All Conner Bailey wants is to kill a dragon. And get a girlfriend. Preferably Bree Campbell.
But he's just a poor little craftsman, trying to find his place in a world of killing and fighting when he can't kill and fight at all. Eh, at least somebod...
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Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.
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A/N: Warning, Conner is slightly OOC. That's because I basically merged him with HTTYD 1 Hiccup, and made him a tad emo.
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The attack that night was the worst on Laftor in a couple of months.
(People liked to say that it could be worse if Conner Bailey was let loose in the village.)
The village was constantly destroyed and repaired and torn down and built up again. According to the Elder, who was Conner and Alex's grandmother, it had been like that ever since she was born. An endless cycle of creation and destruction.
Early morning light shone through the windows. Conner was snoring, limbs sticking out randomly from his blanket. His room was a total mess of sheets of paper and stray books.
BRIIIIING!
Conner grunted and slammed a hand on the object on his bedside table. It was a curious mismatch of cogs and bells. Froggy called it the “alarm”. Conner's mother, Charlotte, had complained about her son's reluctance to get out of bed, and commissioned Froggy to craft something that could wake him up. Now its shrill bells invaded Conner's ears every morning.
“I'm up,” Conner mumbled to no one in particular. “I'm up.”
He stumbled out of the room, avoiding the chaos on the floor, and went down the stairs. Charlotte was out for some “chieftess duties”, and Alex was still asleep. She deserved some rest after her exhausting night.
If there was one other thing Conner was good at, it was cooking. Granted, he nearly burnt down the kitchen on his first try, but he'd done pretty good despite his rocky start.
He hummed to himself as he fried two eggs. He grabbed a handful of herbs and sprinkled them on the eggs. Then, he laid the eggs on two pieces of sliced bread he'd brought home yesterday.
“One for me, one for Alex.” Conner took the plates to the living room, and plopped down on the leather couch. He raised the bread to his mouth and began to chomp with gusto.
Footsteps sounded on the staircase. A sleepy Alex shuffled down, her white nightdress reaching her ankles. “Morning, Conner,” she greeted.
“M'ning,” Conner said in return, his voice muffled by the bread in his mouth.
“Don't speak with a full mouth,” Alex reminded him. Conner sighed internally. Alex was always like a second mom to him.
Alex reached for a plate. “Thanks for the breakfast, though. You've always had some talent with seasoning.”
Yeah, like what good is there in that. Making food taste better doesn't help with killing dragons. Conner's inner voice liked to sass himself.
