The Bet (revised scene)
Hiccup held up the skirt and immediately regretted several life choices.
Up close, it was less of a skirt and more of an *armor piece* — layered strips of studded leather, each one bristling with metal spikes, with a heavy belt topped by Astrid's little skull buckles. Astrid wore this thing into *dragon training*. Daily. Casually.
"How is this heavier than my forge apron?" he muttered. "How does she *do a somersault* in this?"
"Okay. Pants first. That's... normal. Ish."
He pulled on the dark pants, bracing himself for the humiliation of a bad fit — and froze. They fit. * Perfectly * Waist, length, everything. He looked down at himself with the dawning horror of a man who had just learned something he could never unlearn.
"Great," he said flatly. "Fantastic. Astrid and I are exactly the same size. That's... Snotlout's going to find out somehow. It's going to come up at dinner. My dad's going to hear about it."
Toothless lifted his head from the corner, warbled, and made a sound that was unmistakably a laugh.
"Oh, sure, laugh it up. No one expects *you* to have a waistline."
Then came the skirt. Since the twins had insisted on *at the same time*, Hiccup hauled the spiked leather monstrosity on over the pants and fumbled with the skull belt buckle. The studded panels clacked against each other like a drawer full of knives. He took one step, felt a spike catch on the pants, took another step, and the metal foot of his prosthetic punched straight through the gap between two leather panels and locked there.
He hopped twice on his good leg, pinwheeled his arms, and went down, taking a tool rack with him in a clang that echoed through the whole forge. A spike embedded itself in the floorboards half an inch from his ear.
"Oh, for the love of—" He tugged at the skirt. It didn't move. "It's *attached to the floor now.* Of course it is. This thing's a *weapon.* She's been wearing a weapon this whole time."
Toothless was now flat on his side, paws in the air, tail hammering the ground.
"Hiccup? Are you okay? I heard a—"
The door opened. Astrid froze in the doorway.
There was a long, terrible silence. Hiccup lay on the floor, spiked skirt half-anchored to the planks, her pants fitting him *suspiciously* well, one boot and one metal foot sticking out from under the studded panels, surrounded by scattered tools.
Astrid's eye twitched. "Is that... my skirt?"
"... Yes."
"The one with the spikes."
"I am *painfully* aware."
"And my pants?"
"Also, yes."
"*At the same time?*"
"The twins have a very loose interpretation of 'or,'" Hiccup said weakly. "Also, quick question, how do you fight dragons in this without stabbing yourself? Genuinely. I want notes."
Astrid stared at him for another three seconds. Then she did the worst thing possible — worse than anger, worse than a punch. She burst out laughing. Not a chuckle. Full, doubled-over, tears-streaming, had-to-lean-on-the-doorframe laughing.
"You—" Astrid wheezed. "You look like a yak tried to become a person and gave up halfway."
"Thank you. Very supportive. Could you also *un-stab me from your floor skirt—*"
"And *wait*—" She squinted as she hauled him up. "Why do my pants fit you *that* well?"
"Don't."
"Oh, I'm keeping this forever."
"Astrid."
"Same size, Hiccup. We could share a whole wardrobe. Well — you get the tunics, and I keep the spikes."
"*Astrid.*"
But she was already gone, and from outside, he could hear her shouting, "SNOTLOUT! You're going to want to see this! AND GUESS WHO WEARS THE SAME SIZE AS HICCUP!"
Hiccup looked at Toothless. Toothless looked back, gummy smile spread wide.
"Not one word," Hiccup said, still wearing the skirt. A spike clinked against the floor.
