishings. He knew the house would be a wreck, and that neither Hiccup nor Snotlout would remember details like closing the door or leaving him a path to navigate the downstairs. He expected the bangs and muttering and occasional sounds of injury, indicated by creative cursing and a sudden lowering of their voices; in no way did they want him hearing the more colorful language they knew. Stoick poured himself a tankard of mead and settled into his chair. He dropped by to witness—well, overhear—the move-in.

The muttering grew louder, and Stoick caught the tone of Hiccup’s voice. Stoick’s years of familiarity with his son taught him every nuance of how the boy spoke. His voice was a guide to his moods, and Stoick heard restraint battling with shades of frustration, irritation, obstinacy, and a measure of it’s-my-room, Snotlout. Stoick’s nephew was using his default setting: stubborn, annoying, and smug.

“Snotlout, what are you doing?” Stoick noted a dragging noise.

“I’m moving my bed to that corner. Why did you leave it at the top of the stairs, anyway? It’s a stupid location.”

“I left it there because it’s my bed, not yours.”

“It was your bed. Now I’m here it’s mine, because I’m a guest. You have to show hospitality to me, or you’re dishonored, right?”

Stoick raised an eyebrow. An interesting ploy and not one he expected from his nephew. Snotlout did not bother with tribal etiquette; he looked that up to harass Hiccup. Stoick awarded him a point.

“No. You are not poor or homeless or a visiting dignitary. I am not surrendering my bed to you.”

“You have to, cuz. I need a place to get my beauty rest and there’s nowhere else to sleep.” The smugness was taking precedence.

“There’s a floor, Snotlout. You’re sleeping there.” Hiccup had focused on it’s-my-room, a battle he lost before Snotlout entered the house.

“What! No way am I sleeping on the floor while you get the bed, Hiccup. I need to be comfortable. So far, you’re doing a rotten job of making me welcome, y’know.”

“It only fits one person, or I’d share with you.” Stoick snorted. Liar. “You have plenty of room on the floor, more than I do in the bed. I’ll make sure you have extra blankets. I’ll even let you have my furs.”

furs.”

“I’m not giving you the bed, Hiccup.” Stoick imagined the scene: Hiccup glaring at his cousin, trying to out-stubborn Snotlout, while his nephew folded his arms and acted like Hiccup needed an introduction to reality.

“It’s my bed. You can’t give me something you don’t possess.” His son had moved on to his are-you-serious tone, and Stoick grinned. Snotlout was winning. He knew exactly what buttons to push to rile Hiccup. His son was fortunate Snotlout was not claiming the entire loft, though he was capable of trying that stunt.

“Look, cuz, you’re a shrimp. If there’s plenty of room on the floor for me, then there’s even more for you. Besides, that giant rock takes up a lot of space. You’d have room for another bed if you ditched it.”

Ah. Hiccup had an untouched reservoir of boar-headedness about anything affecting Toothless, and Snotlout found it. His son was less willing to sacrifice his dragon’s comfort than his own and certainly not to his muttonhead cousin. He wondered if Snotlout knew about this.

“Well, he doesn’t need to, not when I’m living here.” No, he was clueless.

“What do you think I should do, Snot? Get rid of the slab? Evict Toothless? Buy you furniture?” Hiccup’s tone had an edge to it. Stoick rose and strode to the door. He wanted nothing to do with this argument. Stoick heard one last remark before he left.

“Yeah, all those. Then I’d feel like you actually cared about my welfare.”

Toothless lay outside, and lifted his head to watch Stoick. The dragon was curious about his departure, and Stoick took a moment to speak with him. “Toothless. Hiccup and Snotlout are working out arrangements for sharing the room. You might want to listen from out here before you go inside. I’m heading to the forge.” Stoick warned the dragon, and Toothless leapt to the roof outside Hiccup’s room.

Stoick was relating the tale to Gobber when Toothless arrived. He gave a snort to Stoick, settled himself in the door of the forge and took a nap. He did not want to be there, either.