Hope? What hope? Hope is ignorance. It's your ignorance that made me the boy who's standing here before you. If you don't like what you see, then don't look. One day you'll learn to open your eyes and admit that you only have yourself to blame.

Dark, heavy clouds rolled in, casting a shadow over the heavily populated city of Berk, blocking out the moon's soft glow and covering the stars that scattered across the sky in thick, swollen blankets. It was only a matter of time before they began to pour down over the metropolis.

And in a matter of time, they did.

Rain poured in buckets, coating the isolated streets with sheets of water almost at once. Half running, half stumbling down a puddled sidewalk, glowing with neon streetlights, was a smarter than average, smaller than average, teenaged boy with messy auburn hair and a sarcastic sense of humour. "Oh, lovely. Rain! Just what I needed." He choked to himself, tugging his green and white checkered hood over his head. The boy was out tonight to get revenge. His idea of revenge was vandalism. His idea of vandalism was graffiti. "I'd better make this quick, then."

Graffiti was a hobby of his, and he felt he could proudly say that it was something he was good at. He could easily lose himself in the colours and designs, spending hour upon hour covering the streets with them. However, keeping to his own property and places he was given permission to coat with multi coloured splatters was something he was not so good at. He slowed down as he crossed the road and stopped all together at a tall barbed fence standing between him and the train line. He threw himself at the track's perimetre, hoisting himself up and then seconds later, tumbling down the other side.

Being as clumsy in nature as he was, the boy didn't land as stylishly as he had pictured. Rather, he landed with a splash, face first in a nice big puddle. If he wasn't completely soaked before, he certainly was now. Grumbling, he climbed to his feet, wiping what mud he could from his jeans as he did so. After looking around to see if there was anyone around who might've seen him, he continued along the tracks, now running through shadows as opposed to streetlights.

It wasn't long before he reached his destination; the back of one of many tall brick buildings, with nothing but a few windows for decoration. This particular structure, one of many companies owned by his father, was his new canvas. The young artist thanked the Gods it was a windy night, as the rain was blowing towards the office from the front, leaving the back almost completely dry. With a smirk plastered to his freckled cheeks, he unzipped his backpack. He rummaged through the pouches and pulled out a large, waterproof torch that he used whenever he worked in the dark. Next he pulled out tattered bandanna and tied it hastily around his neck. He propped the torch up against the wall so that it lit up his canvas and set his bag down in the grass besides it, taking a small piece of chalk from his pocket. It was quite wet, and fell apart a little as he held it. Regardless, he took his medium to the wall and began to draw out a design that had been buzzing in his head for days.

It took a few goes to get it right, but once was happy with the sketch, the teenager stood back to examine his work in progress, arms crossed over his chest. "Time for paint." He couldn't help but to grin as he fixed his bandanna around the lower half of his face. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, he picked out the dark blue spray paint from his bag and shook it back and forth before holding it up to the cool bricks. The tin gave off a soft hiss as the paint hit the wall. "Hiccup!" But the hissing lasted only a moment. The boy jumped around, startled, nearly dropping the can.

"I thought that was you," A tall, muscular boy with dark hair and expensive clothing stepped into the torch's light.

"Snotlout! I uh, um! What are you doing here?" Hiccup stumbled over his words, shocked at being caught.

"I saw you climb over the fence, Useless. Wanted to see what you were up to." Snotlout was Hiccup's cousin. He was older by four years and he took it upon himself to snoop into the younger's business, no matter what it was.

"Well now you know. Goodbye!" The smaller boy turned his back to the other, holding the can to the bricks once again. Snotlout put his hand on his little cousin's shoulder and pulled him around, pushing up against the wall quite roughly.

"Dude, you're soaked. You're gonna catch a cold or something. I'm taking you home, whatever this is can wait."

"You drove here? How the hell did I not notice you in Fireworm? That bloody car sticks out more than Dad's ponytail." Hiccup retorted. Snotlout shrugged. "Thanks for the offer though," The artist added, clearing his throat, "But I'm not going home." He turned his back to his cousin, yet again, holding the can up to the wall for the third time and began to spray. Even a fool like Snotout could tell that his little cousin wasn't in the most fantastic of moods and he knew very well that once Hiccup had made up his mind, there was no changing it.

"I see." Snotlout sat down, leaning against the wall just out of the light. "You tell me when you're finished and I'll give you a lift back to my place, 'ight Useless?" he offered, pulling his leather jacket over his mouth to block out the paint's fumes. An express train rumbled along the tracks and the gust of wind it brought nearly knocked Hiccup off his feet. He steadied himself against the bricks.

"Yeah. But please stop calling me that."

A little less than an hour later, Hiccup stood proudly, hands on his hips admiring his now finished graffiti. Covering at least two square meters and smothered in electric-blue flames was the word "Nightfury". Above that was a picture of a fierce black dragon with glowing green eyes, leaping through the flames with the head of a viking clasped in gummy jaws. Snotlout stood behind him, his brows furrowed at the head's resemblance to Hiccup's father, but he was impressed nonetheless.

"Like it?"

"You amaze me, Useless. But you forgot his teeth." Snotlout remarked, dismissively. Hiccup rolled his eyes, packing his belongings back into his bag. "I didn't forget them, they're retractable." He muttered.

"Right."

By now it had stopped raining, and the two were on their way back to the car. There was complete silence, with the exception of the squelching of their shoes in the mud and a police car's siren singing a few blocks down.

"I sure hope it's not you they're after," Snotlout joked. "What were you and your old man fighting about, anyway?" There was a moment or two where Hiccup paused, and the bottom of his jumper was clenched into frustrated balls in his hands.

"Mum."

"Oh yeah?" Almost a year ago, Hiccup's parents had gone through a horrible divorce, after being married only a few years short of twenty. He'd taken it hard, and didn't like to talk about it. His mum was kicked out of the house, and now rented a cheap apartment on the sleazy side of town. "Well, are you planning on running away for long?" The younger boy threw his bag over the same fence that they had climbed over earlier before pulling himself up and over, this time landing on his feet. Snotlout did the same.

Hiccup forced a smile.

"Yeah, for sure. I'm running away forever and never returning home. That's why I have only one change of clothes and just a bag full of paint with me."