"Hey ghost boy, read my mind."
Cole smiled. The Inquisitor was not like the others. In many ways, they were different-not just the mark on their hand, but the way they thought, acted, everything just seemed to stand out from others. Above all what stood out, however, was the Inquisitor's lack of fear, especially around Cole. Those who saw him, remembered him, often feared and reviled him, especially when he spoke of their secrets. He didn't understand why they seemed so frightened when he merely wanted to look through their hurts, help the ones he cared for as much as he helped other people around Skyhold.
The Inquisitor, however, didn't fear Cole in their mind at all. Rather, they seemed to think it thrilling that Cole could see their thoughts, eagerly encouraging his powers whenever he would engage in unravelling them or one of their companions. This was the first time they ever asked him outright to 'read their mind,' body swaying slightly at the table in the tavern that they had dragged him down to.
He looked into their eyes, his mind extending in a way to meet theirs, something he had done so many times before. The feelings would fill him up in a way that he couldn't tell if they were pictures or words or just raw emotions, but regardless he would be able to 'see' exactly where trouble lay when he looked hard enough. Today the images started off hazy, the Inquisitor's mind somewhat clouded by the ale in their hand, but slowly and surely they appeared. A small, bemused smile played on Cole's lips as the images started to form. It was something he'd certainly seen before, both in the shadows while he walked the White Spire and the stronghold as well as playing in the minds of quite a few people when he would glance over the crowd. Still, it was something he didn't quite expect of the Inquisitor. The Iron Bull, perhaps, had spent a tad too much time at their side.
"Warm, writhing flesh pressed together. Passion, pulling of limbs and locks, panting heavily from the sensation. Desire has been building, yes, this is finally happening, after so many longing, ignored looks and misinterpreted intentions…"
"Hn." The Inquisitor nodded, eyes half lidded, and took another drink. It seemed they weren't yet satisfied. Cole pressed his mind to look further into the images swirling in their brain.
"A face appears, flushed, needy, biting at his lip. Fine pale hair flitters around his face and-"
The choked noise Cole made brought a broader grin to the Inquisitor's face.
"Oh, how I love your narration. You should really go on."
"I...am not sure how to continue," he said, starting to blush.
"Oh good, spirits do have blood in their faces. I was worried I'd have to change that part of the fantasy." They chuckled and tapped their fingers along the rim of their now-empty glass, and Cole just went redder.
"These thoughts are not ones I haven't seen before, but to feature in them so graphically…" He could see that the Inquisitor was actually seeming to relish in his discomfort, like it was both a common amusement and, more importantly, a means to the overly fantastical end that danced in their brain. Cole cleared his throat, as he had seen people do in such uncomfortable situations before, and stood from the table.
"Off so soon?"
"I-I believe that it would be best if I left you alone with your thoughts," he said, and the Inquisitor snorted.
"That's nothing I'd expect to hear from you," they said, but before they could finish the words the boy had vanished. The Inquisitor was relatively certain they could hear a young man's footsteps pounding up the stairs to the tavern attic, but they couldn't be completely certain. They motioned to the bartender for a refill of their ale glass, and gazed at the tiny dregs of the drink that remained contemplatively.
Well, at least they finally got the message across.