Alejandro might have some restraint but Hiccup? Not so much. As soon as the word 'lecture' is spoken aloud it is as if some natural force demands that Hiccup roll his eyes, and he does so, with teenage gusto. His coordination is good enough that his hammer work doesn't even slip as the whole of him embraces the eye-roll sympathetically. His entire lanky frame, for just a moment, is one grand reflection of that reflection--it would be a talent if it wasn't deeply annoying.

He ignores the guy's advice, outwardly at least, but it sinks into him like water into a sponge. Oddly enough, nobody had ever accused Hiccup of having skills before. They'd told him quite a lot about what skills and attributes he lacked, he knew all those by heart, but very few people had ever praised him in a more specific way than a slightly worried glance and calling him 'clever.'

Nobody had ever implied that Hiccup could make a difference or save people before, so that was new.

In appreciation, Hiccup sort of scoffs and unconsciously mimics Alejandro's half shrug.

"Yeah," he confirms with a sort of long-suffering sigh that is less based in his age and more based in a decade and a half of explaining this. "I've heard a couple of stories about why my name is Hiccup but the most popular one is: scary names frighten away trolls and malicious spirits."

For a second there is just the sound of his hammering.

He doesn't, at any point, assert that Hiccup is a frightening name.