Author's Note:Because I love sushi. And Dragon Age. And the idea of all the warriors in little pink uniforms.

Summary: And so it begins. With three warriors taking orders, two rogues rolling sushi and three mages in the kitchen, how could this possibly be a bad idea?

Disclaimer: They don't belong to me...sadly ;_;

Sushi-Qun

Lunch Rush

"I will not do it."

"Oh... Come on, now. It's not that bad."

"No."

"I mean, really, the pink goes well with your eyes."

Fenris scowled harder than he had ever scowled before. I will not, he repeated internally, more to convince himself than the man standing before him.

You did him a grave insult, his conscience reminded him helpfully. You did swear to help him.

But this goes beyond help!

His unvoiced protests became fainter and fainter. The lyrium warrior's scowl became a frown, and then resolved into his normal sombre expression. It will not be like it was with Danarius, he promised himself. How could it be, when Hawke was already in the ridiculous uniform himself?

He sighed, crossed his arms over his floral kimono and asked, "How much are we getting paid?"

"15 sovereigns and that treasure chest." Hawke grinned, his teeth glistening whitely through his beard, and pointed at the large chest taking up a quarter of the staff room. The big lock glowed golden in the slanting afternoon light.

Fenris eyed Hawke, dressed in a pink, floral uniform, and looked down at himself. He straightened his wide sleeves. "15 is not enough."

"But the treasure chest!" Hawke's eyes bugged. He gripped the elf by the narrow shoulders and shook him. "There might be something really awesome in there!"

Fenris tore the other man off of him with strength that belied his slender figure. "I bet you your share of the money that it's moth-eaten scarves and a broken fork."

"But it might be a sword! Or armour! It could even be something for you!" Hawke propped a fist on his hip and pointed at Fenris with the other hand. "Anyway, why are you complaining? Aren't you trained for this? Specifically? I mean, when you weren't trained to kill things in new and fascinating ways?"

The elf's eyebrow twitch. His voice came out a low growl. "I was nottrained to wear a pink uniform and serve tea and rice wine!"

Hawke's wide smile never faltered. "But you do it so well."

Before Fenris could tear out the human's heart and feed it to him, the staff room door slammed open and a massive, horned head wedged itself in. "Bas," the large qunari intoned, "the customers await."

Hawke straightened and nodded. "Yes, Arish-ef. We'll be there in a moment."

With a grunt of effort, the large qunari pried his horns out of the doorway and thudded away.

"Well." Hawke smirked at his companion. "You heard the man... Tonight, we do as the Sushi-qun demands."

Fenris glared a moment longer. "Fine," he finally gritted. "But I will carry my axe." At least it covered most of the gigantic pink bow tied at the small of his back.

The dining room of the Sushi-qun was already half-full with late lunch diners. When Hawke and Fenris emerged from the staff room, it was in time to watch Aveline run through the menu list in a drill sergeant voice. The two customers, they looked like elderly Orlesian men, cringed in their seats and stared up at the guardswoman.

"I'll take ze, um, ze spider roll," said one, trembling, when she had finished her list.

Aveline leaned over the table, braced on her palms, and murmured, "Do you know where we need to go to get those spiders?"

The Orlesians swallowed heavily, audible even from a distance. "What would ze, uh, lady recommend?" the other asked.

Aveline abruptly straightened and smiled. She brushed off the front of her uniform and cheerfully replied, "The Sushi-qun Special for today is the Kirkwall Maki Set. It comes with mixed greens, soup and dessert."

"We'll have two of zose," the Orlesian said.

"Coming right up!" The guardswoman pivoted on her heel and marched toward the kitchen. She paused as she approached Hawke and Fenris. "Well, it's about time you joined me. Fenris, you look lovely. Hawke, you're a disgrace. As usual."

"I love you, too, Aveline."

If anything, Aveline looked more uncomfortable in her own uniform than Fenris felt. It was slightly mollifying for the elf. Slightly.

Aveline swept past and slapped her order on the sushi bar. "Look smart," she barked.

Varric and Isabela, wearing identical white uniforms, jumped and whirled. They stepped closer together, hiding whatever they'd been doing on the counter behind them, equally wide smiles on their faces.

"Another Kirkwall, Red?" Varric asked.

"Two," replied the guardswoman.

"How boring," Isabela sighed. She pulled out her knives. "I like cutting, but not if it's the same thing over and over again. Why don't you let them order what they want to order?"

"In the barracks, everyone eats the same thing."

The rogues looked at each other and shrugged. "I would argue," Isabela started, "but... those man-hands... they frighten me."

Varric leaned sideways, peering over the bits of sea animal and vegetable, through the glass of the sushi bar. "Hey, now, Rivaini, look who decided to join us! Hawke, get your ass out there and take some orders! We want more than one roll!"

Isabela smirked. "I want all the rolls." She heaved a breath and her white jacket stretched over her considerable bosom.

Hawke grinned toothily. "Is, I'll get you all the rolls you could ever want."

"Ugh." Aveline waved a hand as though brushing an insect away from her ear. "I need some salads. Come on, Fenris, I'll show you where the water and wine are."

She led him deeper into the restaurant, past the sushi bar, to a curtained door. Orange light glowed around the edges of the curtain. Smoke wreathed the floor. Fenris' and Aveline's hair rose in the charged atmosphere. Aveline pounded on the lintel. "I need salads!" she shouted.

There was a crash, like pots and pans or a suit of armour. Someone, or something, called out, but it was muffled and distant. A chill crawled up Fenris' spine at the mournful cry.

Without warning, two hands pushed past the curtains. Each held a bowl. "Salads," came a rather harassed male voice.

Aveline glanced down at them critically. "Anders, these are on fire."

Anders' blond head emerged. He looked down and frowned. "You know, it was good enough for Andraste-"

"Anders," Aveline said warningly.

"Fine," he sighed. Ice crystals and steam puffed into existence in each bowl, effectively putting out the flames. He held them out to Aveline, a hopeful smile on his flushed features.

The guardswoman narrowed her eyes. "Maybe you should ask Bethany to make the salads."

"Um. I'm not sure that's a good idea." Anders' eyes flicked back, over his shoulder, and his black shoulders shuddered. "She and Merrill are, um, having some creative differences about the, uh, the soup." He ducked and a pot careened out of the kitchen and ricocheted off the far wall. "Bethany thinks there should be more octopus. Merrill thinks that octopus is something that can help her rebuild a mirror?" Holding the curtain closed on the sides of his face, he leaned toward Aveline and hissed, "Help me."

Aveline took the two bowls of frozen, scorched greenery. "Talk to Hawke, Anders. We all owe him a favour, but just think of what you can get him to do after this."

Anders looked briefly thoughtful. Then he gave a little shriek and wrenched back into the kitchen. "Is that a tentacle?!"

Aveline sighed and looked to Fenris. "The water and wine are there," she said, nodding to a niche further down the hall, where there were kegs, pitchers and bottles a'plenty. "Keep all the glasses full and maybe we'll live through the night."

Fenris steeled himself. He padded forward, took a bottle in one hand and a pitcher in the other, turned and nodded at the guardswoman. "I was trained for this."