A/N: Hey guys! SteinMon here! I'm back after the not-so-short hiatus! Not sure how many chapters I'll get out before the next one, but hopefully, I can get into a decent part of the story.
Trigger Warnings: Hinting at abuse.
I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.
Review Responses:
- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: I'm already swamped with my own story ideas, and finding ways to articulate them into words, so I won't be taking story ideas for a very long time. About the lemon... probably not. Lime... maybe. Lemon... not so much.
- Purpleflame2: Well, the world has kinda been a shit-fest lately. And it's not getting any better. Gotta love the essential jobs though.
- vangian13: Nope. Not gonna abandon my baby. There may be a lot of time between chapters, but I don't think I'll abandon a story until it's done. The assimilation is getting better, but it should come to head by the next chapter
- Now Account: Fair enough. Sans the sweet compound bow and the bowie knife and of course, Sylvester Stalone. Add in a paintball gun, a symbiotic sludge-dragon you assume is all in your head, and a little thirst for vengeance. What could go wrong?
- Andria Rainbolt: What's a little in-house family drama without a parasitic commentator? And don't tear your hair out!
- atomicsub927: Tell me about it. I have 20/400 vision in both eyes. My life is a consistent blob without my glasses unless I'm basically making out with it. So far, I haven't watched Criminal Minds, so I don't get the reference.
- Eastonia: Guess ~whaaa-aat~? I'm off hiatus!
- Grizzly98: So many good questions! All of which fall under the SPOILERS! clause. Don't worry though, I have every intention of answering all of them... if I can remember them all later down the line.
- "Guest"(s) 1-3: Glad you like it! As far as pacing (for whichever "Guest" wrote the review), I'm not gonna jump straight into the action, and I would never want to. There has to be some transition period, and just jumping straight into the meat of a story kinda kills the flavor. Background and mundane life sets the bar, and then superpowers shows the contrast between those two points. Would Spider-Man be any good if we were rushed into him getting superpowers and becoming Mister Friendly Neighborhood? Nope. We had to see what he went through as powerless Peter Parker, and how he transitioned once he got those powers... Uncle Ben's death and subsequent mini-revenge plot device included. I still cry every time.
- Th3MinniiSavage: I present the update! XD
- "Eris": Yup, Gobber's one of my favorite characters. Mostly because of his interchangeable prosthetic and wry sense of humor.
- BlueDraken: You are welcome! :D
- Nighthowler0: Well then, here is the next chapter!
- Perseus Titanslayer: I'm glad you enjoy it :)
*End of Responses
Disclaimer: I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.
I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are not from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P
Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*
Chapter 10: Crumpled Like Paper
Dagur was typing away diligently on his computer. Organizing files, prioritizing e-mails, reviewing reports, getting one or more of those types of documents signed. He did it all. As the Aide-slash-"Secretary" to Berk's Field Marshall and Chief, it was his job to know as close to everything as humanly possible. Now, if only he could learn to type with his toes. Or, if only his toes weren't too big to learn how to type with them. Friggin' Viking-sized toes.
Sitting at the Haddock dining table, he had "procured" the space to spread out other files for reference in case he needed to revisit any of it. So far, so good. He might have to clean it up once Heather got home. Evidently, work was not welcome at the dinner table and she was adamant about that; and he wasn't up to getting his fingers whacked with a soup spoon again.
But since he and Stoick had left the meetings with the other Chief's early, the paperwork had only gotten worse. Plus the other Chiefs' secretaries' were hounding him about their absence. Not like he could tell them the truth: that a slime monster had escaped confinement, took out two squads of soldiers, and made a break for their home island while possessing the body of a guy. That would be a Hel of doozie to explain. To that note, he had ensured that his computer activity was monitored (to his own ire in some cases) so he wouldn't accidently – or otherwise – leak Berk secrets. Not that he wasn't over-diligent anyway, but he'd built up years of trust, and there was no way he was losing it for any reason.
He was just finishing filing an update on the HEIMDAL exo military patent claims and the ensuing permissions to begin assembling the prototypes when his computer dinged at him. Just like it had over the past several hours. Again. "Bloody updates," he hissed. He'd have to revisit some of those files. Again. Hence why they were spread out on the table. But what he wouldn't give for a pint. Maybe two. While drinking while working wasn't generally frowned upon in the Archipelago, he preferred having nothing short of a clear head... even if it only caused him headaches.
He opened the triple-encrypted e-mail he had for work, half-glancing at the new message that had been sent with no subject. He opened it silently, reading over the few sentences that greeted him. It took a moment, but it finally clicked, and his eyes widened. He made sure to read it again before immediately reprioritized his schedule, arranging it quickly before he began rushing to clean up his space. Absently, he read the words again from the corner of his eye: "Body found and drained. Designation: Hel-Spawn has potentially found new host and/or been captured. Signs of fighting and gunfire present in surrounding area from unknown assailants. No further sign. – Cpt. Valgam."
Dagur couldn't help but worry about whatever that meant. If this Hel-Spawn was anything to go off of, they were in trouble. He didn't know much about the project in question, only that the creature needed to feed, but he wasn't sure how often. So far, there hadn't been any other reports; and thank Eir, there hadn't been any further victims found. But that may just be a matter of time. 'If it has a new host, how does the wolf intend to blend among sheep?' he wondered. 'But if it's been captured by non-Berk forces….'
He quickly gathered some documents in hand, including a quickly printed copy of the e-mail, before moving toward the Chief's office. He really didn't want to intrude, especially if he was mid-meeting. The other Chief's were already gnawing at the bit with their lack of presence. He also didn't want to see any inclination that his father was on the other end, giving him that spiteful smirk that sent his skin crawling. It was bad enough when they were in-person, and the respite from him on Berk was Valhalla. But, this was top priority, so he could and would get over it, and his sperm-donor could shove it.
Ignoring the chatter on the other side of the door, Dagur made sure he looked at least half-presentable before knocking on the door.
"Excuse me," the Chief said on the other side of the door before calling, "Enterr."
Dagur had to keep from inhaling sharply as he turned the doorknob, schooling his face. Stoick sat in a massive chair, overlooking a series of monitors. On each monitor, he recognized the faces of multiple Chiefs, the would-be Jarls of the Archipelago. Each the Field Marshal of their own respective island chains and plot of sea. It appeared they were all present in the same navy blue conference room located on the ancestral land their Viking forefathers had held similar moots, keeping a general eye on the monitors that connected them to Berk, and therefore, Field Marshall Stoick Haddock.
There was Bertha Boggler – the founding family – of the Bog Burglars and her islands of namely women warriors; specializing in the most advanced espionage and stealth tech under their wing; currently allies last Dagur checked (which was this morning). However, their Amazonian methods and teachings put them at odds on multiple occasions. Also possess a long line of varies hair care and cosmetic products. Their bogs and swamps (for which they were named) have also been noted for their bog iron.
Alvin "the Treacherous" (last name redacted) of the Outcasts and his merry band of wanted criminals; largest man-power center of the Archipelago due to their offer of asylum for most any criminal in the Archipelago and most of the northern world (there were limits however, let it never be said that Chief Alvin didn't have some sense of justice, however skewed it was) who didn't have a one-way ticket to Freezing-to-Death. Embodied the term "cannon fodder". Reluctant allies… when necessary. The Outcasts had only been established for about twenty years (though there is some evidence to support that there was a similar faction back in the old days), so that made them relatively young compared to the long-standing factions, but no less powerful, or rooted in Archipelagic history. Still, their fore-front tenacity was of note. Also of note, some inactive volcanos around the island made for some good mining, and the extra bodies were utilized fairly well.
Then there was Mogadon "the Ram" Ramshead (great name, right?) of the Meatheads (the imagination is astounding); theoretically the best builders of body armor in the Archipelago (hence why they retained the "Meathead" name; for the helmets of course, and their brains getting tenderized from repeated bludgeoning). They appeared to be allies for the most part. However, like always, there was some rough patches, they were none-too bright, and almost… almost as bull-headed as the Haddocks of Berk. Their island has a decent trade in shellfish and, surprisingly, a slightly smaller trade in pearls from their reefs.
Madguts "the Butcher" Steel (again with the names; Dagur swore, these people made filing and listing everything a pain in the ass on purpose) of the Murderous islands (again, with imagination; at least he could just copy-and-paste with some of these guys). Specialized in forge-work involving blades (for that "up close and personal" feel as you watch the light fade from your enemy's eyes) and explosives. Not very "ally-ish", but not quite enemies; too much conflict and hostility directed at Berk, but plenty of begrudged respect. The man didn't do a lot of talking thanks to biting off his own tongue from a jarring blow to the chin mid-combat; mostly communicated through grunts, which his Aide Gumboil was always there to translate. Also quite fertile lands, which they grow grains to make some hella-good beer.
UG "the Hideous" Pistachio (interesting) of the Uglithugs. Surprisingly, specialized mostly in the spy work and networking. Something about disguises and such. Largest spy network in the Archipelago, and outside for that matter. They didn't seem to really be allies with anyone (due to the nature of prying into other people's secrets), but they were noted to spend the most per capita on the Boggler's cosmetics (probably something to do with the "Ugly" in Uglithug) compared to their sister islands. Also has an unprecedented number of salt mines and stone quarries from the days of their ancestors (unsure if they have anyone working them though).
Then the newest brew of blood in the Archipelago. Some Italitan-Nordic decedent (however that works) by the name of Viggo Grimborn (personally, Dagur loved the name; gave him chills) of the Hunter Islands. Their islands specialized more in gadgetry; from traps, to gear, to the more "not-so-Viking-esque" matters of technology. Personally, Dagur couldn't make heads or tails of them; too political, big-worded, and slippery with the tongue. He wasn't above thinking they were enemies, but he could believe they might be allies. Also had some of the newest (and by "newest", he meant "oldest") money coming into the Archipelago, super-duper rich by comparison to the other Tribes. They'd only been around for a couple years, but they had distant roots in the Archipelago if nothing else. Decent trade and ship building compared to most other islands.
Another newer (-ish) blood, Mala Queens of the Wing (a small group of islands that basically protected the flank of the more central groups, hence the "Wing"). Strangely, they were the only islands that didn't specialize in some form of military tact or other. Medicine was their specialty, along with genetic repair research from the couple footnotes he'd read (only because he knew Henry would like the idea with his field of study). Dagur found them something of suspicious, mostly due to their non-hostile manner (since everyone else threatened to gut you every Tuesday and occasionally on a Saturday). Once more, he couldn't tell if they were allies or enemies, but given their line of work, probably allies. The Wing was the UN's way of keeping vested interest in the Archipelago by incorporating a sort of "attempt" at integrating their own people into the Archipelago (didn't go so well, but hey, they tried). Islands were also well stocked with ore from the less-than active volcano they had going on.
Then… then there was Oswald "the Agreeable" Oswaldson of Berserk. Dagur's… bleh… sperm-donor. Weapon-smithing specialty; the best guns and artillery in the Archipelago. Every barrel and bolt of just about every standard and forged gun and cannon in the islands came from Berserk. They also seconded the Outcast Islands for disposable bodies; with blood-crazed training to boot (Dagur blamed a certain level of inbreeding, which… didn't bode well for him… mentally speaking that was). Enemies? Definitely enemies. There wasn't a doubt in his mind. Dagur had a lot of choice words, and none of it would fit in his limited observations; but yeah, let's go with "enemies".
Then of course, there was Stoick "the Vast" Haddock of Berk. Specialized in their ships, assault vehicles, and a pension for robotics (mostly for the prosthetics, since they actually had more men return alive). Prided itself on least number of lives lost, and tended to be more level-headed than most other islands (though that says very little by comparison). Also possessed the biggest fishing and lumber trade in the Archipelago; good game and decent farming too, with a myriad of mixed results from the other islands specialties (what could he say, he did more research on his favorite places). And… whatever research had prompted them to house their monsters under an artificial island.
And Dagur had just walked into a room with the faces of the most powerful people in the Archipelago all staring at his intrusion on the monitor screens.
"What is the meaning of this? This is a private meeting, Lieutenant," Field Marshall Mala spoke calmly, but pointedly, at him. He resisted rolling his eyes, but she was the only one present who openly cared about military courtesy. But she was third-gen UN delegation, and kept the Archipelago relatively informed as far as Global matters; formality was a huge thing on their islands.
Of course, his father only gave him a wicked leer, probably for the way he was holding the files in his hand, or some other stupid reason. Dagur had to keep his fingers tapping gently on the papers in his hands to keep from flipping his old man off. 'If you can't do it to his face, don't do it at all.' One of the few lessons he taken to heart from the old badger.
"Apologies for the interruption sirs, ma'am's," he stated respectfully, giving no indication as to the nature of his interruption, whether or not it was important, if it was just a ploy, or that he cared about their opinions; he wasn't stupid. He was already walking over to Stoick before whispering in his ear. "Update on that thing we're not supposed to talk over the phone about." He tried to stress it a bit as he placed down a summary report, and Stoick nodded reluctantly in dawning understanding.
"I see," Stoick answered aloud. His whole posture changed in an instant, from a somewhat diplomacy-worn Viking, to a walking tank with a volatile payload. And the other Chief's noticed it, if the shifting on the other sides of the screens was any indication; only a few were mostly unfazed by Stoick: Alvin, Bertha, Mala, Viggo, and his father among them; the older Vikings because they had dealt with Stoick before, the younger ones, because they didn't know Stoick well enough.
Stoick reached out for the document as Dagur deftly moved to stand behind him, awaiting his orders. Stoick picked up the document, his meaty fingers flipping over the incredibly small file. When the print size became something of an issue, he didn't hesitate to pull out his reading glasses, barely dipping them over his nose as he looked down at its contents.
It was nerve-racking few moments, and if Dagur was honest, he enjoyed every last ounce of it. A tired Stoick had a vulnerable look about him, and was no threat. But an angry Stoick was enough to get the entire Archipelago to mind; little held the fury of Midgard in Helheim like Stoick's wrath evidently.
When he finally did speak, there was a pregnant pause as people froze. "I' woulld appearr, therre 'as been an incident." His eyes narrowed on his pause, causing a round of nervousness. "Accorrding to my rreporrts, someone deployed a ground trroop on my island, an' instigated a firre-fight on Berrk soill."
"You wouldn't think it was one of us?" Field Marshall Viggo mentioned smoothly, his tone neither indicating implication, nor blame, nor excepting responsibility; it was freaky in Dagur's opinion that someone could have so many tones, and yet, none at all.
Field Marshall Madguts made several incomprehensible grunts, which were swiftly translated by his rather dictated secretary standing behind him. "The Field Marshal has made comment that such an act is in violation of the Archipelago charters."
"Blast the charters," Bertha commented with a growl. "This is basically an act of war!"
"If i' was, I don'' expect a confession," Stoick replied coldly. "Rregarrdless, with this issue, I advise vigilance to the rremaining Chiefs. If someone wan's warr, I'd be 'appy ta give i' to 'em." Que those beautiful, but subtle gulps that Dagur was so fond of.
"Now, i' seems duty ta my island drrags me away again," he continues. "Giv'n the grrave naturre and impllications of said incident, I shalll trry to keep this councill posted.
"'Oweverr." His cold tone practically frosted through the computer monitors, giving them all a chill that would make Skadi envious. "If evidence shows any of you werre involved, I won'' 'esitate to destrroy everrything youu 'old dearr. Ya don'' mess with my home, or my people.
"Dagurr." Dagur was immediately at attention. "Prepare the car, and call Garrreth. Wheells out in five."
"Sir," he stated with a nod. He was already leaving.
"I see yur making good use of my son, Stoick." Dagur froze, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He hated that voice. Much like his own, if not for the deeper drawl and stronger accent. It wouldn't be too far off to say that he got most of his features from his father too. And he hated every last one of them when he looked into the mirror.
"'E's an excellent soldier and an even betterr man," Stoick remarked, his tone still somewhat clipped. "Youu shoulld be prrouud, Oswalld."
He could hear his father scoff slightly. "I 'ope he was worth it. Him and his sister."
Dagur's blood instantly started pumping audibly in his ears, his vision flickering red. He had to suck in a breath as his hand forcefully clenched around the doorknob, the metal groaning as his fingers crumpled it like paper. His schooled features morphed flawlessly into a scowl, made all the more intimidating by the claw tattoo over his left eye housing a throbbing vein that pulsed angrily. The tension crawling through his follicles caused his normally attempt at well-kept hair to bristle on end with all the cuddliness of a threatened porcupine. 'Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! Kill'em! KILL'EM! KILL'EM! KILL'EM! KILL! HIM!'
The sinister, less-than caring, and slightly direct tone his father used triggered every Berserk-born instinct to hijack the nearest boat, sail/motor to Berserk, and beat his father within an inch of death… with his own leg… after tearing it off… then maybe, leave him to bleed out. Nobody! Repeat. NO-BODY! Slandered his sister; especially not the bastard that saw fit to conceive her in the first place.
"Oh-ho! Did I get under your skin? Boy?"
Dagur breathed. He may not like it. In fact, he absolutely hated it! But he was better. People made him better as a person. He had the respect of Berk. He had the respect of his peers and fellow soldiers. He had a limited respect from the other Chiefs and their secretaries. He had the Chief, and Garreth (he couldn't really call him Gobber), and Ingrid, and Astrid. Hell, he had the coolest little brother in Henry. But most importantly, he had Heather. All he needed to know was that Heather was safe, and he could attempt to be the best big bro attainable by someone with his numerous… "issues".
"No problems, Chief Oswaldson," he stated as he turned toward the monitors with a smile so strained, it could probably dice someone with how ridged it was. "I just had a sudden vision of what it would be like to gut you. I pray the gods never give me reason to be anything like you. That would be… unfortunate.
"For you I mean."
Ah! There was that tension again. The other Chiefs were looking at each other, seeing as they were all seated together. But all the Berserk Chief did, was laugh. A rich, boisterous, thundering, deceptively jovial laugh that made the back of Dagur's neck prickle in disgust. "The gods, boy?! Hahaha! I dare say, Berk has made you soft!"
"Soft enough to take your punches, Old Man." It was a cold statement, one that he would normally have never made. But his hands needed to strangle something. Gut something. Stab. Rip. Tear. Slaughter. Fight.
If his hands couldn't do something, he'd take something out of Henry's book: verbal slander to the highest degree of perfection. He was sub-par to his brother's abilities, but boy-howdy, he could take a crack at it.
The other Chiefs were shocked into silence, mostly by the implications. While it had been a long-debated issue as to why Berk was housing the children of Berserk's Chief – to Oswald's ire and their confusion – he supposed he'd given them enough to chew on. Not like it was a big secret; Stoick had just kept it quiet out of respect for the past fifteen years.
Dagur continued to glare with all the cuddliness of a wolverine as Oswald snarled at him in return.
"Speaking of sons and their fathers…." Dagur was surprised when Alvin was the one to break the silence, but given his next words, he shouldn't have been surprised. "…'Ow's that li'tle embarrassment of yours Stoick? Haven'' seen 'im since 'e was a tyke."
Another wave of silence, this time, one that broke Dagur's glare at his father as he turned to "the Treacherous". No one else was bold – or foolish – enough to speak, which was a blessing from the All-Father in and of itself right now.
"Tha'… is none of yurr concern, Allvin," Stoick stated, his tone somehow turning angrier, his hands audibly creaking the solid oak desk as they clenched the rim.
From what Dagur could read, the look on Alvin's face said contrary. It was a strange break of character for the otherwise bitterly grim and sometimes near manic Chief. When he wasn't cackling like an old crone, he was swearing revenge by whatever gods would listen to him. This here… this was somber-like that had Dagur's neck hairs tingling with concern of his own.
All at once, Alvin's demeanor was back to normal. "If ya say so Stoick."
"I do say so," Stoick replied firmly, narrowing his eyes on the Outcast Chief. "And youu'lll do welll neverr ta brring up ma son again."
A moment of walking on broken bottle shards. Then two.
After about seven of those moments, Dagur was done "cutting his feet" so to speak, before he cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "Car sir," he stated, reminding Stoick of their change in schedule.
For the Chief's part, the only visible sign he'd been stunned for a moment was the blank blink he gave Dagur before he nodded. "Go. I'lll wrrap up herre."
Dagur nodded, giving his father a stink eye over the monitors before fumbling with the crumpled door handle. He'd have to order a new one. He didn't breathe easily until after he'd sent a quick text to the chauffeur for Chief Stoick's personal vehicle. Luckily, he wouldn't ask questions, and had a degree of clearance, else Dagur would have just driven he vehicle himself; and he was in no mood to drive, too wound up by his father's digital presence. It took every degree of self-control he'd learned to harness on Berk to not crumple his phone just thinking about the bastard. It would be more costly to replace than a door handle.
'Deeeep breaths, Dagur boy,' he breathed to himself, trying to calm a raging fury inside that sent his blood pulsing across every vein in his body. His skin crawled with an eagerness to strangle something. It took more than a few of those breaths to haggardly collect himself. He swept his hands out in front of him like he was Moses parting the sea, as his face made a humorous attempt of wide-eyed and under-bite, staring ahead with a profound sense of Oomph! as he inhaled sharply. "I'm not good, but I'll get there," he stated with force calmness. "I'm not good, but I'll get there. I'm not good, but I'll get there." Every repetitive reassurance allowed him to seize back a little more control from his otherwise frayed emotions.
Meep-meep!
'Car's here,' Dagur thought, schooling his features once more. There was a sludgy-mc'thingie out there, and there was – or had been – a foreign force on Berk soil. He had work to do. He made sure his mess was cleaned up on the table before grabbing his tablet.
He was already heading out the door when the Chief lumbered behind him. Dagur was quick to open the door for his Field Marshall, and just as smoothly, quickly sliding in behind him.
"Where to, sirs?" the driver asked.
Dagur was quick to rearrange the tabs on his tablet based on 'Importance', just as swiftly bringing up the mail update he'd received. Luckily, Captain Valgam had included a tracer link from the gear installed on the missing Yak Tippers Leader. His eyes narrowed as it quickly narrowed down. Within moments his cellphone was whipped back out.
"Dagurr, wha' is it?" Stoick asked, almost startled by the look in Dagur's eyes.
Dagur simply handed him the tablet as the tone finally gave him what he wanted.
"Berk Military Stand-by, how can I help you?"
"This is Lieutenant Dagur, Field Marshall Haddock's assistant," he stated cleanly, keeping his jaw set despite how much it quivered, "entering authentication code." His dropped his phone only to rapidly enter his personalized identification code. "Has a team been dispatched to Raven's Point."
"Um…." He couldn't blame the secretary on the other end sounding nervous as she typed over her own computer for comprehension. "Y-Yes. A forensics team has already been deployed."
"Good. Current status?"
"DEFCON 5."
"Update to DEFCON 3, and wall off any civilian entry across a four-mile radius. Await further orders." He hung up, clenching his eyes shut nervously as he tapped his phone to his head, hoping the action would help him think or focus clearly. He opened his eyes to see Stoick looking down at the tablet, waiting for an explanation.
"Welll?"
"We'll also need high-clearance investigative officers in on this, and a full medical team," Dagur stated glumly, knowing that this wasn't going to be good. He breathed once again. "I need to insert myself for a full medical evaluation."
"It's Rraven's Point," Stoick stated, not without some bubble of emotion that he held for the place.
"That's where… I went to find Henry last night," Dagur stated, his face conveying his worries.
Stoick's breath caught, his eyes going wide. "You- You don'' think…?"
Dagur shook his head, but frowned none-the-less. "Better safe than sorry for the both of us. If you have any medical personal that are in on this…." He warily glanced at the driver. "…"project", I recommend a full evaluation for the two of us, and any other people that were located in the area. We need to narrow this down. Until such point, I also need to insert myself under military arrest until I am cleared."
Stoick nodded absently, still looking like someone had driven the air from his lungs. Maybe someone had. Whatever his reservations with his own father, he knew that Stoick loved Henry… even if he didn't know how to express it in a loving manner.
"Sir?"
Licking his lips as he blinked, Stoick nodded. "Y-Yes. Verry good. We need to get ahead of this." He paused again. "I have a… rretirree tha' we can calll back in.
"Shoulld we calll in Henrry now?"
The undercurrent of fear in Stoick's tone gave Dagur pause. It was a sound question. One that could determine how far they were willing to go. On one hand, Dagur knew that Henry was going to be in contact with some of the most important people in Dagur's life, and if he was infected, then it was dangerous. But still… it was Henry he was thinking about; as accident prone as he was, his luck wasn't that bad. But most importantly, he thought of Heather.
"We'll have to deal with this carefully. I have every confidence in Henry, but if this thing is laying low, best not to give it a reason to startle just yet. Isn't Henry in drills right about now?"
"Aye."
"Since Gobber's been transferred to training Henry, he should be at those drills currently," Dagur stated, already fishing out his phone for Round Two. "See if he notices anything off about Henry to start. Until such a time as we're both medically cleared, I recommend we both be under watch, but it's a start."
He could see the relief appear on Stoick's face as Dagur drew out the beginnings of a plan. "Good. Good. I'lll see if I can'' get an oll' bat out of rretirrement."
'Besides,' Dagur thought, 'it's Henry. How much trouble could heeeeee… and I'm going to stop that line of thinking right now!' No need to jinx it.
Meanwhile…
"Oh gods! Oh gods! Oh GODS!" someone was screaming like a little bitch.
Neal "Sheep-Face" Hendrickson was shrieking as he ran frantically through the forest, barely a misstep behind Dillan "Dogsbreath" Axel.
"Shut up! You're too loud!" he yelled, voice muffled through his helmet.
It was bad! It was really bad!
The brush rustling around them made them shriek anew as they continued running.
It was horrible! They were being hunted! Paint bullets had flown from nowhere, pelting down "Boar" with unrelenting fury in a hail of blue and red splatter, and Clueless had dropped like a startled sheep with a heart attack, out cold before anyone had even touched him. They were separated now. Simon was gods only knew where, as he took off screaming, leaving them to their own devices. This was supposed to be a Fox Hunt! But it would seem someone was picking them off.
But who?!
Astrid?! Unlikely. She'd was a relentless huntress with skills that bordered on divine. She wasn't one to bother with the opinions of "Sheep" (pun intended). The Twins?! Most likely! But they knew from their HUD's that the twins were already out of commission. But that left–
"Dogsbreath" grinded to a halt, sliding across dirt and pine needles for a moment before he spun around, weapon raised and firing paint shots into the brush with several pfft! sounds. He breathed deeply from a combination of fear and unwanted exercise, "Sheep-Face" wheezing next to him.
"Ugh! …Is this… sweat?" "Sheep" asked between ragged breaths, wiping his hand along his neck.
"Dogsbreath" ignored him keeping an eye on the forest they had just come from. "I know you're there Useless! Show yourself!" He swept back and forth, looking for any sign of the scrawny little shit. He swallowed nervously as the streams of light in the otherwise thick Berkian canopy seemed to augment every simple leaf twitch made by the wind, making it seem like the shadows were writhing. Like they were surrounded on all sides; like the shadows and forest themselves were closing in on them.
He wasn't going to admit it, but he may have peed himself a little.
"Gods you guys are pathetic." He opened fire, Haddock appearing right where they had run from. But just like that, he was gone, only the sound of paint splatter where the paint balls had hit further ahead on a tree. "I mean, when I told the twins I needed to blow off some steam, I thought I'd get some satisfaction out of hunting you guys down. Ya know… "the hunters become the hunted" and all that. But now… now this is just… sad."
One of "Dogbreath's" goggled eyes was suddenly shot, a splatter of blue blocking out half his vision. He jumped, cursing just before another splatter left him completely blind with his helmet on. That was the worst part. His heartrate jumped as his main sense was suddenly stolen from him. Under normal circumstances, this would be the end up it. He'd been shot, so he was out. But since when did they listen to rules? Especially when a Useless Hiccup pulled the trigger?
For Henry's part, he was having a blast. Gods! It felt good to go on the offensive! What was it Dagur would say? "The Trappers Tripped Trap, can Trap the Tripped Trapper"? Something like that. Thank Odin Astrid had left her weapon behind. It made things sooo much easier, although… he supposed he could have just harassed them without it… but it was so. Much. Fun!
"These… things… are disgusting. Do humans normally expel bodily fluids when afraid?"
And then there was that.
He felt different. Much like he had for the entire day. He wasn't just applying what he knew about stalking and hunting game to turning the tables on these guys; he was stalking like he was born to strike from shadow. He wasn't just walking silently, he felt ablur as he ran without a sound, or as little sound as he could in these stupidly heavy and restrictive combat boots. He already knew how to move, now his body was just doing all of it faster. As it stood, he still chalked it up to super-human steroids.
"Fuck off, Haddock." Looks like "Doggy" was getting lippy. Good thing his bark was worse than his bite... at least now anyway.
"Well, I'm just saying. You're the one that wet himself." The irony wasn't lost on him, and he had to say, it was somewhat… satisfying.
Ah, and the fun part. Giving him the ol' go-around. Creeping and talking to give the illusion that he was talking from multiple directions. Gods, he wished he had done this years ago!
He looked at his handiwork on "Dogsbreath", nodding to the mismatch-painted eyepieces that had left him blind. "Eh," he shrugged, pointing the paint gun at his face once more. Muffled screams rang out as Henry finished his masterpiece, creating a painted smily face across his prey's masked helmet. "Just be glad I'm sparing your shrunken-fruit." As tempted as he was, the guy had already had his balls abused enough over the past couple days. The irony continued.
Henry was vindictive, but he wasn't an asshole.
…
…
Maybe?
"Look, as fun as this is–" He was cut off as he twisted in-step, his body dodging out of the way. "Dogsbreath" had fired blindly right where Henry was, the moment he'd spoke.
"Clever. But my meat-bag is faster."
'Eh,' Henry sighed.
"Sheep-Face" was trying to crawl away with all the sneakiness of an elephant with a limp, so Henry ended the torture by shooting him square in the ass, Roman-execution style. Bulls-Eye! The squeak of humiliation and pain that he got in return was just as equally pathetic… but somehow… more satisfying.
"We can't eat them because they're disgusting and have no solid nutrients. We can't slaughter them because it will draw attention. You may be a proper meat-bag, but Stars are you boring."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Henry stated aloud, letting it blend seamlessly with his former actions. "Boring". "Boring" was good. Not that he'd think otherwise when he potentially had a psychopathic cannibal in his Headspace. His life was just full of exciting.
Whoop-de-frickin'-doo. Yes, he'd love it if "boring" came back.
"Now where did Simon go?" he wondered aloud. The finer hairs of his arm stood erect, causing him to drop as a paintball flew were his head had been. He turned back to see "Sheep" prepared to release another volley, only for his helmet to suddenly look like modern art as Henry shot first. Vigorously. He spared no expense for decorating his face. "Thor. They just don't take the hint."
"Since we can't kill them, I recommend humiliations. For satisfaction purposes, of course."
"Well, they've already pissed themselves. Don't know what's more humiliating than that." Henry sighed as he began moving back. Even without his helmet – and the attached HUD – he had a strong enough sense of direction to know where the school was located.
He was familiar enough with his distant cousin's stench after years of assorted abuses to try finding that On switch for those senses brain-buddy was so proud of. Snn-snn? Snnnnnnnnn. Still nothing.
He opted to walk away from his forcibly humbled peers. As much as he'd love to spend the rest of the day tracking down his distant cousin, he was technically the Fox. They were supposed to hunt him. Now with the majority of them out of the way, humiliated, and fainted, and one screaming off into the sunset as fast as his legs could carry him, Henry figured he could just wait it all out in peace. Besides, Snot had probably swam his way to Iceland at this rate.
Still, things hadn't gone they way he planned. He hadn't plan to blow off steam. He hadn't planned to go on the offensive. He was content with just running and hiding like he'd always done. Of course, he hadn't planned on helping Astrid either.
Just thinking about that made his neck prickle uneasily, and he rubbed it gently to relieve it.
"Have you no desire track down the human that made your blood-pressure spike? It would be most entertaining to watch him crumple again. You humans have weak jaws after all."
"Snot can wait," Henry answered, picking up his pace. For some reason, he had this weird compulsion to start running on all fours, and his shoulders spasmed involuntarily, causing his arm to seize to his chest at times. It wasn't painful, just… uncomfortable. And annoying. Especially when he had a weapon in his hands. At least his extremities weren't tingling. Well… not tingling like "half-asleep" and more tingling like "his sense of tactile felt super weird in his gloves". "Hope I'm not developing neurological degradation on top of everything else. Although… if I had the sudden urge to spasm my fist on Snot's face again, I think I could follow through with it."
"The twitching? It's simply a reflex of increased bioelectrical pulses running through your muscles, causing rapid contraction that is immediately defied by the former stance your appendage took. A "reset" if you will. Think nothing of it. Just one more thing I made better. Besides, it's trivial compared to the storm flashes. Now that will get your spine tingling."
"I'm thinking of it. I'm thinking of it really hard," Henry answered, moving the paint gun to one hand to wiggle his fingers like they were cramped. It was as good as telling him not to worry about it. All he was going to do was worry about it more. He just sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do but let it run its course. Outside of his little circle, no one else needed to know that he could possibly be dying. Not like they could develop a cure in time anyway. At least his body would make for a great autopsy… maybe? The things he did to advance the cause of science, however unintentional. "Eh. At least I know that it can get worse."
"That is depressing." Headspace commented.
"If I think otherwise, than I'll be raging that it did get worse," Henry responded.
"I see. By admitting to yourself that it can get worse, you are already prepared, and thus, unsurprised when it does. As opposed, saying that it can't only leads you to inevitable frustration when it does. You human's play mind-games with yourselves to prevent from completely losing your sanity. I'm unsure if that's clever or sad."
'Both. Let's go with both,' Henry summarized with a deadpan expression. "Either way," he stated, poising his stolen weapon over his shoulder as he trudged on. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd have to play at being the Fox. Astrid and the Twins had probably pegged out after their untimely defeats at the hands of a "helpless woodland critter"… with a paintball gun.
'Well that image isn't leaving any time soon.'
It wasn't that long of a walk back to the practice field. Five minutes. Maybe ten. Fifteen perhaps? Twenty if he was feeling generous? Okay, he had no idea how long he'd been walking. After a certain amount of time without feeling like he was being stalked, he slowed down to allow himself to observe his surroundings carefully. The longer he wasn't attacked, the more prepared he was for an attack, until he was all coiled up inside like one of those wind-up toys.
He just… wasn't used to not being hunted. He'd spent a fair amount of his later high school days – and most of his younger years – being the fox; never mind hiding Astrid from Snotface, getting teased by the twins, and swearing unholy vengeance with a paint gun (in the form of "blowing off steam"). Suddenly being in that role without anyone looking to pelt him with some paint was making his neck bristle. It wasn't pleasant; but it wasn't not.
He cautiously skirted where the forest met the field, looking out to see something rather amusing. Astrid and the twins looked absolutely miserable doing reps of push-ups. Captain Hildr walked back and forth between them, glowering down on them like the harpy she was. A bulky harpy. Probably punishment for failing to peg his ass in the ass.
Buuuut… that didn't mean he had to reveal himself just yet. This was entertainment at its basest: watching other people suffer. Or more specifically, watching Astrid and the twins suffer. Was it dark? Sick? Possibly twisted? Oh absolutely! Buuuut… he needed some popcorn to make it truly worth his while.
Gods, he sounded like the twins.
Gobber appeared completely composed as he waited, hands (well… hand, and attachable pickle jar opener) behind his back, humming a little Viking tune to himself. He appeared unaffected by the moans and groans of the twins, or the strangely concentrated silence that draped over Astrid like a curtain.
"Is it over yet?" Ruff groaned, her braids laying directly over her line of sight. She jerked her head and blew upward as she pushed up, trying to dislodge it, but they just fell back into place as she went back down.
"Here, here! Let me try!" Tuff stated, inhaling deeply before blowing all over his sister's face. Her form immediately wobbled, and she had to rest in the plank position, lest she incur the ire of their commanding officer.
"Eugh." She was gagging, eyes watering, coughing and spitting. "Oh gods! Do you ever brush your teeth?"
"Of course I do," he stated sharply. "Twice daily, morning and evening, swish with alcoholic beverage for that burn that kills every bacterium and cell in your mouth before swallowing said alcohol for a pleasant buzz. And then, rinse with water."
"Then what did you eat," she cried, trying to stay in position while simultaneously trying to clear her everything. "It smells like a trash panda shat in your mouth, regretted his life decisions and immediately died on the spot."
"Thor, you two are gross," Astrid stirred, eye twitching as she continued her reps flawlessly.
"Lunch! Duh!" he snapped back before pondering.
"Well lunch up and died in your mouth!"
"Ah. Youth these days," Gobber commented. Through whatever flowery veil he decided to look through. "Back in my day, we only had to worry about the plague. Halitosis was a minor inconvenience at best. But if ya need dental work, I'm sure I can work somethin' out."
Ruff's mouth clopped shut, and Tuff smacked both hands to his face mid-pushup, causing him to yelp as he dropped face-first.
"No offense… Uncle Gobber," Astrid groaned, "but your dental work is best reserved for yaks and sheep."
"None taken lass," he shrugged. Clearly she didn't appreciate his skillful work. "Nah many people can stay awake once they take a swig of tha ol' family's secret recipe." Because everyone used aged whiskey and Berkian moonshine as a pain-killer (when he didn't outright conk 'em out using the jug) and antiseptic when removing teeth.
"You mean that paint thinner Grand Papa Borkleif used to drink?" Astrid shot back with a grin.
Henry could attest to that. Stuff worked wonders for stripping house walls, but you couldn't stay in the fumes for long either. Hence the use in Gobber's dentistry practice. That stuff could floor a bear.
Hildr just looked annoyed as she paced back and forth. The school might have to replace the sod in that spot if she kept walking it down to the grass roots. "I don't see a lot of work going on," she snapped, eyeing the twins angrily. It was the glance she passed over Astrid that caught in his throat; the look of barely concealed disappointment their Commanding Officer seemed so keen to keep under wraps, but couldn't contain. She was her best student after all.
That… that sent a strange crawling feeling up his neck and through his jaw.
He was half-ready to jump up and march over there. Gods, he didn't know what he was going to say, but anything sounded better than watching Hildr give Astrid that look. He didn't even make it to two-centimeters off the ground, when something lurched in his gut, forcing him to sit back down.
"Relax human. The fierce female is fine. Stars, you get worked up quickly over her."
"I do not," Henry muttered, keeping quiet. An indignant glow began to warm up his face.
"It is not a bad thing. She is your den-mate. You're first instinct is to protect those you den with, even if you both demonstrate affection in the strangest ways. There is a lot of physical violence involved for some reason."
Henry barely restrained a snort at that, but he still felt pulled to intervene.
"AHAA– AHAA– AHAAAAAAAAHHGGG!" The shrill shriek of unbridled, beautiful terror would have normally been music to Henry's ears… if it didn't hit just that right pitch that resonated a sharp ringing that began piercing angrily through his skull. Only Simon could hit that level of annoying.
"SHUT! HIM! UP!"
Henry obliged. Pfft! One red paintball later, and Simon tripped over himself mid-run with a startled yelp as he was smacked on the back of the head. Then it became a two-way head smack as his face hit the dirt. Then it was quiet as Snot grumbled curses into the grass as he spit out the mouthful he'd gotten.
"Thank Stars," Headspace sighed in relief. "Next time, just rip out his tongue. He won't need it."
"Might as well make it a victory lap," Henry groaned as he stretched, planting his acquired weapon on his shoulder as he strolled out of the woods. He wouldn't say he was gloating, but… yeah, he was gloating.
"Nice of you to join us," Gobber commented, noticing him first.
"Oh– well– I– uh–" Simon sputtered as he jumped to his feet, thinking Gobber was talking to him.
"I believe this makes it my win," Henry stated, earning him the attentions of all present. "Dog and Sheep are cryin' in the woods, Clueless fainted, and Boar is laying on the ground drenched in paint." He cleared his throat carefully before adding with a nasally tone, "You may all bow."
There was a distinct lack of bowing. Unless you included Astrid and the twins now resting from their "workout" (read: punishment), but that would make it closer to groveling. He could live with groveling.
"Haddock!" Captain Hildr snapped, "That is not how the exercise goes!"
"Well then, my most sincere apologies if I didn't want to get covered in paint for your amusement," he stated sarcastically.
She was beginning to seethe. "Attention, Private Haddock!"
Henry rolled his eyes as he followed suit, legs spread slightly and hands clasped behind his back.
Gobber sighed deeply. "Ehhhh, lad, yur not makin' it easier."
"Useless, you son of bitch!" Snot snapped.
"Still making 'mom jokes' Snot," Henry shot back, not-so-inconspicuously tapping his weapon. "I can fix that real quick."
'Ah. Tha' 'ould do it,' Gobber thought, wincing slightly when he heard a set of grinding teeth currently in the plank position. Just like her mother. Astrid had said they needed to talk, with her mom present. Suddenly, Gobber wasn't looking forward to it at all.
"Do you think he was dropped as a baby?" Tuff asked his sister.
"Multiple times. No less than four," Ruff answered. "Maybe once on his face."
"Would explain his nose," Tuff agreed with a soft cackle.
A sharp ringing interrupted. "Oh, pardon," Gobber stated, reaching into his coat pocket with his true hand to pull out his cell phone. He looked at the ID before his face fell a little. All at once, his mouth bellowed out, "ALRIGHT! ATTEEEEN-HUT!"
Like clockwork, everyone present was vertical and ramrod still on instinct, standing like soldier's ought to. Henry just watched with bewitched fascination as even Hildr was left in a state of underling.
It. Was. Beautiful.
"Silence," Gobber ordered before flipping open his phone. "Gary's Auto, Metalwork, Smithy, Tow, and Everything Else in Between," he answered, causing the twins to begin snickering. "Where our motto is "If we don't know how to do it, we'll figure it out eventually." How can I help ya ta-day?" He listened intently for a moment. Normally, Henry wouldn't think much of it.
But he knew his gizmos, and Gobber's prosthetic was making a gentle whirring sound that suggested some of the coils and servos were winding too tightly; almost mimicking how muscles could creak when tensed.
"Wha' da'ya mean I hafta'–" He was cut off on the other end by words no one could hear. "Yes. Everything is fine. Nothin' out of the ordinary. It's only my first day back in the saddle after ten years, of course the routine is a little off." There was another long pause.
"A'ight, good lad. I'll be there shortly," Gobber stated, his tone now a touch more serious than Henry could recall. With just a click, Gobber was turning back around, a bright, but slightly strained, smile on his face. "Alright, well, tha' was enlightening. So we'll be pickin' this up again at a later date?
"Henry…." Gobber quickly pulled Henry out of his stand with a burly arm around the shoulder. "…Yur da' had Dagur call me in. You'll be mannin' the shop while deal with wha'ever 'e 'as nipping in 'is nickers."
"And that was an image I didn't need," he mumbled back.
"You know the drill?"
Henry grumbled incoherently before perking up like an elementary student in class. "Do work, take phone calls, keep the shop clean. If someone's calling about a tow, inform them that you are out on a job and to call back later; if they get huffy, tell them that they are big grown Vikings with their truck stuck on a road, not a boat taking on water in the middle of the ocean," he recited by the book, before mumbling under his breath, "Not like there are many other tow businesses on Berk."
"Excellent, and–"
"Don't give out your personal phone number so they can call you," Henry added faithfully, ending it with an eyeroll. "Only did that once; never doing it again.
"Any additional orders that come in, I can take care of or set up for."
"Good. Good," Gobber nodded. "Class is just about over. If ya can get that blasted 3D printer working, we might 'ave a shot at fixin' up tha'…," he cleared his throat before whispering softly, "extra-curricular project." Henry rolled his eyes again at Gobber's attempt to be discrete.
"I'll see what I can do. Do you want me to jury-rig it, or take my time?"
"Which ever makes the blasted thing last longer."
Henry sighed. "Take my time it is. Might just buy a whole new printer. That way, when one breaks down, we can just make all the new parts with the second one."
"Good." He looked over at the gathered troops-in-training. "Now, I 'ave some business to run off on for our beloved and boar-'eaded Chief. Any questions? Comments? Concerns?"
Tuff's mouth half-opened and his fingers poised to raise.
"No? Excellent. Well off ya kiddies go then." He turned to Captain Hildr. "At ease Cap'um. If ya have any suggestions or complaints for Henry's training regime, feel free to contact me. I'll be moldin' 'im inta a proper fightin' machine yet. Send 'em to meh over the weekend, and I'll be adjusting it to match the lad's skill sets."
She nodded stiffly. "Very well. As I stated before Colonel, if anyone can make something of him, it's you sir."
"Good. Dismissed!"
Astrid didn't hesitate to immediately march toward Henry, forcibly snatching her paint gun out of his hands. "Take my weapon again, and I'll shoot you."
"Well, technically, you dropped it," he hissed back under his breath. "A thank you would better suffice." She responded by punching him in the arm. Hard.
"Cadet Hofferson! Go find the rest of your circus troop!" Hildr ordered, officially wrapping up the exercise.
"Yes sir," she responded with a sour look before turning to Henry. "Get to work. I have a couple idiots to track down."
"Why not just leave them in the woods for a couple hours. They're tough Vikings. Might do them some good since I schooled them."
"Because one of us, was ordered to," she stated, in case it somehow passed over his head that it was an order. Which was likely; not like he listened to any of them before.
"And, I could totally help you with that," Simon volunteered instantly as he quickly – or attempting to – pulled off his helmet, giving Henry the stink eye. Astrid visibly winced.
"That… sounds great, Simon," Astrid mentioned with some falsetto. "But, I think, you need to stay here, in case they come back." Henry had to keep from laughing at her tone. She sounded like she was talking slowly to a baby; not that Simon's brain capacity ever grew beyond that point.
"You know what, that's a good plan. I like that plan. It's such an Astrid plan," he replied excitedly, already planning out how he was going to do absolutely nothing. He was so excited, he wasn't even paying attention to Henry doing his best to hold back a snort.
"You just didn't want to have to go looking for him too," Henry clarified under his breath.
"Can you blame me? Last thing I want is to have to track him down too. I'd be out here all night."
"Good thing it's the weekend." She could agree with that.
"You two are whispering quite a bit," Ruff pointed out with a suggestive look. "Know something we don't?"
"Yeah," Tuff agreed. "It's like you two can't decide between kissing or telling."
"Bet there's plenty of kissing."
"Or telling."
"You two could always–"
"Aaaand I'm going to work," Henry cut them off, before they could make things worse. Not that it would take much effort. "See ya guys tomorrow."
Ruff began waving fervently. "Bu-bye." Henry was gone. Quickly.
Both twins were grinning like cats, just before Astrid swung around on them. "What the Hel you two? Can you guys not be gross for five minutes?"
They blinked owlishly to her, then to each other, then back at her again. "Uh… no?" Tuff answered.
He got slugged in the sternum for his honesty.
…
Meanwhile, Henry breathed out a cross between a sigh of relief and a chuckle when he heard Tuff exhale sharply, followed by a groan. "Ow-ow-owwww! I'm hurt! I'm very much hurt!"
"Not hurt enough if you can complain about it." Ah. Typical Astrid.
"Yeesh! That had to hurt. Hit 'im again!" Ruff cheered.
"Is there a reason the fierce female is hitting the male that smells of fungus and herbs?"
Henry quickly entered the "Gym", almost immediately beginning to strip out of his uniform as the door closed behind him. "I assume he made a joke at mine and Astrid's expense. The twins do that occasionally, but they've been getting really bold lately now that I think of it." Nothing like explaining stuff to your second consciousness it should already know. Almost like the moment it appeared, it was a complete blank slate… except for the occasional comment now and then that made Henry question its mental acuity.
At least his Headspace wasn't telling him to slow down changing his clothes again. How was that? So it could imitate his movements when his mind finally decided to die? He kinda liked not dying in any sense of the word. Too bad brain-buddy wasn't so accommodating.
"Jokes?" it hummed in his head, almost as if trying to get a taste for the word. "And what about the fierce female? You did not defend your den-mate?"
"Don't need to," Henry stated, already tossing on his civilian clothes. "She can defend herself if it pleases her majesty. Which it does. Thoroughly. Besides, the twins keep it relatively harmless, so it's nothing I'd have to worry about from them. So if Astrid decides to take offense, she is free to pursue the path of vengeance and violence if she so chooses."
"Then what of that annoying human that causes your blood to… "boil"… I believe the term is?
"Human, the muscles in your hand are tensing. Does this mean I can eviscerate him? You didn't rip his heart out and feast on his pancreas earlier, but I assumed that was cause there were witnesses. Do we find him when there are no witnesses?"
Indeed his hand was tensing. He had to steady himself against some of the lockers at the mention of Simon as his whole body quaked with rage. And where his hand clenched, the lockers groaned as his fingers bent in and around the metal, scrunching it like a tussled blanket. He slowly came back around as he eyed the crunched metal with a hint of trepidation as his actions sank in. "Shit." He groaned in agitated stress, pulling his hand away while simultaneously rubbing his brow.
"Excrement, indeed."
'Great! Just great!' What was next? Leaping tall buildings in a single bound? Animals start talking? Manipulating the weather? Maybe he'd grow an extra pair of arms. Why not?!
There was a distinct pause in his thoughts as he processed the fact that he'd just crumpled metal. Granted, locker metal. But he did the crumpling. Him! The toothpick! Well… less toothpick now. But still. Crumpled. Like paper.
"Perhaps we had better run. Like, swiftly. No one can blame us if we were never here." Wow. Brain-buddy was pulling a six-year-old move there. Good thing it was still a viable strategy.
"Yeah. I think you're right," Henry agreed without missing a hitch, snatching up the last of his stuff before bolting out of the "Gym" with his backpack swinging from his shoulder.
Henry was speed walking as fast as possible, trying not to draw attention as he looked over his shoulder now and again like he expected someone to come after him. So far, it seemed, he was in the clear.
He was just hitting the school parking lot when Headspace decided to talk again. "I thought we agreed on not drawing attention to ourselves. You breaking the metal is the exact opposite of that."
"You're not exactly helping," Henry snapped back under his breath. Before groaning and rubbing his brow once again. "Great, now I'm individualizing the voice in my head. Next thing you know, you'll need a name."
"I already have a name. And of course I'm helping. I haven't liquified anyone's organs and slurped them out through their nasal cavity like a straw. That is me. Helping. By not drawing attention. Unlike you. Because you are squishing metal. Humans don't normally squish metal. Act more human, Human."
Henry didn't even bother to comment as he found his truck, making a direct beeline for it. "This… is… my life now. Or what little of it remains."
His body sudden yanked itself with a massive jolt in his chest, knocking him off to the side just in time to see a truck speed by. Well over the fifteen kilometer-per-hour speed limit. He hit the concrete hard, but it was minor in comparison to the startled adrenaline that was suddenly slithering through his body.
"Watch it, moron!" the driver called back from his window.
"Watch where you are going!"
Henry's hand moved on its own, grabbing a piece of a broken concrete wheelstop with ease.
"Nope. No!" Henry rebuked, fighting back control for his arm. "What happened to laying low?"
"That morsel almost damaged my meat-bag! Do you know how much effort and energy I'd have to spend to fix you up if he had hit you." A low grumble rumbled in Henry's throat as the truck turned onto the street, and slowly disappeared from sight. "Next time, be more aware of your surroundings." With a mental huff, he finally dropped his makeshift projectile. "With all this work, you owe me num-nums."
"It'll have to wait," Henry sighed, mostly from relief, as he made his way to his truck, a little more wary of the other students as some of them made their way home. Thankfully, no one had fucked with his truck. He wasn't keen to have to clean yak manure off his truck again; the smell would linger for weeks. And Astrid would be complaining every week day morning about the smell. "I have my own work to do."
"Do you have to?" Headspace whined.
"I work, so I can get paid. I get paid, so I can earn a living. I earn a living, so I can buy food– num-num's?– Whatever! The point is, you– we– I, want food, but I need money to get it. Capisce?"
"Mmm," his mind groaned back, clearly not pleased with the explanation. "Fine!"
"Good." Henry finally opened his truck and sat down, almost breathing a sigh of relief as his ass hit the seat. He wasn't even aware of how stressed he was until the day was practically over and his body just wanted to melt into the seating. If it wasn't for his newly acquired sense of smell, the truck's enhanced old musty scent, and Gobber needing him to man the shop, he'd say "fuck it" and take a nap.
But, duty called.
Author's Note: (R&R) Heyo! Did'ja guys miss me?! Because I missed me!
More minor developments. I decided to do a little bit from Dagur's point of view, mostly because he adds a solid touch to the story, and his perspective allows me to garner story information from the military side of the story, which is necessary in my opinion. There were some familiar characters mentioned, and the Archipelago is a lot bigger than even I anticipated. P.S. I left a couple little hints. Can you guys guess what they are?
Henry is still adapting to his tenant. He won't have perfect access to any of the abilities yet (because I need to compile a training montage and a "First Flight" moment), but he will be made aware of the situation soon enough. With plenty of comedy in between to boot. With some outright serious moments if the past chapters weren't clear of that. To say the least, Henry's still gonna be a bit... well, bitter. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better.
If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.
That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D Fury is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.
Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 11. I don't have a name yet. I thought I did, but I decided to save the "Who are you...?" and "What are we...?" for later chapters.