[Hiccup has been up in his room since the event. He doesn't even know how to start coping with everything that happened. The only words he managed to mumble out were a request to Klaus to write a note to the school saying he was out sick so he could just
sit in his room
and stare at the wall.
But it's a nice day outside so he managed to bring himself to open the window. Klaus is out there on the sidewalk reading something, but Hiccup can't bring himself to care what. He'll just be lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, thanks.
...If Astrid were here, she'd probably literally knock some sense into him. But she's gone. And that just makes it that much worse.]
[Klaus couldn't really say no when Hiccup asked him to write the note to Mayfield's High School. Hiccup had perhaps been through more during the last event than anyone in the house, after all, and though neither of them has exactly broached the subject of what happened at Makeout Point beyond some vague confirmations and a whole lot of awkward, he's gathered enough to know that Hiccup has ever right to feel terrible.
Still, the little viking has to leave his room sometime, and he did always like a good story. Klaus has a plan. He stands beneath the window and calls up:]
Things have been a bit hectic since I arrived. And I admit, I find your take on this intriguing. And, sadly, quite applicable. My friends...
[A pause. A cough.]
The only true heroes, where I come from, have been missing for nearly twenty years. Likely murdered or imprisoned by someone very close to them. That is the problem with being a hero, I've found: one thinks the best of everyone until it's far too late.
I have just received in the mail accounts of heroes from my own reality. Said reality has very... strange views on what a hero should and should not be, to the point where they are almost a separate breed. I was curious as to whether this holds true across other realities, not to put too fine a point on it.
[And he just... wants an excuse to talk about his old friends, in an impersonal and therefore not terribly sappy way.]
[ Hey what's this? Those books look slighty familiar! But not really, from a distance. He's just passing through, so he's just standing on the sidewalk in front of you, Klaus. ]
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sit in his room
and stare at the wall.
But it's a nice day outside so he managed to bring himself to open the window. Klaus is out there on the sidewalk reading something, but Hiccup can't bring himself to care what. He'll just be lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, thanks.
...If Astrid were here, she'd probably literally knock some sense into him. But she's gone. And that just makes it that much worse.]
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Still, the little viking has to leave his room sometime, and he did always like a good story. Klaus has a plan. He stands beneath the window and calls up:]
Hiccup?
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He probably should, actually. He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again. He... doesn't want to talk.
He opens his mouth again.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. It's okay. It's not going to hurt you. You're fine. Just answer him.]
Yeah?
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[A pause. A cough.]
The only true heroes, where I come from, have been missing for nearly twenty years. Likely murdered or imprisoned by someone very close to them. That is the problem with being a hero, I've found: one thinks the best of everyone until it's far too late.
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[And he just... wants an excuse to talk about his old friends, in an impersonal and therefore not terribly sappy way.]
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Got somethin' outta all that, Sir?
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