The Inquisitor peeked out from the side of the barn, eyes darting from one end of the courtyard to the other in a conspiratorial fashion. One or two soldiers bustled about on Inquisition business, business that was surely too important to merit investigation of two entangled forms in the shadows... no, it was too risky. She bit her lip as she waited for what few potential witnesses were left to dissipate.
When the coast was clear of all but the merchants, the Inquisitor ducked back into the shadows.
"It's just you and me, Seneschal Bran..."
The Inquisitor batted her eyelashes seductively and whatnot, slowly approaching the Seneschal. As she drew near, her eyes took in his features: his hair was kind of...nice? Maybe? No, not really. His eyes were... um, his face was...?... His arse?... Uh...er. F**k it.
The Seneschal's face drew into it's all too familiar, 'better than thou' expression. "That's 'Provisional Viscount of Kirkwall', actually-"
"Oh, shut up and go with it."
The Inquisitor thrust Seneschal Bran against the wall of the barn. Their brief moment of heated passion, tousled hair, and unfastened buttons was interrupted by a cry of, "WHAT in the name of ANDRASTE'S ASS."
There stood Varric, shielding his eyes from the illicit love scene as though blinded with pain.
"Varric!" gasped the Inquisitor. A disgruntled Seneschal Bran was forcibly shoved into a pile of hay that was probably clean of horse droppings and stray pitchforks...probably. "We were jus- uh, I was just... not doing what you probably think I was doing."
"Hey, I didn't see anything." Varric slowly backed away from the side of the barn. "... that's what I'm going to tell myself for the next couple months to stop the nightmares, anyways." he muttered.
The Inquisitor slowly brought her palm to her forehead.