The Impressions series was birthed by an anonymous prompt sent to my Tumblr account. I'd intended it to just be a drabbly little oneshot, but I enjoyed writing it and others enjoyed reading it, so I expanded it to be sort of a trilogy thing. It's a Regency period AU, Jane Austen style. And I am clearly no Jane Austen, so please just have mercy on me! I hope you enjoy!~

First Impressions.

The Jorgensons' ball had been long anticipated by the citizens of Berk. Ribbons were purchased, dances practiced, and every young lady's best dress mended to perfection. The whisper of potential matches invigorated every daughter's mother within a twenty-mile radius, meaning that every daughter within a twenty-mile radius was subjected to the harsh correction of a well-meaning mother.

Astrid Hofferson was no different. "Can you stand no straighter?" her mother whispered over her shoulder at her as they entered their neighbor's grand home. "Don't lift your chin like that, terrible girl! And would you please for me and your father's sake just smile?"

Astrid executed every command with promptness. Despite her dutiful smile, however, she couldn't help the lack of excitement the sight of well dressed couples failed to inspire. If anything, as her little family approached the hosts' receiving line, dread curled in her throat.

"Mr. Jorgenson," her father greeted the host with a firm handshake. They smiled like old friends and exchanged comments about the season's hunting fare.

Her mother was next. "Your home is so lovely," she sighed, fluttering her lashes at their surroundings. Indeed, the mansion was splendid. "My Astrid has spoke of nothing but your ball for weeks. Right, darling?"

"Yes, mother," the girl forced, summoning a pleasant demeanor with which to give the tall host a graceful curtsy. Her eyes slid past the imposing man to his son, who was giving her a crooked grin as he adjusted his cravat at his neck. "Mr. Jorgenson."

"Miss Hofferson," Snotlout replied with a nod. "Glad you could come."

"It's our pleasure," Astrid's mother interrupted, attempting to give her daughter an inconspicuous look that unfortunately came off rather conspicuous. "My Astrid just adores dancing."

"Well, then she must save one for me," Snotlout responded, his gaze on Astrid. "I insist."

The corners of her mouth turned up stiffly. "Yes. Of course." And with a tiny pinch on her mother's arm, she prodded the woman forward.

The two argued in quiet whispers as they wandered past elegant ladies and flirting couples. The daughter hissed her displeasure to her mother in clear terms. The mother reminded the girl of her expectations. Astrid had no brothers. It was imperative that she make a match, and it was no secret that the younger Mr. Jorgenson had taken a fancy to her.

They stopped abruptly when they came upon her father in the main ballroom. He was deep in conversation with the largest man Astrid had ever met. Next to her, her mother let out a little squeak and dropped into a low curtsy. A little alarmed, Astrid did the same, lowering her eyes.

"Lord Stoick," Astrid's father began in introduction. "You've met my lovely wife. This is my daughter, Astrid. Astrid, dear, this is Lord Stoick. Mr. Jorgenson's brother-in-law."

The girl blinked up at the lord with wide eyes. He was the closest she'd come to royalty in her eighteen years, and by far the richest man she'd ever had the chance of being introduced to. The man was at least a foot taller than her own father, with thick ginger hair and an equally thick beard streaked with silver. He nodded down at her with kind eyes. "A beautiful young lady," he chuckled with a fatherly smile. "I wish I'd kept track of my own son so that I could introduce you."

"It's my pleasure," she murmured and tried to remember whether or not she was meant to curtsy again. At this rate, she worried for the stamina of her legs.

The two men reengaged in conversation, and with Astrid's mother effectively dazzled by the man's grandeur, the girl took the opportunity to stray. She wandered through rooms and hallways, relaxing as she noticed familiar faces and friends involved with dancing and general merry-making. The music hired for the evening sounded ethereal and somehow exotic, being played by at least twice the musicians than she'd seen at the Jorgensons' last ball. It must have had something to do with the presence of Lord Stoick, she thought to herself.

She was slipping through one of the back rooms when a blur of color suddenly caught her eye. A young man, slender and tall, peeked in from the mansion's back door before stepping inside. It was curious enough that Astrid stopped to stare.

He was dressed well, as most of the young men were, but this peculiar gentleman's clothes were rumpled and askew. His auburn hair was not pulled or slicked back, but stuck out wild and wind blown. And he had an odd pace to his gait, not quite a limp but almost a pause to each step. Averting her eyes so that the young man didn't catch her staring, Astrid wondered if this stranger had been invited to the ball. A part of her doubted it.

"Excuse me." A voice suddenly appeared by her side, and she jumped. When she turned, the curious gentleman was grinning at her. Up close, she couldn't help but notice that he smelled like the stables— a woody, earthy scent.

"Hello." Her manners flew from her mind, and she was reluctant to retrieve them. If her suspicions were correct, this young man was no more than a servant in his master's clothing. She'd certainly never seen him at any ball before.

"I didn't mean to startle you," the gentleman chuckled, having the good sense to appear a little sheepish. His green eyes crinkled around the edges in a strangely familiar way. "I'm a little turned around. Could you point me toward the main hall?"

Astrid nodded. "Through this way, and then out," she directed, pointing towards the last room she'd exited.

"Ah. Thank you, Miss…."

"Hofferson," she supplied indulgently, inexplicably entertained by the lanky man. He was handsome, but not in the way that her other neighbors' sons were, and his manner was friendly and unassuming.

"Miss Hofferson," he echoed. "Thank you." With that and a nod, he was off in the direction she'd indicated.

She'd chuckled to herself after he left, amused by the entire interaction. It was unusual that the agenda at a ball deterred from dancing and mingling and suppressing her temper at her mother's pleading. For a moment, it almost felt as if that strange gentleman had stepped out of her imagination.

The night continued. She drank sweet punch and avoided her mother. She swapped gossip about the lord's elusive son with Ruffnut Thorston. She even submitted to a dance or two with the young Mr. Jorgenson, managing to escape with most of her toes intact. But as the evening stretched on, she could feel the familiar ennui settling into her bones. Astrid drifted to a quieter room and took up an unoccupied window seat. It was difficult to make out in the dark outside, but she thought she could make out a handful of horses grazing in the Jorgensons' pastures.

It wasn't long before the voice appeared just as it had the first time. At one moment, she was alone, and then the next, he was there. "Miss Hofferson?"

Astrid glanced up at the young man from earlier. His attire was just slightly more put together, and he'd adopted a more formal posture, but he wore that same nonthreatening grin. "We meet again," he told her, pulling up a chair and sitting a respectful distance from her.

"So it would seem," she replied. In the back of her mind, her mother's voice sharply instructed her to sit straight, but Astrid found she no longer cared. "Are you not enjoying the ball?"

"I've never been one for the more frivolous events," he admitted good naturedly. There was an almost endearing way about the way his shoulders moved when he spoke.

"Frivolous? You think balls are frivolous?" She raised an accusing brow at him. The people were, perhaps, but nothing about being forced into a crushing corset, dragged along like a dog at a show, and dodging thinly veiled insults from female competition felt frivolous to Astrid.

Her companion's expression was innocent. "Is that not the purpose of balls? Fun and frivolity?"

She pursed her lips, giving him a level gaze. "I'm convinced it was men who invented balls to trick women into thinking they were being entertained. All the while, you're evaluating us like race horses." Straightening, she deepened her voice. "Yes, Miss Hofferson does have a lovely stature and fine breeding, but Miss Thorston bears a more pleasant countenance."

He snorted. "Oh, and you females don't? Lining up the men to measure his worth by the weight of his pocket and then setting your rabid mothers on the unfortunate fellow with the heaviest purse."

Astrid attempted to look offended, but amusement played at her lips. "Are you bitter because none of the ladies have asked you to dance, sir? Is your pocket too light for this crowd's taste?"

"What sort of decent young lady asks a young man to dance?" he scoffed. "If anything, you should be bitter that I've yet to ask you to dance."

Before a blush could creep up her cheeks, Astrid sat forward and laced her fingers together. Her mother would be horrified. "Well? Have I need to be bitter?"

His smile was stiff, then, and somehow he looked more handsome than any of the preening peacocks with their starched breeches and perfectly arranged cravats. "Alas," he began with a rueful smirk. Leaning over, he rapped his knuckles against his left pants-leg. It gave a wooden knock. "I'm afraid I'm all right feet."

Astrid glanced down at his shin, wondering devilishly what hid beneath his breeches. When her eyes rose to meet his, she realized that he was waiting for her to run. She sat back.

"I've heard an awful lot of excuses not to dance with me," she told him teasingly. "But a wooden leg is certainly a first." Astrid pursed her lips against a smile.

"Ah." The young man sat up. "You've found me out."

"Actually, I've yet to." Reaching up tuck a stray curl behind her ear, she crossed her ankles together and pinned him with an accusatory glare. "I've shared my name with you, but you've yet to share yours with me. Is it because you weren't actually invited to this ball?"

His grin turned mischievous. It made her heart flutter pleasantly at her breastbone. "Do you really want to know?" he asked in a lowered tone.

She narrowed her gaze and nodded slowly.

So he told her.