Rhythm
The visual flow through a work of art that is incorporating repetition
The Haddocks were up before first light was shining into the house. It was already eight, but the mountains blocked the sun from getting anywhere, as usual. Hiccup had been stirred awake by his father rustling about the house but, no matter how much the man tried, his large form would never be completely silent. Grumbling and rubbing at his eyes with the Zippleback sweatshirt, the teen stumbled into the kitchen, eyes narrowing at the bright light. "Hmm… Dad?"
Stoick turned away from the fridge, looking over his son before a wide smile split his face. "Good morning, Hiccup!"
The teen stared at him for a long time, eyes wide and mouth agape before sitting heavily down at the table, mumbling darkly about "morning people". A plate slid towards him, decorated with the typical American breakfast—steaming eggs, crispy bacon, and three pancakes—and a fork on the side. Blinking, Hiccup began to eat almost mechanically, his green eyes followed his father as he got ready for the day; packing a lunch, filling a thermos, and filing all the papers into a manila folder.
Finally, Stoick paused, looking over his small pile and nodding before turning to his finishing son. "Are you going to come down today?"
Hiccup opened his mouth to deny before closing it, shrugged, and nodded. Taking his plate to the dishwasher, he didn't see the surprised, but glad, expression on his father's face before heading up to his room. The duffle was still on his bed from where he had left it the day before, and he unzipped it slowly. His cans of paint, along with all his other supplies, were organized neatly and he slid one of his smaller sketchbooks into the space between the art bag and canvases.
Turning to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, changed out of his dirty jeans and into a new pair, before sliding the bag over his shoulder and racing down (picking up his discarded beanie lying next to the couch on his way out and stuffing it neatly into the hoodie's pocket) to find his father already hitching the trailer to the truck. Stoick glanced at the bag in his son's hands with curiosity before leaving it alone, instead letting the Ford dip slightly under the attachment's weight. Both blocks of wood were taken from before the wheels and thrown in the bed before the burly man jumped up into the driver's seat.
The ride was in complete silence, Hiccup blinking tiredly as he watched the landscape slowly brighten as the sun rose higher. His lips quirked upwards at the ends as they rounded corners, passing by sharp mountain cliffs that had been fenced off to stop rocks from crumbling down onto the unsuspecting cars. At last they turned onto the dirt road leading to the reservation, and the teen let a full blown smile brighten his face; the place hadn't changed at all, still undeniably rugged and rural. Stoick pulled into his regular parking spot and stepped out, followed swiftly by his son who carried his bag and walked in his father's footsteps up to the main building.
To Hiccup's knowledge, the dragon reserve consisted of four separate areas. The first, which where he was now, was simply the educational aspect that wasn't done in the field. Here scientists studied underground and visitors could find informational pamphlets and books along with organizing a tour of the penned dragons (the ones injured, dangerous, or new ones who needed to get use to their new environment).
Further out, located slightly deeper in the alley, were the pens. Each one at least a square acre, with a barrier between them and the visitors made of material depending on the dragon. With twenty of the enclosures overall, the dragon keepers were well equipped for any type of accident—human-like being involved or no.
Past that (and through a magical barrier) was the open reserve, hosting the dragons that now called the mountains their home. Stretching over two hundred acres and up to the stratosphere, the dragons were well quipped and well fed by their habitat, never needing the Keepers' help at all except when one of them were injured or had died.
Last were the dwarf caves. Having been abandoned and virtually indestructible, Hiccup had always played in the caves as a child. It had only been recently (about three years ago) that it was steadily being built into a fortress. If they needed to, The Keepers could move ever single dragon into the caves and go into lock down in under forty-five minutes.
Hiccup nodded as he past his father—who was holding the door open—and continued beyond the empty secretary desk to the back room. Gobber was already at one of the tables, sipping a large mug of black coffee (the teen could smell it from a few meters away) and looking over the newspaper. When Stoick lumbered in, the blonde looked up, grinning at his friend before catching sight of the small teen.
"Well, if it isn't the bundle of trouble! How's your mum?"
Grunting, the teen flopped down into one of the metal chairs. "Fine."
Raising an eyebrow, Gobber placed his newspaper down. "Just fine?"
"Mmhmm… what's that?" He pointed to the blurry picture on the page the blonde had been reading.
"Just one of those old protests," Hiccup's green eyes narrowed. It didn't look like any type of protest he'd ever seen. "You know how they are."
The teen's gaze flashed between the two now uncomfortably stiff men. "Yes, almost too well…" his voice trailed off before, shrugging, Hiccup stood and grabbed his bag, making his way out of the break room and into the main tourist shop again. "I'll go help with the feeding, if you don't mind." He called over his shoulder before ducking around the side, keeping one ear on the vent that led into the room.
"Think he should know?" What? Hiccup, sat down slowly, grinning innocently at the scientist that walked by, white lab coat tossed over one arm. The teen slowly pulled out his sketchbook.
"Would you want your son to know?"
Gobber snorted. "Your logic has a flaw, please find another."
Hiccup heard his father sigh and sit down in the black, creaking chair in the far corner. "Look, you've seen what he's like—" The teen scowled angrily, "—Head up in the clouds, never takes anything seriously… he's always been different and the witch said he would have gotten his ability this year."
"And you don't see it," the blonde said. "Stoick, you can't protect him forever, and so what if he hasn't outright shown that he has an ability? The kid's gonna be a man soon; you can't stop that." There was a sound like fingers drumming against an arm rest.
"Look, I just want to get to know my son better—" Stoick was cut off when the door opened. "Good morning, Spitelout."
Groaning, Hiccup forced himself to his feet. He would learn nothing from them now except the damage done on the cages overnight. Running his small hand through auburn hair, the teen made his way towards the feeding center. Giving a two-fingered salute to the guard, he pushed his way through to one of the carts, ignoring the hustling around him.
It had always been one of his favorite jobs; feeding the dragons. Picking up the list sitting on the basket, he filled the first half with chicken and the last part with fish. In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blonde, and when he completely turned, he looked over and caught the Grecian Flag blue eyes of Astrid. Hiccup tore his gaze away, sighing before pushing his cart out onto the path leading to the pens.
For once, he had hoped not to see her this summer—a simple remembrance to what he could never have—and just be left alone by her fellow practically worshiping followers. Granted, Astrid wasn't bad herself, it was the two blonde twins—Ruffnut and Tuffnut—and Snotlout that really bothered him. Fishlegs was okay, if a bit too Dungeons and Dragons for his taste.
The kid hung around real dragons, why would he play a—what was it called again? Oh, right—Role-playing game about them? Or with them… whatever. Hiccup never played it and didn't really know what it all was about anyway. The burly kid had never picked on him though, for which he was glad.
Listening to the cart's small wheels squeak as he made his way towards the nearest enclosure, Hiccup checked the paper in his clenched hand. Pens three, six, nine, twelve, and fifteen were listed and he turned his cart to Old Faithful's pen—the Thunderdrum that was nearing the last seasons of her life, and the keepers wished to make the elderly dragon as comfortable as possible.
Taking the keys off his cart, he flipped through them before finding the right one and sliding it into the lock. "Hey, girl." He murmured gently, his lips twisting upwards as the large, bulky creature raised her grey and blue head. Yawing—and showing off rows of lion-like teeth—Old Faithful rose on her small legs and approached him slowly, sniffing his pale hand before her attention turned to the container of chicken. Laughing lightly, he pulled out four of the birds, placing them out before backing out, locking the door securely behind him.
In number six was an injured Bone Napper Hiccup had never seen, knowing they like fish more than chicken, he tossed four salmon towards the beast and quickly moved away. An injured dragon was a dangerous dragon; they were often grumpy and hated being around anyone's presence too long. It was always best to feed them swiftly.
Nine was a tall, lanky Whispering Death they had named Lucky that had been half starved and abused before they got their hands on him a year ago. Now he ate the food quickly and sniffed the boy, his distrustful opposition gone. He was just about healthy enough to head out into the wild reserve, but first the keepers would have to see how he behaved around others of his own kind. If the reaction was violent, Lucky would stay in the pen for the rest of his life or until he was strong enough to defend himself against the constant brawls erupting in his kind.
Hiccup was looking forward to twelve; it hosted a young family of Terrors that simply refused to leave. The mother and father (Thunder and Lightning respectfully) had been taken in because of pregnancy, and after having her eggs and letting them hatch, the family refused to leave. He left them two whole chickens, watching as they dived and ripped the meat apart with their toothless mouths.
When he approached fifteen, however, Hiccup frowned. The number had been underlined a few times and circled which could mean it was a new dragon, and one that could be highly dangerous. Sighing, the redhead made his way over, looking into the pens as he went, smiling at the dragons he knew, and filing the others away for later. The keys jingled as he slid the right one into the lock, listening for the trademark click. Slowly, the teen eased the door open, looking around, and seeing nothing. His eyebrows drew together in confusion and, as he stepped into the enclosure, he shut the door behind him.
The cart was stopped in the center. Hiccup glanced around, looking for whatever dragon was supposed to be there, and seeing nothing except for a big, black rock. Perhaps the keepers had—whoa… His green eyes widened then flashed back to the boulder. It was moving. A rumble reached him, and one, long, ebony ear rose. Slowly, a salamander head lifted and the dragon's eyes opened.
A shimmering toxic met Hiccup's gaze, locking and holding for what seemed like an eternity. Snorting, the dragon narrowed its gaze before grumbling and rising, turning its back to the teen and trotting as far as it could away, curling up next to the wall. It had a long, thin body and awkward, duck-waddling legs. Two leathery wings curled across the scaled body, with two, smaller curved appendages at the base of the tail, and two rudder fins at the end.
Easing the rest of the fish to the grass (because if it was what he thought it was, then the dragon would only eat fish and had an enormous appetite), Hiccup steered the cart out of the pen and started breathing again when he was back walking down the sidewalk. Noticing Fishlegs as he walked by, struggling with a Nightmare, the redhead handed over the rest of his chicken (to which the larger boy flashed a large grin of relief) and made his way back to the main building.
That was, until something wet, fleshy, and scaly hit the side of his face. Turning around, he met the hysterical Ruffnut with a dark glare, which only sent the twins both deeper into guffaws, holding onto each other for support. Sneering in disgust, Hiccup left the fish where it was, instead choosing to find something to wipe his face with.
Not seeing anything, he shrugged and continued on his way, pushing the event to the back of his mind; the twins had always been like that—rude, inconsiderate, and big sadists, even larger than Snotlout. Parking his cart next to the others, Hiccup made his way upstairs toward his father's office and raised his hand to knock, when voices inside made him pause.
Thinking about the conversation earlier between Gobber and his father, the redhead immediately went to the nearest vent, leaning back lazily, looking much like he was taking a break as his ear caught as much of the conversation as it could.
"—you know what this means Stoick!" There was the sound of something hitting the table, a newspaper? Whatever it was, Hiccup didn't recognize the voice with a slightly twinge of French masking the words. "They're not going to stop until all of us are dead!"
"And you will not be making him into a weapon for your disposal!" His father snarled back. "That poor thing has been through enough and we certainly don't need you to give them another reason to hunt them!"
The other man sighed in exasperation. "They will come and kill all of them anyways you stubborn fool!"
"Not if we can teach them!"
There was a cold, heartless laugh that sent a shiver down Hiccup's spine. "What makes you think they would want to learn? They're stubborn creatures—"
"And so, apparently, are you." Stoick cut him off easily, his calm voice making the other silent. "If you cannot respect the ideals this reservation was made for, then you have no business being here. Get out of my office."
"Stoick—"
"NOW!"
Hiccup winced at the yell and heard one of the chairs roll back slowly, deliberately. "You're going to be the death of us and of him, Stoick; they'll find your little hideaway." Then, the door opened and shut. Waiting a few seconds, Hiccup stayed where he was before declaring it safe to wander back up to the door and knock.
"Come in."
The teen poked his head around the door, seeing his father sitting in the seat, fingers rubbing against his forehead. His blue eyes brightened, however, when he caught sight of his son. "Hello Hiccup, how was the feeding?"
"Strangely interesting," His green eyes looked over his father, catching the wariness and anger just dwelling below the surface. "Why didn't you tell me there was a Night Fury on the Reserve?"
Stoick groaned and closed his eyes. "I knew there was something I had forgotten about." Sighing, the burly man rolled his shoulders. "He came in last night—"
"Wait, he?" Hiccup's eyes grew wide. "How do you know?"
His father grinned at him and raised an eyebrow, eyes opening once more. The teen flushed but motioned him to continue. "He was the urgent business last night and I just wanted to make sure you were settled in seeing how late it was when I got back."
Hiccup nodded in understanding. "Yeah, all right, but a Night Fury? Wow, Dad… he's one of the last few hundred left…"
"I know, which we why we've got to protect him at all cost," the teen sensed the hidden meaning hidden under the words, but for the life of him, couldn't get what it was. However, he nodded and turned back out of the office, looking back one last time to see Stoick's eyes flash to the window and narrow.
Something strange was going on and Hiccup wanted to know what but first... he needed to get a book on Night Furies.
How's that for a chapter? Granted, it's only about three thousand words… but hey, it's here! And Hiccup gets a glance at Toothless. Fishlegs, Astrid, and the Twins make a scene (there will be more of them later, out of sight from the adults), and you lot get generally confused by strange voices and half-conversations.
Tell me what you like, what you don't like (I do fix what you people say), and just ramble if you need to.
Happy Reading!
Grim
