Fenris didn't dislike clothes in a general way. They served a purpose. But he rarely left his house without his armor and it bothered him, not having it on. No one here seemed to wear it, but Fenris couldn't quite give it up. He'd come to an arrangement with the shop owner where he could keep his sword on the premises, so long as it wasn't on his person. He'd kept some of the armor on, but it was covered by the shirt that was part of the shop's uniform. It was. . . a very bright blue. Mostly though, Fenris disliked it because it itched.
He also had discovered over the last two days that being around hundreds of flowers in a small space left him prone to sneezing fits, every now and then.
Overall, he preferred his last occupation. Squatting in Hightown while following Hawke into various places that he was likely to be killed for entering. But it wasn't so bad.
Though he was already immensely tired of the bell above the door, and of the people who gawked through windows at him.
He was in the back, stacking empty pots and watering plants as he'd been directed when he heard the obnoxious chime followed by a familiar voice. Fenris would likely never admit it, but the truth was he'd missed Hawke. She and Fenris clashed often. . . constantly, more or less. The same old argument spun out in hundreds of different ways over the years. But she had been Fenris' first friend, however combative that friendship was. And more than friend, nearly, though it had been. . . complicated. She wasn't there to see, but he smiled as soon as he heard Hawke speak and then hid it quickly. "I am here," he called. He plucked resignedly at the shirt, but sighed and left it, walking back into the main shop from the backroom and ducking around a large display case full of roses and into Hawke's sight line. "You can exit and return again, if it suits your sense of drama."