Hiccup knew how to deal with people. Admittedly, he knew how to deal with Vikings, who, while people, could possibly qualify as their own exceedingly hairy subspecies, but village hero, quick wit, mostly comfortable in his own skin (except all the times he wasn't) blah blah blah. It all translated to knowing how to draw people into conversation and keep them there, and there just really wasn't much to these Capitol weirdos.
They enjoyed violence (who didn't? besides, you know, him?) but they just didn't have the decency to be decent about it like the Hairy Hooligans and the other island Viking tribes were. Even when the island Vikings raided another village, the expectation was that they should leave the people they were stealing from in good enough condition for them to be able to try stealing everything back. It was only sporting.
The Capitol people were just Berserkers and Outcasts at heart, or like the crazy Mainland Vikings Hiccup had heard stories about, but without the bravado to endanger themselves for the thrill of the kill. They dressed up their cowardice in diamonds and silk and self-importance instead. It was painfully simple to understand.
Which meant they were painfully easy to manipulate. He was already figuring out how to wrap them around his figure, which was possibly his only chance at long-term survival. Without Toothless he was just a slightly undersized nineteen-year-old with a quick brain and a false leg. (One that, apparently, really did not hold up well in muddier-than-Berk conditions, as the arena had proven, even if it could be used as a bludgeon to knock someone unconscious, as the arena had also proven.)
Any Tribute nearby would be able to hear him work his charms. "- oh yes, you def'nitely know your history, that is exactly what Vikings do to all their prisoners. Except after we pull their lungs out through their flayed-open ribs, that's when we pour salt on them," Hiccup lied conversationally, gesticulating with violent, animated jerks of his hands. "Can't have a good blood eagle without a whole bucket o' salt."
He leaned in conspiratorially, holding a hand up to his mouth as if sharing a secret. "In fact, we have a joke on Berk, that all our prisoners are pickled to see us." The Capitol people he was talking to immediately tittered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go quell the fires of my inner barbarian rage with a cold drink."
He slipped away, aiming to mingle with any Tributes immediately nearby. He needed a break, anyway. Running off his mouth and making up ridiculous things they wanted to hear as he went - and keeping track of them all - was exhausting.
Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III | How to Train Your Dragon | Party [cw: talk of nonexistent gore]
They enjoyed violence (who didn't? besides, you know, him?) but they just didn't have the decency to be decent about it like the Hairy Hooligans and the other island Viking tribes were. Even when the island Vikings raided another village, the expectation was that they should leave the people they were stealing from in good enough condition for them to be able to try stealing everything back. It was only sporting.
The Capitol people were just Berserkers and Outcasts at heart, or like the crazy Mainland Vikings Hiccup had heard stories about, but without the bravado to endanger themselves for the thrill of the kill. They dressed up their cowardice in diamonds and silk and self-importance instead. It was painfully simple to understand.
Which meant they were painfully easy to manipulate. He was already figuring out how to wrap them around his figure, which was possibly his only chance at long-term survival. Without Toothless he was just a slightly undersized nineteen-year-old with a quick brain and a false leg. (One that, apparently, really did not hold up well in muddier-than-Berk conditions, as the arena had proven, even if it could be used as a bludgeon to knock someone unconscious, as the arena had also proven.)
Any Tribute nearby would be able to hear him work his charms. "- oh yes, you def'nitely know your history, that is exactly what Vikings do to all their prisoners. Except after we pull their lungs out through their flayed-open ribs, that's when we pour salt on them," Hiccup lied conversationally, gesticulating with violent, animated jerks of his hands. "Can't have a good blood eagle without a whole bucket o' salt."
He leaned in conspiratorially, holding a hand up to his mouth as if sharing a secret. "In fact, we have a joke on Berk, that all our prisoners are pickled to see us." The Capitol people he was talking to immediately tittered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go quell the fires of my inner barbarian rage with a cold drink."
He slipped away, aiming to mingle with any Tributes immediately nearby. He needed a break, anyway. Running off his mouth and making up ridiculous things they wanted to hear as he went - and keeping track of them all - was exhausting.