Mystic: I need to get out of the angst rut. Eh, consider this part drabble, part let's-see-how-sappy-I-can-get. Catch the Coldplay reference!

Imagine Dragons

The Lindblum night market held a vast variety of goods for both human and mage. One popular shoppe advertised in the red lantern district catered to the mature audience of desperate housewives and fornicating teenagers. Even a noblewoman like the lady Hilda required an identification card verifying her age and the capability not to break out in giggles at the sight of phallic objects. Consequently, most of the customers happened to be desperate housewives. (Hilda did acquire one "warning" infraction when she spotted a distinct phallic object in a very dark colour. She giggled for hours.)

Besides the devices meant for a woman's pleasure, Lady Hilda treasured the performances. Singers, dancers, and musicians wandered throughout the market, tantalizing and teasing their audience. A select few of impressive talent acquired a private stage and, for the right price, any member of the audience could receive a private performance. For the most part, the lady preferred the sleek young men who danced or played sport. Their lean muscles glistened in oil and gave her the perfect environment to forget about her troubles. Which were many, sadly.

Never did she ask for a solo performance, but one violinist sorely tempted her. He was gentle and sweet with his music, young in his years, and moved with the smoothness of a mage. He always wore a mask about his face, but Hilda clearly saw a troubled soul in his eyes. More than once did she fight the urge to invite him for coffee, but always stopped herself for fear she'd end up making him breakfast in the morning.

Yes, she was that troubled. Very, very sadly.

Every other weekend the lady strolled through the night market, not appearing as her political self. She tossed aside modest attire and wore something a little daring, a tad risque. Hilda let her hair down and wore a bit of rouge; she raised her hemline and dusted her cleavage with glitter. If fate worked in her favor, that violinist might play her favourite hymn while she imbibed her cocktail.

Actually, no. Not her preferred word right now. Mixed drink.

This one particular evening found Lady Hilda standing before her mirror, wondering if her hair needed curled or straightened. She wasn't even fully dressed yet, stood around in her corset and garters. For her age, she still caught men's - and a few women - attention. Not the one man that mattered, as her spells kept her young and he was terrified of them. He aged, she did not, and their subjects gossiped until the morning dawn which was normally when Hilda returned from her endeavors. Her chosen dress for tonight was an off-the-shoulder number. Perhaps bouncy curls would be best appropriate.

Yet the mind drifted to that violinist again. He had beautiful hair; it lay down his back in a sea of silver and she was never quite sure if the shade was natural. Not that she cared, but just once did she want to run her fingers through the locks.

It wouldn't be completely inappropriate to hire a courtier. He could play privately in her chambers while a handmaiden stood watch to make sure nothing intimate took place. (Truth be known, Hilda had plenty enough gil to pay off the servant for her silence if anything were to get horizontal.) If the regency hosted a ball, the courtier would be her escort and dance with her since the Regent was unable. Hilda's mind drifted to a pleasant daydream of a healthy young mage with silver hair and gentle features -

Wait.

No. Do not go there, madame.

She wasn't even sure if the mage who shall not be named even played the violin, though his singing voice once made her swoon. Her wanderings in the Desert Palace were limited to the library, kitchen, or the outside greenhouse. For the sake of her mental clarity, Hilda refused to recall the private chamber in Mount Gulug. Or her chamber in the palace itself, or his master chamber...

Ironically, the mage who shall not be named had the warmest suite in the palace. Not that he didn't supply her with extra blankets and firewood for the hearth, but his fireplace was bigger than her own. It wasn't fair that his was bigger. (Good thing his kind didn't use wands.)

Bahamut's wings and Ifrit's horns. Now she was thinking about it. Lady Hilda sighed, shook her head, and reached for the hair pins. In less than an hour, she'd be out among the red lantern district; the special shoppe ordered a distinct phallic object in a very dark colour for her on her last visit. As the lady began to roll her blonde tresses, she felt a bit on edge, like her nerves were alert to someone outside. With her doors shut and curtains drawn closed, she still felt a pair of eyes roaming over her body.

No.

Tonight she'd drink a little bit, dance a little bit, then tomorrow morning devise a lesson plan to help Eiko with her arithmetic.

"And I, well, if I ever caused you trouble. Oh no, I never meant to do you harm."

The Lady of Lindblum bit her lip and felt her face grow hot. Sweet Shiva and her icy ways.

That violinist was singing too. It was music more applicable for a coffee house, but his voice stirred a fire in her lower belly. Any more of these thoughts and her wild spirit would leave her physical form and ride bareback on a chocobo to haunt the countryside. The fae folk called it a poltergasm.

"Oh, no, I see. A spider web and it's me in the middle."

A crimson incandescent glow filled one of the private stages, and against her better judgement, Hilda sat down at a table in the front row. There was something in that masked man's eyes, his expression, something the lady couldn't quite put her finger on. If possible, it'd involve far more than one finger. Ripping her gaze from his hidden face, she allowed herself to visibly explore his form. Lean muscles, oh yes, clearly masculine, but soft expressions and movements like the feminine. The enchantments of a mage were clearly there, but to how much she couldn't quite be sure.

Unless he masked more than his facial features.

A waitress offered her a drink, which she accepted, handing over a few gil. The alcohol relaxed her and she allowed herself to stare for pure fun. His chest was bare, his clothes were silk, and his backside made her very happy. Forget the bareback on a chocobo; this might require a grand dragon.

She blinked, but didn't tear her eyes away. It might have been an excuse to ogle him more, but as his lyrics drifted in and out of her head, Lady Hilda focused on his whole person. Gathering her chants, she breathed, attempting to fight her way through his casual spells. He was a powerful mage; she'd give him that much credit.

There. There it was. His true strength. Her eyes widened, and not due to the strength of her drink. Hidden beneath soft fabric and enchantments, visible most likely to other persons of high magic, was a furry, light-coloured tail.

Mystic: I have a plot. Somewhere. I promise. Leave some feedback, please?