AnasAbdin
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Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@dimwitgyda-blog
shieldofeyjalin:
“Probably the same person who put the idea in your head, Gyda.” Eyjalin turned her head to her sister-in-law, her features jaded in the evening light. “But why on earth do you need a love potion for? If the man is so blind, you shouldn’t waste your time.”
The woman shrugged, bashfully eyeing the other. “I am bored,” came her simple reply. “I thought it may be a bit of fun. Though--! Now that you are here, you can entertain me. Come, tell me a tale.”
brynhildorlydottir:
“What do you need a love potion for?” Brynhild asked confusingly. “And I don’t know where you can make one….”
“To find my true love, of course. I am unfit for the battlefield so I must triumph in the bed-field! Battle-bed?” Gyda blinked, eyes birdishly wide. “Have I met you before?”
terenzfiedler:
Terenz’s eyebrows raised at the odd request. “A love potion … perhaps over at Ayla’s Apothecary? I’m not certain they’re entirely reliable, though, ma’am.” He’d never heard of a successful one, at any rate.
Accent and dress gave him away, leaving Gyda to wrinkle her nose. “Well what would you know? You don’t even talk to the proper Gods, now do you? I may know nothing about nothing but you probably know less.”
brynhildorlydottir:
“Would you like to join me for a drink?” Brynhild asked the other as she felt relaxed from traveling all day to stop here in Laewyth. Her sword and shield was next to her and was never out of her sight, along with a cup of ale in front of her. “This tavern has the best ale I’ve ever had in a long time.”
“Only if you buy my drink and tell me stories,” Gyda offered, sidling closer to the shield-maid. “Surely you have fantastic stories? All I’ve ever done is say at home - until now of course! - so I have very boring tales. Tell me something fantastic.”
"Why did you follow us to the south, Gyda? You would have been safer in Liflátinn."
“Inger has many worries, and is it not a sister’s duty to ease them where she can? I shall be her companion, handmaid, anything she needs!”
alexandreroux:
Wiping his forehead with the cloth Alexandre walked through the town square. He’d just gotten done dropping off the weapons at the palace. Everyone looked at him, they were nobles, or people who simply didn’t want him around. He was filthy so he couldn’t blame them, he hadn’t even spoken so they couldn’t know he was from Magnicourt. If he did that he could only imagine the looks then. But he was used to standing out. If it was from his appearance or something else. When he first came here he thought about trying to be a soldier, he was already bigger and stronger than most of the men he saw. But a Magnicourt man being part of their army? That was something that would never be allowed.
When a woman gasped loudly, stepping away from him as if he were some kind of animal the man held his hands up. “Do not worry madam, I assure you everything is washable. If you should find yourself able to recover. From such… a terrible outburst.” His accent thick, igniting even more of her anger. Before she could start yelling he quickly stepped away, “Do I truly look that bad?” Alexandre asked aloud, more to himself than anyone else.
If Gyda were to be completely honest, she’d admit to having given very little thought to the foreigners supposedly invading the land. They were a vague notion, and though she knew of them, the blonde never expected to actually meet one.
So when a man, covered in a very familiar layer of soot and sweat, appeared, spewing words that sounded half like nonsense, she tore herself away from her friends, giggling as she snatched up a lonely bucket of water.
This particular prank often made her father hollow ; she wondered if he would do the same.
One mighty heft and the water sprayed in an arch, straight for the outsider and Gyda shouted to him, enunciating every word for his poor, dumb ears to understand. “Yes, and you smell even worse! Do you not know how to wash?”
babettevinter:
“A love potion?” Babette looked at the blonde woman for a moment, “Pray to Freyja or Sjöfn , they are who guides our hearts.” She’d prayed to the goddess before, but of course nothing happened. “Why would you want a love potion anyway?”
“Of course I pray to them,” Gyda said, hands fluttering the words away dismissively. “But any extra help is needed in a pursuit, don’t you know? And so that when I find a love, I might make them adore me, of course. Well, even more then they will.”
ingervarsson:
Arms crossed, Inger leant against the rough stone wall. In spite of the day’s pleasantry, a feeling of unease had settled low in her stomach. More strange faces had arrived in Laewyth, those associated with the threat they had been preparing for, and she found herself acting as the southerners had when her family had pulled up to shore. Calculating, wary… hostile. Eyebrows furrowed, she surveyed some of the newcomers from a distance. “I don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?”
Gyda’s hair threw itself about her shoulders as she twirled, holding up two tiered hoops, each with matching beads of glass and metal dangling prettily. “The glass here, I hate to say, and I do hate to say it, is finer than back home, I think. Perhaps it’s easier to get material? Look how fetchingly they glittery in the sun!”
Tucking her arms gently round her sister, she held each to Inger’s temples, and gave them a shake. “Won’t these look lovely from your headband?”
eirikvarsson:
ϟ ☾ Eirik chuckled, the sound low in his throat. “You are a rare breed, Gyda,” he informed her, fondly. “Though I fear you will not find a lover worthy of a woman of the North amongst the Southern. They are hardly men at all.”
“Am I?” she questioned, mouth twisting in thought as her hands played with the many beaded necklaces at her throat. “Perhaps but I can do nothing useful, as Inger can, so I shall do my best to stay out of the way, hunting for my ‘hardly-a-man’. Though do not worry, I shall bring none home, as you are most likely right.”
zahidahassan:
♀ ✺ The woman’s sing song voice, and her laughter, was everything Zahida would wish for herself, if she could. She would never be able to be carefree, but in this moment, she could pretend. Hands clasped each other, and she tugged her towards herself, going back into the twirling movement she had been performing before. “I could dance all night,” she sighed, wistfully.
For a moment, just, the tugging movement forward made Gyda’s head spin, swirling lights in her eyes as nothing but music filled her ears. Briefly stunned, the start of a new dance lifted her from the heady blanket brought on by drink and a late night. Following happily, though with slightly uneven steps, she proclaimed, “Then shall we? Though if you crave another partner after I step on your toes for an your, I shan’t blame you!”
eirikvarsson:
dimwitgyda:
ϟ ☾ “I- what?” Eirik questioned, unsure of whether or not he had heard her correctly. “And who, prey tell, is the object of your enchantments?”
Cheeks shimmering with the color of drink, Gyda gave her brother-in-law a highly amused look. “Why, no one, my Jarl. No one yet. But here, in this new, fantastical place, a woman should be prepared.”
♀ ✺ Growing up as she did, Zahida had few opportunities in life to let her hair down, metaphorically speaking, and enjoy herself. Indeed, she wasn’t sure she ever could. She had spent her life walking a tightrope, a precarious balance, and it did not do to let your guard down and tumble into the abyss below. The one thing that truly did make her feel carefree, however, was dancing. Twirling with the other revellers, she tipped her head back, dark hair spilling down her back, and let out a seldom laugh. Her eyes caught somebody else’s, and, her good mood lingering, she held her hands out to them. “Come and dance with me?” she implored.
There was too much tension in war ; when talking of it, when preparing for it, even just the thought of war made muscles swarm together like bands of fighters, ready to strike at any moment. Gyda did not like it. In fact, it made her feel downright ill. So when dancing was to be had, dance she did, and when a pair of warm hands reached for her own, she did not resist. “Only if you’ll dance with me!” the woman sang with laughter, grasping them tightly.
Freya Mavor as Elizabeth of York on set of “The White Queen” (2013)
Laewyth, evening.
“Do you know ---,” Gyda hushed conspiratorially, “Where I can get a love potion?”
have you ever been in love, gyda?
“Plenty of times, sister, you should know! Ha—! But nothing like mother and father sadly. One day!”
honesty asks.
time to get to know gyda!
she sat on the grass, dress draped across the ground, eyes focused on her tiny son in his cradle. valencia had requested the guards bring gustav’s cradle out into the courtyard so he could rest with the warm sun on his cheeks. the queen beamed down at her bundle of joy, happiest in that moment than she’d been in a long time. of course, the sound of footsteps behind her ruined everything. she lifted her head, struggling to put on a smile for whoever had been enjoying their day in the courtyard as well. “ a beautiful day, is it not? ”
Trying to find her sister, at the best of times, was a game in which Gyda was poorly skilled ; moreso now in this strange place, with all its strange people. Buzzing about like a fly in search of Inger, the woman instead found herself in an open courtyard, the sun oddly warm and a well-dressed lady neatly sprawled across the grass.
The mewl of a bairn brought Gyda closer and as she bounded, she answered politely, “Every day that starts is beautiful, though there’s nothing like these sunny cheeks.” Reaching into the cradle, she gave the babe’s springy cheek a poke, nestling down beside it. “Your babe’s a cute one. What’s his name?”
