The lunchroom at the Drengr Initiative Training Base had always been too loud, and had always reminded Hiccup too much of high school. Gripping his plasticky lunch tray with some unidentifiable meat on it, he navigated his way past groups of suits huddled around portascreens and cliques of engineers going over blueprints to get to his unofficially assigned seat at the end of one of the tables. Settling onto the wooden bench, Hiccup gingerly poked at his dinner with his fork, and risked a small bite. He hid a grimace. The Drengr Base was a state-of-the-art facility, and the training, equipment, and lodgings left nothing to be desired. The food, however, did.
"Tuff!"
"Ruff!"
Two blonde masses of muscle and sinew sprinted across the cafeteria, bounding over tables and pushing past people, to join in the middle.
"I totally beat up Snot during one-on-one when-"
"I blew up four Ámáttugr during simulation-"
"Marshal Stoick smiled at me after I-"
"It was so rad!" They finished together. The Thorston twins had always had a peculiar bond. Half the time they were at each other's throat, and the other half, they were inseparable. Today, unfortunately, it seemed to be the latter.
The unmissable arrival of the Thorstons heralded the end of Drengr simulation, and the pilots were slowly filtering into the lunchroom, usually in pairs. The Drengrs couldn't be piloted by one person- the stress was too much for any individual to handle. Instead, the robots were piloted by two people, mentally and emotionally compatible pairs, who shared memories and thoughts while piloting through The Drift. It was said to be either quite enriching or quite traumatic. Hiccup didn't have any thoughts on it personally. He had only experienced it once, and he was pretty sure it didn't work like it was supposed to.
"Snottie!" Another obnoxious cry from Tuffnut Thorston caused everyone to look up, roll their eyes, and look down again. Snotlout Jorgenson was not so easily brushed off.
"Snotlout is a strong Viking name! I wear it with pride," the stout young adult slammed his body onto the bench next to Ruffnut. "And good evening, my sun and stars," he gave Ruffnut a calculated smolder.
"Better not let Hofferson catch you saying that," Ruffnut cackled.
"Yeah, 'cause then your chances with her will be even lower than they already are!" Tuffnut chimed in, earning a fist bump from his twin.
"My calculations show that Snotlout's odds at entering a romantic relationship with Astrid are at about 2%," another Drengr pilot, Fishlegs, added, docilely placing his tray onto the table and sitting down.
"Shit, 2%? That's like, higher than zero!" Snotlout cheered.
"We can't have anything below 2%. There could be an outlier incident. For example, Astrid could hit her head very hard and forget who you are. Or, it could be in the dark, and she wouldn't recognize your voice," Fishlegs rationalized.
Although Hiccup was only 10 feet away from them, it felt like they were on opposite sides of the Grand Canyon. Their table of commotion and camaraderie was worlds away from Hiccup's lonely little corner of the cafeteria.
The doors flew open, and it seemed as if everything got quiet. Astrid Hofferson stormed into the room, sunlight hair bound in a tight braid. Her footsteps, although staccato, were controlled, like everything else about her. She cut through the room like a knife through warm butter as she picked up a tray and joined her friends.
"Astrid, darling, love of my life, you look like Apollo herself tonight," Snotlout intoned dramatically.
"Apollo was male," Astrid speared a limp carrot with her fork. Astrid deserved more than limp carrots, Hiccup thought. Astrid deserved fresh salads made from the crispest lettuce and reddest tomatoes and tossed in the blood of her enemies.
"What stick's up your ass? Stoick's not going to let you pilot a Drengr solo?" Ruffnut threw an arm around her best friend.
"He said it was too dangerous," Astrid hissed, loud enough for Hiccup to still eavesdrop. "Something about abnormal blood pressure and cranial stress- Whatever. Weak people stuff. Stormfly's going to get rusty if she doesn't have a pilot."
"Not like any of us saw this one coming," Tufffnut quipped, only to receive a punch from his sister.
Ruffnut rubbed Astrid's back. "Thought about taking a new partner?"
Astrid jerked away. "I won't. Not so soon after- No." To the naked eye, her slip of total control was imperceptible. But for one so trained in the art of Astrid as Hiccup, it was like watching a window shattered by a baseball.
For a few seconds, everybody at the table was silent, communication happening through meaningful glances given over Astrid's bent head. Suddenly, she stood up, scanning the room as if looking for something. Her electric blue gaze fell on him. "Haddock!"
Hiccup's blood ran cold. Could she have noticed Hiccup eavesdropping on their conversation? That would be embarrassing. Was she going to yell at him for being a useless member of the initiative? That would be even more embarrassing. Was she going to ask him to be her Drengr co-pilot? That would be… fucking awesome.
She marched over to his desolate table, placing her hands on the top but not bothering to sit down. "You're the guy that fixed up my Drengr, yeah?"
"Y-yeah. I'm sure you can tell from the oil on my… everything. She's certainly tempestuous," Hiccup grinned.
Astrid stayed stone-faced. "Well, she has two right-handed consoles."
"I guess I assumed your partner is gonna be right-handed. My bad," Hiccup quickly corrected. "I'll change it if they're not." Hiccup thought back to Stormfly in the position he'd gotten her in, almost scrap metal. He distinctly remembered one right console and one left.
"My mother was the righty. I'm left handed." It was like Astrid could read his mind, like she was also seeing the wreckage from months ago. Her hand fluttered to a spot on her upper ribcage.
"Hey, listen, I'm sor-"
"Save it. Just fix my Drengr so I can do something useful again." As quickly as she'd come, she went, back to her friends, and Hiccup was reminded yet again that although he could fantasize all he wanted, he would never be like that. He would never be equal in the eyes of the Drengr pilots. Like she had just said, here, nobody was useful unless they were wearing a suit of techno-customized armor (probably made by him) and piloting a hunk of techno-customized metal (also probably made by him). Just call him Hiccup the Useless.
(So I was thinking about this story, and I've decided to take the plot in a different direction. The changes made at the end of this chapter reflect that. Expect some more regular updates. Concrit and plot ideas are much appreciated.)