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Hawke found him on the corner. In retrospect, he would agree with Anders that the dress made him look quite fetching, but Anders simply could not carry the same hairstyle he typically had while cross-dressing. It didn't complement the features of his face as it would if he were to let it hang loose.
It must be said that Anders, dressed in finery that Hawke knew he couldn't afford with his face semi-slathered in half-ass make-up, did not make him do a double take. The majority of his companions all had their own personal quirks that made them interesting or dangerous, sometimes both. If Anders wanted to whore himself out, that was his prerogative, and certainly not any of Hawke's business. Not that he liked the idea, of course. Especially not when he found out Anders' rates and discovered that the mage was far above his own insurmountable sum.
Which would probably be why Anders was currently client-less.
No, what made Hawke finally step in was that Anders' eyes were a nice glowing shade of blueish murder.
"Justice, I presume!" Hawke said, stepping into the mage's point of view. "How's my favorite spirit of the fade doing today?"
"I AM NOT YOUR FAVORITE! DO NOT LIE TO ME!"
There was something distinctly non-threatening about Justice's booming tone delivered in the guise of a man in a flowery dress. Hawke kindly kept this thought to himself. "No need to take it so hard. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be talking to you now, would I?"
Justice moved his gaze away from Hawke, apparently dismissing him as an annoying little gnat. Hawke took no offense.
"If I may ask, why did you choose to take your host out on a test drive on the corner of Lowtown in that gaudy outfit?"
"IT IS NOT GAUDY! I WAS ASSURED THAT THIS IS FINE QUALITY ORLESIAN SILK."
That was the problem with talking to Justice. The spirit tended to be very literal and would only answer a few parts of the question while ignoring the over-hanging issue. "Uh huh," Hawke supplied. "And you did your own make-up?"
"I TRIED. ANDERS WAS BEING DIFFICULT."
That would explain the strange mixture of color on Anders' face. "Have to say, the rouge doesn't go well with the blue cracks."
"IT IS THE COLOR OF ANGRY WOMEN."
"Come again?"
Justice finally turned his gaze back onto Hawke. "ANGRY WOMEN. THE PROSTITUTES AT THE BLOOMING ROSE. WE OVERHEARD THEM THE OTHER DAY SPEAKING ABOUT THE HARSHNESS OF THEIR CLIENTS. THEIR LITTLE PAY. HOW OVERWORKED THEY ARE. I DECIDED THAT WE SHOULD UNDERSTAND THEIR POSITION AND SEE THE INJUSTICE FOR MYSELF."
Oh, good. Hawke could get a few more sentences out of him. "I see. And Anders went along with this?"
"ONCE HE SEES THEIR PLIGHT, HE WILL HELP THEM."
The problem was that Justice was right, and Hawke had a funny image of Anders smuggling out whores beneath the petticoats of a dress whose seller had assured him was made of Orlesian silks. "I don't think this is way to do it. Some people may choose to work their way up to, um, standing on corners. Besides, I don't think Anders would appreciate that burning sensation most clients will pass on to him in this area." Not that Hawke was particularly worried. Even if Anders wasn't a healer, the rates were far too high for anyone in town.
Justice eyed him warily. "HOW WOULD I START?"
"Small. You would start small. Instead of hopping right into bed, you should start with the barest of physical affection. Say a hug." Hawke opened his arms. "C'mere, big guy."
Justice ignored him. "I SUPPOSE I SEE THE TRUTH TO THIS. NO ONE IS COMING AROUND. STARTING SMALL MIGHT MAKE ANDERS FEEL A LITTLE BETTER ABOUT BEING SO REBUFFED."
"Rebuffed?"
"I HAVE NO CLIENTS."
Hawke wasn't entirely sure it was Anders who was feeling so rebuffed, but he liked his arms so he didn't prod. "So you'll take my suggestion?"
"I SHALL." With that, Justice took his host's body elsewhere. How the spirit managed to pull off walking in heels, Hawke would never know, but at least he got a good view as Anders departed.
--
It was only the next day that Varric approached him in the Hanged Man. "So, I hear you propositioned the services of a certain prostitute yesterday."
"Hn."
"I bet said prostitute was a very spirited companion."
"Hn." His mug needed refilling.
"Care to give me the details?"
Hawke gestured to the empty chair of the table. "What do you want to hear, Varric? The truth? I didn't proposition Justice. He was just trying to see what it was like for a whore."
Varric shrugged it off, having heard far worse. "Would normally like to stay and get the details of that, but I think I can put two and two together now."
"And come up with five?"
"And come up with why Blondie is putting up a Kissing Booth near the docks."
Hawke scoffed. "Dare I ask for his rates?"
"I've purchased five tickets myself."
Hawke's mug slammed down onto the table. "It's affordable?"
"Well, yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"
But Hawke was already out the door. Varric smirked and jotted down a few more notes. When next he told this story, Hawke would be--
--
The avenging not-quite boyfriend! The protector of the underdog! The man who would be Champion! Also known as Garrett Hawke, the man who was not about to see his healer's attentions go to every woman in the city. Sure, Anders may have turned him down once. But to be fair, that was only once.
And it was three years ago.
Hawke's muscles had grown since then. His beard now had a freshly black shine to it. His prowess with blades had grown. And he was a rich man living in a huge estate, and everyone liked rich men, right?
In the middle of his sprint, Hawke tried to be reasonable. It amounted to 'what could happen?' Varric could've been lying about the rates. Anders had probably set himself up in some ramshackle booth of some kind. And no one would be there. No one at all. Because why bother with kissing someone, anyone, when you could get far more at the Blooming Rose? Sailors didn't pull into docks solely to kiss. Women didn't even bother to go down to the docks anyway. Sure, maybe Anders would have a few participants of his underground show up to give him a pity kiss, but surely that would be all!
Surely the line forming into the entry area of Lowtown was because the Gallows was having a visiting day. Solivitus was probably selling something new. Or maybe the Templars were having a mage-bashing party. Or Isabela was putting on a show.
They were all holding tickets.
Why was everyone in the line holding tickets??
Anders glowered at Hawke when Hawke found him, sitting in a relatively pristine wooden booth. Hawke felt relieved that Anders' eyes were their normal shade and his skin was remarkably uncracked. "Don't tell me you went along with Justice's idea here," Hawke started.
"You're the one who gave him the idea! Thanks to you, I've now got myself plenty of clients!"
"Better this than standing on a corner in drag!"
"No one would recognize me! Did you also tell him about the prices? You have no idea how big a headache I had when I tried to convince him of that number!"
The pieces were starting to fall into place. If Anders couldn't fight against Justice, then he could certainly try to manipulate some events so that the fallout wasn't so terrible. Hawke wanted to apologize to Anders. Apologies were never his strong suit. He tended to fumble on the words, give sarcastic quips instead, or just outright say that the person would thank him later. He wanted to tell Anders to abandon the booth. To come back with him to his estate. To stay within the guest room if he didn't feel comfortable staying in Hawke's room.
He wanted to say so much to the mage.
All that came out was, "Where do I buy the tickets?"
Years of quick reflexes allowed him to dodge the rock Anders threw at him. "Didn't mean it! Sorry! Sorry!" Oh sure, now the right words came out.
Not that words could really make any of this right. It was Hawke's responsibility to ensure Anders' safety throughout this whole kissing booth fiasco.
Especially when he learned that all the tickets had been sold out.
"You're kidding me!"
"Sorry," Merrill said, sounding not very sorry at all. "First come, first served. Probably should've made a limit for how many tickets a person could buy, but we'll know for next time!"
The prices were reasonable enough. Unfortunately, there were three kinds of charges. One for regular kissing, one for tongue, and one for Orlesian. "Did he tell you to differentiate between kisses?" He asked her.
"No. His funny spirit did!"
It was pointless to get upset at Merrill. Perhaps he could buy up a few tickets from a customer or two. Or fifty if the line was any determining guess.
He approached a familiar face. "Seneschal Bran! What are you doing here?"
"Waiting in line, obviously," came the terse reply. "No surprise seeing you here."
Hawke grinned. "Glad you remember me. Say, you wouldn't be interested in selling me your tickets, will you? I'll even pay you double for them! Who can beat a price like that?"
"You're right. I'm not interested in selling to you. At all. In fact," Bran grinned mirthlessly, "now that I know you want these tickets, you'll have to pry them out of my cold dead hands."
Hawke's expression went blank. "Give me those tickets or I'll tell Serendipity where you are."
--
Armed now with a few tickets, Hawke felt his spirits boost. He had done so many favors for these people that he was able to address them on a first-name basis. He remembered their quirks, their personal details that they wanted to keep quiet, and just what to say in order to get his way.
"Dulce, whatever would my mother think of you?"
"Gamlen, whatever would my mother think of you?"
"Cullen, whatever would my mother think of you?"
"I don't know, Hawke," Cullen confessed. "I don't know your mother very well, and-"
"Give me your tickets," Hawke growled. "Unless you want to face the fury of your knight-commander when she sees how incompetent you and your templar pals are when next you flub an assignment. There won't be anymore, 'Oh, Serah Hawke, please help me buckle my pants for the day', or 'Please, Serah Hawke, there's an eeeeevil mage down in that scary cavern but it's infested with spiders that love skirts, so I can't go down there'!"
Cullen gave Hawke his tickets with a glare.
Hawke kept moving from victim to victim.
"Varric? Please? Be a bro!"
"No, Hawke."
"But you don't even want to kiss him! You just want to make me beg!"
Varric smiled. "So you think."
"So I know."
"I'm waiting."
Hawke scowled and got to his knees. "Please, Varric! You're so handsome and smart, and-"
--
"Bullshit!"
Varric rolled his eyes. "Fine, so he didn't beg. I don't think he even saw me in line, and by the time I got to Anders, he was already trying to convince Bethany to give up her tickets. Still, it could've happened."
--
"Bethany, you're killing me!"
"I'm telling you, Garrett, I don't have any tickets! I'm just holding another's place in line."
"Who are you holding it for?"
Sebastian had a very good sense of timing. "Hello there, Hawke. Nice afternoon, isn't it?" Without waiting for a response, Sebastian turned to Bethany. "Thank you for saving my place."
Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Aren't you supposed to be chaste?"
"A kiss can be chaste. Besides, it's obvious that Anders is doing this for monetary reasons. He may well be starving, so rather than steal anything, he chooses to try and find a better means to an end. Kissing isn't frowned upon by the Maker, and I think it's good to give to charity whenever I can," Sebastian explained.
Hawke felt his face flush. "Anders is not a charity case!" He yelled, indignant on his friend's behalf. He ignored the looks he was getting. "He is my boyfriend and you are taking advantage of his exceptionally poor idea instead of helping him get on a better path!"
Now more people were starting to stare.
"Unlike you," Hawke continued, "I am trying to do what is right to help this poor man! So now I implore you, all of you, on behalf of Andraste and the Maker, to let me purchase your tickets!"
At least he knew how to work a crowd. Even if he looked half-mad and his beard was currently lacking in its shiny gleam. Sebastian, now properly chastised Hawke liked to think, gave over his tickets. The other customers were nowhere near as giving, but they were willing to let Hawke buy them off of them.
"Now," Hawke said, the glint in his eyes shining as he held all the tickets he bought in both arms while walking up to Anders. "Now I have all the tickets!"
Anders gave Hawke a dry look. "So you do. Everyone heard you shouting. Something about me being yours."
Hawke dumped the tickets down. "I'm officially broke! I purchased all of them, every single one I could get to before they got to you first. But I have them all, all the tickets, and so help me, I am returning them to you, and I intend for you to fulfill them all!"
Anders looked dubious.
"Not all at once," Hawke clarified as he leaned over the driftwood to get closer to Anders. "But over the course of many, many years."
It was the most romantic thing Hawke had ever said to Anders. At least according to Anders. To Hawke, the most romantic he had ever been to Anders was trusting him to be able to clean his blade.
A deep voice came from behind Hawke just as Hawke was leaning in further to have his first kiss. "I think you will find that you didn't purchase all the tickets, Serah Hawke."
Hawke recognized the owner of said voice. So did Anders. Both went a little pale. Hawke slowly turned around to face the Arishok who was holding three blue tickets in his large hand.
Hawke's eyes narrowed. "I'll buy those off of you."
"I overheard you. You don't have any money." The Arishok extracted one of the tickets from the others. "This one is for Orlesian style."
Hawke's eyes narrowed even further. "I'll fight you for them."
The Arishok laughed. "Are these worth your life now?"
"Hawke, you really don't have to," Anders began.
"For the sake of your honor, I must!" Now this was a role he felt more comfortable in playing. The role of the hero instead of the used sword seller. "You and me, Arishok. For those tickets. I challenge you to a duel!"
The words rang loudly amidst the docks, and the few people who had stayed behind to watch the ordeal were now happy to see a potential bloodbath.
"It's just a stupid kissing booth," Anders groused, one elbow on his driftwood, chin in hand.
The Arishok took out his massive broadsword. "I will not walk away from a duel, Serah Hawke. I hope you're ready to die over paper."
"I hope you're ready to..die over..paper!" Hawke challenged back. Extracting only one of his blades, he hastily whistled for his pet mabari. The dog charged right for the Arishok from behind just as Hawke charged the Qunari at his front. Hawke's lone blade made contact with the Arishok's sword, the metal clanging harshly together, and a few chips fell from Hawke's blade. The Arishok merely yanked his sword upwards, taking Hawke's blade with it and out of Hawke's hand.
A quick turn was enough to toss the mabari off of the Arishok's hind quarters, but when the Arishok turned back around to face Hawke, Hawke was already off and running.
"You think you can win this by running?"
"Nope!" Hawke didn't dare look behind himself. He knew the Arishok would gradually be gaining ground on him if he kept to this pace. But all he needed was just a few...more...feet!
He reached the end of the docks and immediately dove into the cold water below. Swimming a few feet away from the docks, he emerged. A gale of hysterical laughter escaped him when he saw the Arishok standing on the docks looking over at him. "Duel's over! I won!" Hawke called.
"You ran away. You think I can't swim?" The Arishok called, barely having to raise his voice to be heard.
"Think again! The duel was for the tickets!" Hawke held up his hand, showing the Arishok the mess of three soggy tickets clenched in his palm. "Can't out-duel a rogue! And see? They're so wet, they can't even be read! They're worthless! Your tickets are gone!" Hawke let out another triumphant laugh.
The Arishok turned away from him.
"Yeah, you keep walking! You just keep on walking back to your Qunari resort! The better man won today! The better man-" Hawke paused when he saw the Arishok over by the booth. He couldn't hear what the Qunari said to Anders, but the mage was abruptly moving away from the booth.
The booth that still had all of Hawke's tickets upon it.
"Wait..." Hawke's words died on his lips as the Arishok lined up the booth with his broadsword. "WAIT! NO!"
With a mighty swing, the Arishok used his sword as a human would a baseball bat. The booth cracked under the pressure and was launched into the air. The tickets streamed down like a mass of confetti, all of them landing in the water.
"NO!" Hawke tried swimming to them, to gather them up before they ended up soaked and unreadable.
He was still trying to gather them up as the crowd drifted away and the sun began to set. Anders sat on the docks, his boots off and his feet in the water. "It was just a stupid kissing booth," he muttered. At least the money he had accrued could go into getting better supplies for his clinic. He'd have to ask Merrill how much he could afford to donate to Lirene's clinic.
"Anders! Anders! I think this one can still be read! See? Right here. Or-le-sian! Does this count?"