People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands - literally thousands - of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.
—  Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands - literally thousands - of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.
—  Nick Hornby, High Fidelity
High Fidelity | Closed RP with mischiefinthesnow

Hiccup just wanted to go home. It was one of these days when nothing could go right, no matter how hard he tried. It had started in the morning, when his alarm clock didn’t went off and he missed his bus to school. Of course his father had been out of the house already, so there wasn’t anyone who could drive him to school either. Not that it was so bad, really, he had legs and he could walk, but of course there was this shower of rain today, that broke his umbrella and soaked his clothes and his bag. This lead to the fact that his papers and books got soaked, too, making his homework not readable. Ergo: No homework to show his teacher. (The only good part about him being a reliable student was that his teachers believed him when he told them that he had his homework at the beginning of the day.) Also good for him was that he always had an extra pair of clothing in his locker. Why? Well, because his school- and classmates loved to play pranks on him, including spilling paint over him or let a bucket with water pour down on him. On days when they thought they were enormously funny they also stuck his head into the toilet. At least they allowed him to take off his glasses first. If they would be as creative and diligent with school as with their pranks they’d only get straight A+ for sure.

Well, however. After he had changed into dry clothes class wasn’t that bad, really. It was just almost all the answers didn’t really help to get popular in class. Not to mention that correcting people’s wrong answers in a sarcastic way wasn’t helping either. It wasn’t like Hiccup really wanted to correct them, or wanted to make them look stupid, it was just that he couldn’t hold back his remarks and said them a little too loud. So, after this of course they wanted revenge and put him in the locker. Good thing was he was so trained to get pushed in there so getting out wasn’t that much of a problem anymore. In art class they used his back as a canvas and at lunch they made him trip and let his tray with his lunch fall to the floor.

Yes, summing the day up Hiccup would say that it was an especially bad day. But – of course – there was something missing. Right, the icing on the cake. So when the day was finally, oh yes finally, over he decided to get back home as fast as possible. He took his wet clothes out of the locker (now both sets of clothing had to be washed) and shouldered his back before quickly making his way down the hallway. Oh, if he just wouldn’t have grabbed his clothes. He should have went straight home. Because just when he was about to grab for the doorhandle he heard someone shouting his name. He pressed his lips tightly together and turned around slowly, just to see one of his teachers standing at the other end of the hallway, waving at him as a sign that he should come closer.

He kept in a heavy sigh and just pressed his lips together while stepping up to the teacher. And the closer he got the more uncomfortable he felt, seeing that it was the detention room. A room full of people who probably didn’t really like him. He gulped, wondering what the teacher would want from him. „Hadrian“ he greeted him, looking kinda relieved. „Good that I see you! See, I have to go to a meeting with a mother and I totally forgot, so I need someone taking care of the students in there.“
Oh no. He surely didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. „So could you take my place? I’ll try to settle everything with as fast as I can.“

He just wanted to say no. Just peeking inside the room told him that he wasn’t eager to sit in front of them and ‘take care’. Because this only could end bad, right? At least on a day like this. But before he could answer his teacher (better said his history teacher) the man patted his shoulder and with a rushed „Thank you“ he hurried away.
His mouth fell agape and he stared after his teacher. „Oh, yeah, sure, it’s not like I’m having a life anyways“ he grumbled sarcastically before he slowly stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself.

There weren’t that many people in there, a few younger students who probably forgot to do their homework too often, then one of the guys who always tried to spit into his food and then his eyes fell on a guy with white hair and blue eyes. He had seen him before, several times. He was one of those punks. He quickly avoided everyone’s eyes and walked over to the teacher’s desk where he slowly sat down. He knew that the others eyes were resting on him and he didn’t really know what he was supposed to do.

He nervously adjusted his glasses and pulled a pen and a notebook out of his bag. He heard a few of them starting to mutter and he knew that they were trying to find a way to have their fun even in detention. Hiccup just hoped that his teacher would come back soon. And while he was waiting and kept an eye on the students (whatever he was supposed to do) he could start with his homework.

People worry about kids playing with guns, and teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands - literally thousands - of songs about broken hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss.
—  Nick Hornby, High Fidelity