I started writing this story on about... eh, a long long time ago. And I left it for weeks then months which grew into years. But the good news is that I haven't abandoned it for good, new chapter is at the end of the tunnel.
Chapter One: ...in which Constable Haddock repels strip clubs yet is swept off his feet by a blonde dancer.
Detective Constable Hiccup Haddock had only been seated for three minutes when he felt a wave of anxiety wash over him, starting from his lower back before travelling up his spine. He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through his teeth, trying to soothe himself. Despite the attempt to remain calm, he was still tempted to flee back home.
He tugged at the sleeves of the expensive suit. It was not something he liked to wear and he feared it showed. With shaky hands, he loosened the ostentatious bow tie that had been suffocating him ever since he donned it. He was glad that the night was still young and the place was practically empty; the wealthiest patrons' VIP tables around the stage stood empty.
He glanced at the amber-colored whiskey in front of him and he was tempted to taste it; a quick shot of liquid courage could have done wonders for an insecure guy like him. But he was on duty and the alcohol on the table cost two days' salary. It was not his money, but the taxpayers', yet he'd feel guilty if he downed it in one gulp. He thought about his father, who would have enjoyed the classy beverage, yet he tried to avoid thinking about him as he was currently at a strip club for the first time in his life and it just didn't seem right.
At this moment, nothing felt quite right. It was his first undercover mission and he was the worst liar in the entire police force. He pleaded with Chief Gobber to recruit someone else – surely there were dozens of officers who'd happily take on a night at Berk's notorious strip club. But the Chief ignored his pleas. Instead, he handed him a heavy case file and a wad of cash and demanded that he go to the club and investigate without raising any eyebrows.
The young constable was aware he had a sharper eye for detail and more wisdom and rational thought than his co-workers, yet felt it was insufficient to qualify him for an undercover mission. Nevertheless, Detective Chief Inspector Gobber saw a potential in him that no one else did.
He was awkward and easily flustered, but the Chief had a soft spot for his young protégé. He saw him as a future super cop with limitless potential, someone who could live up to Chief Superintendent Haddock's legacy. The only problem was that he wasn't his dad. No matter how desperately Gobber wanted the lad to be like his former partner, they were two very different people.
Chief Gobber was the encouraging uncle figure that he never had by blood. He wanted to be a beacon of guidance and push the younger Haddock closer to success, but it would quickly became clear that this faith was misplaced. Hiccup should have stuck to what he knew best; sitting behind a desk in the office.
But the young detective had no chance against his boss, so he took the money, read through the documents, jotted down some notes, rented a fancy suit, and tried to convince himself that he was capable of doing the job.
The Chief also ordered him to speak with Constable Ruffnut Thorston for further details, but he chose not to approach her. He avoided the slim, harsh colleague like the plague, and he had a very good reason to do so. He figured that if her information wasn't in the files, then it must not have been all that important.
That's how he ended up in Berk's high-end strip club, where a wealthy Icelandic businessman had spent his last hours before he vanished three weeks prior.
The young man ran his hand nervously through the tangled strands of his russet-colored hair and attempted to make sense of all he had seen in the files. The shadowy, dimly lit area was named Drago's Dragon Den and it was owned and operated by a certain Mr. Drago Bludvist. Little was known about him other than that he had arrived on Berk a few years earlier and opened this spot, which quickly became crowded due to Lady Leather, otherwise known as Miss Heather Dérangé.
He shook his head trying to get rid of the awkward feelings. He didn't like this place, it dishonored women and it degraded men. It repelled him, he was intimidated by it, he was a thousand miles away from his comfort zone.
He tried to gulp down some air to get rid of the lump in his throat, but it only seemed to feed the knot that restricted his breathing. But he had to sit through three performances, preferably looking enthusiastic about them, before watching Miss Dérangé's final act.
She was one of the last persons to see Mr. Alvin Enevoldsen alive and kicking, and a police informant, who went by the name "Dr. Dagur", claimed that Mr. Enevoldsen had offered a huge amount of money for her "company".
It suggested organized prostitution, which was illegal in Berk, but Dr. Dagur said that the key to such privileges were his very own name and the "Champagne Room". It sounded lame, so young Constable Haddock feared he would get kicked in the butt or worse if he tried to gain access to the special room, in hope of finding some clue about the vanished man.
Out of the blue, a sound caught his ear and he swiveled around in alarm. He saw the burly guy with the distinctive chin tattoo that had delivered his expensive, untouched drink now fiddling with a microphone.
He cleared his throat before announcing the first dancer on the stage, but Constable Haddock couldn't quite make out the ridiculous fantasy name. Stormbug, maybe? It didn't strike him as a legitimate stripper moniker, but he wasn't sure what was in vogue these days, besides, it didn't matter to him.
He didn't turn his head to the stage, he was more interested in the bulky tattooed guy, who went back behind the counter to whip up a fancy cocktail to an elderly man. The lights faded out, and the music started to play and much to his surprise, it was something he liked - Be Mine, from Ofenbach. Absent-mindedly, he started to tap the beat on his table's top.
All eyes turned to the stage, and he heard low murmurs coming from every dark and creepy corner of the place, even the tattooed guy stopped with the shaker in his hand and stared at this Stormbeetle or whoever she was.
The shy russet-haired constable didn't want to look, he didn't want to join the pack of drooling, hungry wolves, but it would have been weird to stay turned away from the stage when the show was on, so he moved his head, envisioning fake boobs and orange tanned skin, but…
...his jaw dropped. The girl on the stage... She was the prettiest thing he had ever laid eyes on. Her skin was pale and flawless, her deep blue eyes like two cut gems. She had no fake tan or padded chest, and she didn't wear any makeup - not that she needed to with such natural beauty.
She was classy, which was an out-of-place observation since she barely had any clothes on, but her moves were elegant, she had grace and she moved like a panther while her thick braid of blonde hair floated around her like a golden rope.
He was enraptured by her form, her curves, and the way she moved with such suppleness. She had the most stunning golden locks he'd ever seen - blonde hair had always caught his eye. Her pleasant expression had an honesty that could not be faked; it was a genuine smile that leant her face beauty. She looked to be thoroughly enjoying herself while entertaining those captivated by her performance.
His feelings hit him like avalanches. Suddenly he wanted to know her. He wanted to learn her real name, not that bugshit she was called on stage. He wanted to hear her voice, her laughter, he wanted to see her in decent clothes and a raw, well-hidden part of him also wanted to see her without them... Well, he guessed, his last wish would be granted soon enough...
But the song ended abruptly, she bowed her head cheekily and left the stage followed by a chorus of frustrated moans and hisses.
Constable Haddock felt a tinge of disappointment, but was thankful that the questionable customers didn't get to leer at her. No woman deserved that kind of attention, and he was glad she was spared from it.
Once again, the tattooed man picked up the mic to introduce the next performer, but the undercover cop didn't pay any attention. He fixed the bar and he wondered whether the glorious woman would show up for a drink. No, he thought, she would probably head home instead. If he were her, he would much rather be anywhere else than a crowded bar full of rowdy men. But Dr. Dagur had made it quite clear that some of the girls who worked here were more than willing to extend their work hours and gladly had some one-on-one time with the most generous bidders. She might need the money…
He decided to spit at his image the next time he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror because of his despicable thoughts but deep down, he knew that he never would use someone for his own carnal gain - especially someone in a dire situation. Still, he wanted to get into that Champagne Room, he had a hunch that there was something, something which was more important than watching ladies wiggle and writhe on stage.
His eyes stayed glued to the bar as his hand slid into the pocket of his suit jacket. There was the strap of money, a stack of fifty-pound notes that Gobber had given him to flash when necessary. For a mere second, he wondered where his boss got the cash from and hoped it wasn't next month's salaries; after all, most of his colleagues carried weapons.
He felt his heart skip a beat when he spotted the enigmatic woman in the faint light. She walked to the bar and procured a small bottle of sparkling water from the bartender. She had acquired a crimson robe, nothing fancy, but it fit her well —even if she had been wearing a potato sack, she still would have looked jaw-droppingly beautiful.
The tattooed man had an arrogant smirk on his lips as he passed the girl her drink, and his obvious attraction to her was quite evident. Constable Haddock felt a new lump forming in his throat again; it was absurd! He couldn't be jealous — he didn't even know her.
Constable Haddock realized he had to act quickly if he wanted a chance to speak with the blonde before the bartender stole her away. He grabbed his drink and gulped it down, coughing as it went down his throat. Luckily, no one paid him any mind as the bartender was busy chatting up the blonde and all other eyes were on the stage, distracted by the prospect of the upcoming performance.
Hiccup rose from his seat and sauntered over to the other end of the counter. He paused for a moment before clearing his throat to get the attention of the man behind the counter. The tattooed man looked up reluctantly and surveyed Hiccup's youthful appearance before shuffling over to him.
"What can I do for you, sir?" His voice was deep and courteous. Hiccup could finally make out the words on the man's velvet-clad vest: 'Eret.' The name sounded foreign to him; he guessed it wasn't the one given to him by his mother.
He paused to collect himself, his voice timid. "Erm, yeah... Hi, Eret, I..." he began. "I was wondering if it'd be possible to get to know the lady in the crimson robe a little better? If that's okay."
The words he had uttered made more sense in his head than out loud, but they weren't a complete disaster. It could have been so much worse, given that he was merely repeating something this Dagur person had disclosed to the police. Eret - or whoever it was - fixed him with a curious glare for quite some time.
"This your first time here?" The bartender's question was calm and unassuming, yet it made Hiccup feel even more uneasy.
"Yes," he said. "A friend of mine, Dr. Dagur recommended this place." He hoped that would open the door to the secret room. The bartender stared at him with a penetrating gaze, which was starting to make him feel very uncomfortable. But then he unexpectedly burst into laughter, which seemed almost more intimidating than his stare or his silence.
"Any friend of Doctor Dagur is a friend of ours," the man said happily, and it was the first time in a long while that the young undercover cop felt a bit of relief. "But… I don't know if Miss Stormfly would be willing... Excuse me, what did you say your name was?"
"Yes, sorry about that. It's Nigel - Nigel Fury," he said with embarrassment - his undercover identity sounded silly. But considering he was surrounded by Erets and Stormflies, it should pass for average. Plus, he didn't think the bartender really cared about his true name.
"Very well then, Mr. Fury. Let me just take a moment."
Eret came out from behind the counter and walked to Hiccup. The young cop felt nervous; he knew this could go so wrong, it would risk the whole mission as well as his safety, but he had to try it for Chief Gobber's sake.
The bartender stepped even closer and placed a hand on his shoulder in what almost seemed like a gesture of friendship.
"Mr. Fury, Miss Stormfly here doesn't seem interested in our guests".
"Oh," was all Hiccup could muster up to reply. That made sense now. She didn't do the Champagne Room.
"I mean... look at her," Eret continued, turning Hiccup's chin with an index finger to observe the young woman at the counter who was calmly sipping water and reading a book, completely oblivious of her surroundings.
Eret turned his head back and then let go of his chin. "She looks mind-blowing, she could be the star of this magnificent hellhole, but... she won't drop her clothes off on stage and that's not the best way to make it in this industry."
Hiccup released a disappointed sigh. Eret's strong hand clutched at Hiccup's shoulder almost painfully. "Listen to me, Mr. Fury, just us two talking, okay? I've been trying to get that robe off of her for two weeks now and..."
"And?" Hiccup was only able to utter one shaky syllable.
"She won't budge. She's so fucking stubborn. Look at me..." The young detective nodded in agreement with Eret. He was the kind of charismatic, playful guy with a hint of scoundrel that girls couldn't resist while Hiccup was a timid, inexperienced rookie cop... Why would she turn down the dream guy only to say yes to someone like him - a far cry from being attractive?
A few moments later, the bartender spoke again. "But you know what? I kinda like you Mr. Fury. You seem smarter and more pleasant than most people that come here... I better not even ask this, but do you have the money?"
Hiccup nodded and took out the strap of notes from his pocket. He didn't want to hand over the whole bundle, but Eret greedily grabbed it from him. He let out a quiet whistle when he felt the weight of the money and he took two hundred pounds and shoved them into the back pocket of his pants.
"Commission fee. I'll see what I can do."
He left Hiccup and headed for the girl who was still reading quietly.
Constable Haddock felt the world spinning around as he realized what he had done in the previous two minutes. How could he have been so foolish? He fumbled with his bow tie, trying to loosen it, and then grabbed onto the counter to steady himself. He had just spent a lot of money... money that wasn't his and that he shouldn't have used.
He hoped against hope that she would reject his offer, although he wouldn't necessarily get his money back even if she would. Eret could easily swipe the cash and Constable Haddock wouldn't risk exposing himself by making a scene - it wasn't worth it for an undercover cop.
Hiccup glanced at Miss Stormfly and Eret, who were talking at the other end of the counter. The tattooed man pointed towards him. Although he couldn't make out her face, Hiccup was almost certain that it wasn't going his way. But before he could take his leave, Eret began walking towards him with a mischievous smile.
"Looks like you're in luck tonight," he said when he had finally reached him.
Hiccup was perplexed at first by the bartender's words; it was anything but a lucky night, it was an awful evening and...
"Oh," he grunted when he finally comprehended Eret's words.
"She will await you in the Champagne Room. She wants a few minutes to freshen up."
At the moment, Constable Haddock was struggling to figure out which surprise had left him more astounded – the fact that a substantial sum of police funds managed to slip away from his grasp or the fact that he had actually mustered up enough courage to "ask her out". In essence, he did buy her presence, yet he still questioned how he dared make such a request. It seemed there was nothing else he could do but roll with punches. Perfect.
The bartender returned to the counter, pouring Hiccup a whisky which he gladly accepted once Eret informed him he was the guest of the house - much to the young cop's relief since he had no money left in his pockets.
Then he stepped out from behind the counter and gestured toward a plain wooden door on the left side.
"After you," he said with authority. With no other options, Hiccup complied...
Have questions? Want to say something? Need a free hug? Find me on tumblr.