Chapter Text
Hawke was handed a large box. “Mind putting that in the back if yer not too busy napping?” Her manager had asked indignantly.
She saluted with her free hand, nearly dropping the box in the process. “I- Uh- Oop, aye aye, Tethras.”
Her manager squinted at her, “Yeah, yeah, just go put it in the back.” Bartrand didn’t need to say “you screw-up.” She knew what he thought of her. To be fair, she was never all that competent a worker anyhow.
Cameron Hawke readjusted her grip on the box before turning on her heel to put it in storage. On the way, she passed through the furniture section, the beds looking so inviting in their softness and blankets and- Oh, was she drooling?
She really needed to get more sleep.
Evidently, so did the homeless man on one of the beds.
"Wait," She stopped in her tracts. Homeless person? She peered over at the man, a lanky sort all tanned and tattooed. His hair was bleached, his elven ears sticking out from the nearly white locks, and his clothes were ragged. "Hey, you know, you’re not allowed to sleep in here. This isn’t a bed and breakfast!"
She reached for his jacket to pull him out of the bedding, but the moment she grasped the dirty corduroy, his eyes snapped open. His tattoos glowed- wait, glowed?! - as he slammed her into the cardboard display. “What are you-” But then he seemed to wake up, and he released her.
"Look, buddy, you can’t just-" But he left, grumbling an apology under his breath.
She watched the hobo leave, wondering what the fuck she just saw.
Hawke stacked one box over another. Weird dudes with stupid tattoos.
He kind of vaguely reminded her of that skeevy elven friend of Isabela’s, the one who may or may not be a hitman and former prostitute.
But, then again, the likelihood that this elf was also a prostitute-turned-hitman was very low. Also, a little racist in its implications.
"Woah, nice bruise there, Hawke," Varric pointed out, cigarette between his teeth.
She turned around to face Varric fully. “Yeah, yeah, Tethras. Why are you loitering? Do you wanna get chewed out by Brother Dearest again?”
"Shhh, do you want him to hear you?” Varric hissed, taking out his cigarette that cool way those mobsters did with their cigars in the Godfather. “Besides, what happened?”
"Tried to wake up a homeless guy nappin’ in one of the bed displays." She rotated her index finger by her ear and whistled to signal that the man was absolute bonkers. "He woke up and gave me the third degree."
Varric chuckled, “Andraste, Hawke, another one?”
"But get this, the guy glowed.” Hawke whispered, as if she knew how fucking insane it sounded.
Varric suppressed a huff of laughter. “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me.”
"No way, have you ever known me to lie?" She quirked an eyebrow. Cameron Hawke was a lot of things, but a liar she was not.
Varric opened his mouth to counter her, but no examples came to mind. "Hmph," He finally grumbled, "Fine, I'll give you that. But I'll believe it when I see it."
She smirked as she tossed a stray plushie in its bin. "Don't tell me you haven't told wilder tales. The fern incident?" She leaned against the door frame as she watched him bristle. "Oh, or that time you claimed you saw Carver and Meri-"
He held up a hand, "No, no, I agree with you. I tell some fucking weirdass stories. But this? Forgive me if I have trouble suspending my disbelief."
"So wordsy," She mumbled under her breath as she went back to her shift at the register.
Not that she really blamed Varric for it. After all, she hardly believed what happened herself.