cherry valley forever
tannertan36
izzy's playlists!
Monterey Bay Aquarium
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Fai_Ryy
The Bowery Presents
occasionally subtle
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
d e v o n
Today's Document
Noah Kahan
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
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Jules of Nature
blake kathryn
Origami Around
PR's Tumblrdome
Cosmic Funnies
seen from Malaysia
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seen from Japan
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@xgoldina
this is a private blog for medina álvarez, an original character based in @cityofruinrp .
with all due respect, which is none . . . i will get everything i want .
information about medina, including wanted connections can be found here. interactions • aesthetics • messages • visuals • pinterest please note: anything at all involving your muse will be tagged as #ft. first name (ex. ft. aj)
Avi snorts, shakes his head and reaches for a bottle he knows has more bite, something a step above cheap liquor since apparently, she has standards. He has his moments, too, so he doesn't complain.
"That's not a secret, that's indecision."
Avi begins to pour, knowing he'll probably hear about this from Kingsley or an irate bartender later who can't reconcile the end-of-night inventory, but it's nothing he can't fix with his pockets. "You get a pity pour," and he sets the full glass down in front of her before topping his own off. He takes a sip, tops it off again. Another sip, another pour. His throat burns but his veins feel hot and his head swims. There, that'll do. He's sufficiently buzzed for now, so he hops back over the counter, though with a a little bit of a stumble.
"Now, then. What's this deal with this half-baked secret of yours, hm? I promise, I'm an excellent conversationalist." Humble too, obviously.
Medina didn’t flinch when he stumbled—just took another sip, letting the quiet grin play on her lips like he’d passed some ridiculous test she never announced. “A pity pour,” she echoed, swirling the glass once before taking a long, deliberate drink. “How charming. Should I return the favor with a sympathy secret? Something easy on the brain?” She gave him a beat to prepare before leaning in just slightly, enough for the words to feel like something just for him. “I once told a man I cursed his blood so it would taste like bleach to vampires. Watched him spiral for weeks. No spell, obviously—just salt in his tea every time he looked away.” She straightened again, entirely casual. “People believe what they’re afraid of. That’s a real secret.” A slight lift of her glass. “Cheers to conversational excellence.”
where: khaos grand opening who: open!
"So, what do you think the deal with these keys are?" Lis asked, staring at the wall of keys that seemed to be pretty much untouched. She was intrigued, and usually perhaps she'd be able to resist, but with AJs golden concoction flowing through her blood, the ability to restrain herself was slowly leaving her body. She had always acted on impulse, always been reckless, and the keys seemed more fun than the mask. Before the other could steal her idea and take one, Annalise reached out. Fingers found their way to a key that was Offered Out, begging to be taken. It seemed safe, inviting almost, and who was she to reject such an open invitation? The key was in her hands, and she looked around as though expecting magic to transport her somewhere. "I suppose I have to find the door it fits, maybe? Care to join? Or take your own and we can meet back up and compare notes." She teased, glancing over to the other stood next to her.
Medina watched as the girl — tipsy, glowing, maybe a little too curious for her own good — plucked a key like it had whispered her name. There was something inviting about her, reckless in a way Medina could recognize from a mile off. Maybe even respect. “You know,” Medina said, stepping closer, “there’s a good chance that’s cursed. Or booby-trapped. Or both. But hey — what’s life without a little magical risk?” Without waiting for permission, she fell into step beside her, sliding her hands into the pockets of her dark tailored coat. “I’m not grabbing one. Yet. Figure I’ll watch what yours does first. You can be the guinea pig, and I’ll be the morally ambiguous observer with a well-timed rescue spell. Deal?” She tilted her head toward the crowd ahead of them, where the rest of the club pulsed like a living thing. “Lead the way, keymaster. Let’s see if you just opened a door to Narnia or a death trap.”
When? 10:33pm
Where? Khàos Grand Opening Event.
Who? Open!
This was quite the shindig, the Astors knew how to throw a party. Events in these fashion weren't unfamiliar to Jameson, however, if he's telling the truth, it has been a while. Soirèes of this sort hadn't been high on the priority list as of late, dressing fancy and drinking expensive liquor didn't lead to a straight path towards world domination.
Jameson's head is quiet now, he's left with his own thoughts. How strange it is to be left completely alone to his own devices. Somewhat sad. Somewhat exciting. Though his truly appreciated and followed Dorian's ultimate wisdom, his nagging little voice could be such a vibe killer. Jameson gets to do what he does best tonight. Let loose.
He finds himself at the bar. Romy, his gorgeous date for the evening, is out mingling. When he has a drink for himself, or two, he'll find her and bring back one of her own in hand.
"Scotch, neat," Jameson tells the bartender, trusting he'd be served the most expensive and pretentious alcohol Astor money had to buy. "Make it a double."
He turns to the person besides him. "Having fun?" Jameson asks playfully, paired with his wiggling brow and classic Jameson grin.
Medina didn't mean to end up at the bar. Not really. But after an unfortunate ten-minute attempt to entertain conversation with a vampire who called her 'ethereal' like it was a compliment and not a warning sign, she needed something stronger than social graces and vodka. She glanced sidelong at the man who’d just slid in beside her, all confident grin and too-pretty-for-his-own-good charm, and sipped her drink before answering. “That depends,” she said, arching a brow. “Is it considered fun if I only threatened to hex someone once tonight?” Her tone was dry, but not cold— closer to amused if anything. She gave him a quick once-over. Nice suit. Easy posture. Didn’t reek of blood or desperation. Points for that. She turned toward him slightly, curiosity flickering beneath practiced boredom. “Let me guess. You’re either here to celebrate, cause trouble, or seduce someone into doing something reckless. Which is it?”
WHO: OPEN! (4/5) WHEN/WHERE: Early evening, Khàos Grand Opening
“No sign of hostiles”, Shiv muttered under their breath. “Still on high alert. Remain on standby. Over.”
The longer Shiv lingers in Khaos, the more they are convinced that this event is nothing more than what it is advertised as. Booze, music and magic.
Yes, there are several supernatural individuals of a higher threat level but their mere presence is not reason enough to call upon a hunt. If that were the case, Kennedy ( @drownholywater-kennedy ) would have run her surveillance van through the front doors by now. She was on high alert nonetheless, having ranted at them in said van over cups of coffee moments before. In exaggerated summary: Leeches, beasts and witches, all potentially conspiring in one hedonistic cesspool. A party.
Its going to take several more hours of eavesdropping on conversation via earpiece to ease Kennedy's anxiety and give the go ahead to leave. So here Shiv is, hovering from group to group, from magical attraction to frat ritual with little commitment and even less direction.
Tonight is supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. But a lone hunter on the prowl is bound to draw attention.
Medina had clocked them halfway across the room — hovering like they were casing the joint instead of enjoying it. Too stiff for a club, too quiet for a guest. Her gaze lingered until she was sure: not a creature, but someone who didn’t quite belong among the glitter and masks. She stepped up beside them like they were old friends who just hadn’t met yet, eyes still on the crowd. “You’re either undercover or deeply uncomfortable,” she said dryly, voice low and amused. “Either way, you stick out like a silver dagger at a séance.” Her lips quirked as she turned to face them. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to start trouble. Unless someone deserves it.” A beat. “So, tell me— what’s the code word for someone pretending to be a guest? Over.”
Infamy makes him cringe. "Nah, not really my scene, too young and hip."
Satin Cabaret makes him wince and cringe. "Nah, not my scene either." My sister dances there. He spares that detail.
"There was a nice place that fit the Old Mare vibe I enjoy but, it's... stinky." He says, half-joking, half serious. "So, no good bars, you don't know your way around, I don't know my way around... what's such an unhappy pair to do? Part ways, or find somewhere to talk?"
Medina huffs a soft laugh, amused by the double-cringe. “Too hip and too haunted, huh? You’re a hard man to please.” The mention of the Old Mare vibe earns a raised brow. “Stinky’s not a dealbreaker. Some of the best dives smell like spilled regret and cheap whiskey.” She considers him a moment, then shrugs, easy. “Well, if we’re both directionless, might as well be lost together. You buying the first round, or are we flipping a coin?”
"Spirit? Where, then?" She asks, suddenly searching around, head craning as she peers through the crowd in search of anything vengeful or dangerous. "Or do you call me a something coarse?" She leans her head one-side, peering at the other lady, though then her scowl crooks into a chiding, playful grin. "I jest, truly!"
The woman asks her question in reverse and Briar, who is still so taken with the closeness and frivolity of this new world, puckers up her face into a scrutinous gaze. "I think it matters not, and that you are as dear and fine as a springflower no matter the riddle's truth!"
"Now guess me, guess me! I love this game," she says, and strikes a pose Lara's showed her - more fit for the raised stage at the cabaret than infamy, but all are engaged in jolly debauchery tonight, so she feels the harm is small.
Medina watches Briar’s search with an easy amusement, letting the moment stretch before taking another sip. “No spirits—unless you count the ones in our glasses,” she muses. “And nothing coarse. Not yet, anyway.” Briar’s dramatics earn a sharp smirk, but Medina plays along, dark eyes scanning her in mock appraisal. “Not quite a ghost, though you’ve got the theatrics for it. Fae, maybe? You look like you know something the rest of us don’t.” She tilts her head, watching. “Close? or should I start guessing wilder?”
Raf nods along, laughing with a wide smile. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly forgettable, but I'll hold you to that, if only for the bit." He punctuates it by pointing at her, then sips on his own drink.
"Well, if you're ever out over by the rougher side of town, I help my partner caretake the old Cliffsides Motel. I uh, heh." He shakes his head. "I uh, right now don't recommend anybody actually stay there, necessarily - there's a perfectly serviceable Holiday Inn like another mile and a half down the road."
He smiles, standing up, reshouldering the bag. "Sure you don't need a ride anywhere? At the very least I can get you closer to downtown."
Medina let out a thoughtful hum, swirling what was left of her drink. “The rougher side of town, huh?” Her gaze flicked up to him, sharp with interest now. “And you’re saying I shouldn’t stay at this fine establishment? That’s a hard sell, mate.” She let the teasing settle before she continued, more deliberate now. “Actually… that might be exactly what I’m looking for.” A slow smirk. “I like a place with character. And I like knowing what’s going on in town.” She met his gaze, tilting her head slightly. “You got a spare room at this charming little disaster of yours, or should I start bribing your partner with coffee now?”
"You haven't seen everything. I can show you if you want." Aelin was seldom one to attempt proximity with the living, but something about this made her thirst for something she couldn't put a finger on.
The vampire bit her lip, finding herself stealing glances at her neck and wanting for the one thing that frightened her most. She had killed, but never an innocent being. The word leash made her squirm. She had never been put on a leash at all. She was sired and left to figure shit out. It was the curse, payback. "Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something wrong with me?"
Aelin shook her head at the other's explanation of ghosts and how they interacted. "I suppose you are entitled to your beliefs. " After all, Aelin was by all accounts a dead woman.
Medina arched a brow, intrigued by the offer but not so easily swayed. “Everything?” she echoed, amusement curling around the edges of her voice. “That’s a bold promise.” She didn’t doubt Aelin had ghosts of her own, but Medina had spent a lifetime navigating the shadows of the unseen. Whatever Aelin thought she could show her, Medina wasn’t convinced it would be anything she hadn’t already danced with before. Still, there was something in the vampire’s hesitation—the way her gaze flickered to Medina’s neck, the way she squirmed at the word leash—that made her pause. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something rawer, more complicated. Medina let the question hang between them for a beat before answering, her smirk softening into something quieter, more assessing. “Nothing’s wrong with you,” she mused, tipping her head. “But there’s something you don’t want to name.” A slow, knowing hum followed. “People don’t flinch at chains unless they’ve worn them before, love.” And when Aelin dismissed her thoughts on ghosts, Medina only gave a small, knowing shrug. “Fair enough,” she allowed easily, as if the answer mattered little to her either way. “Everyone’s got their own way of making peace with what lingers.” With that, she let the conversation settle, watching Aelin with the quiet patience of someone who knew when to press and when to let things lie.
What he knows Medina doesn't say is that she's been sent here. She hasn't missed his company or his bullshit. And just like AJ, the oracle's been flown over to this shithole on the old man's orders. There's plenty fun to be had in playing games or taunting her the same way she does to him. But like she says, truth is something Astor's have a complex relationship with.
Eyes slide back and forth, up and down her as she surveys him — his mouth stays curved up in the corner. Because there's little to say on their aimless jabbing.
Titan's name sours a conversation, by all accounts, anyhow.
"You can just tell me when you don't know everything, Dina." He's still playing, goading like she's formidable for doing. It's stupid to entertain this and he's throwing out her remark willy-nilly in the way they're bantering in front of a passing audience: "I thought I was the king of dramatics? I don't play guessing games."
Medina huffs a quiet laugh, not quite amused but certainly entertained. “Oh, darling,” she muses, the endearment dripping with both mockery and something softer, something only AJ would know how to catch, “I never said I know everything. I just know more than you.” She doesn’t bother defending herself against the dramatics claim—it’s true, and they both know it. But guessing games? That part makes her smirk, because for all his posturing, AJ Astor loves a puzzle. “Could’ve fooled me,” she remarks, tilting her head slightly. “You seem awfully invested for someone who doesn’t play.” There’s a glint in her eyes as she studies him, reading between the lines the way she always does. She could end this here. Give him nothing and walk away, let him stew in the mess he’s made, let Titan’s name rot between them without offering a damn thing in return. But where’s the fun in that? Instead, she leans in again, just close enough that her words are meant only for him. “Careful, AJ. You keep pretending you don’t care, and one day, you might actually start believing it.” Then, just as quickly, she’s gone, stepping back, her smirk firmly in place. “Now,” she exhales, rolling her shoulders, as if shaking off whatever unspoken weight lingers between them. “Are we getting a drink, or are you just going to stand there brooding at me all night?”
Charity Drag Race at Infamy
who: open! (1/4)
Briar sips her fruity, boozey little drink out of the little clear flimsy cup and chews on the little plastic twig and looks around a sea of revelry that would pry the devil out the ground to join. Lara, the vampyre, has gone off somewhere, she thinks to dance, and her brother, the other vampyre, is being an insufferable twit.
Dressed in some of the more chaste offerings she has come to adore for her bewitching dances at Lucia's club - though chaste applied hither is so loosely done it might well as not apply - she instead goes to hunt - perhaps to find Lara, to dance, or perhaps to find Daniel, to annoy. She finds someone, alright, and points to them for a moment with a wide smile.
"Yes! Work thee, queen!" She says to some such or another, raising her hands, drink and all, into the air in a vast wooping cheer before she rests her other hand back on her drink, perched in front of her. "Be you man or woman or both or neither or-" she leans in conspiratorially here -"perhaps all?"
Medina turns at the sound of the cheer, arching a brow as she takes in the stranger—flushed with drink, draped in something just shy of scandalous, grinning like they’ve already won the night. She lets the moment stretch just long enough to be deliberate before taking a slow sip of her own drink, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, aren’t you just the spirit of the evening?” she muses, tilting her head slightly. “And here I thought I’d get through the night without an existential crisis.” She leans in just enough to match the conspiratorial energy, smirk sharp. “But since you ask so nicely—what do you think?”
There it was, at the tip of his tongue: TJ's losing his control all over town. But truth never felt comfortable sitting in his mouth, so he swallowed down every last bit of it. Some of the worry still lingered, where he was afraid that not telling her would cause more harm, than good, but he had promised his friend, that he'd find protection in him, especially when it came to his brother and Dina has always been closer to the other Astor. His fingers busied drawing patterns on the surface of the kitchen counter, getting a stain out while having his eyes on her, almost letting magic scratch the side of her head, asking for permission to be allowed in.
There — he fed her a piece of information, like throwing a dog a bone, "I disagree. Mostly because it was me who had to handle TJ a few weeks back." he said; a twitch to his lips. "If I'm going to be a series regular on that show, I need to get paid a proper amount."
He's always wondered how much she was worth to them; what exactly did she get in return for her endless loyalty. Maybe it was some sort of infatuation with the boys, a crush she'd let fester. What is there for you, Dina?
Drink never left the counter, amber swooshed within the glass, as he toyed around with it. "Oh, I don't believe that, but for the sake of your visit— I'll play ball." after all, he'd hate to send her home empty handed, she's come all this way.
Medina exhaled a slow breath, measured, as though she were tasting his words just as deliberately as she had the drink. TJ. Of course. She had come here expecting something—confirmation, insight, even a lead—but hearing it spoken aloud still sent a ripple of irritation through her. She let her smirk linger, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Handling TJ,” she echoed, the words carrying a weight only someone who actually knew TJ Aster would catch. “That’s a full-time job. Hope you weren’t expecting hazard pay.” Her fingers drummed lightly against the rim of her glass, betraying none of the calculations running in the back of her mind. This city had made TJ restless. Worse, reckless. And if Riven knew enough to bring it up, then Medina had already wasted more time than she’d thought. Still, she didn’t bite outright—not yet. Instead, she let silence stretch, just enough to make him wonder what, exactly, she might already know. When she finally spoke, her voice was smooth, easy. “You’re too generous,” she mused, watching him toy with his drink. “Here I thought I’d have to work a little harder for scraps.”
But she wasn’t the type to beg. And Riven? He wasn’t the type to offer without an angle. She tipped her glass toward him slightly, as if offering a silent counter-wager. “So, what’s the going rate for this ‘series regular’ role, then?” Her gaze sharpened, her smirk flickering into something more knowing. “Because something tells me you’re not just in this for the fun of it.”
who: open where: infamy, a weekend night.
Infamy is positively alive tonight. In what Avi believes to be the heart and soul of Port Leiry, bodies are packed wall-to-wall, and the air is thick with a particular mix of scents that sort of makes his nose wrinkle (he's certain there's blood mixed in), but it's all the perfect blend of indulgence and abandon he can lose himself in.
Tonight, He isn't here as a promoter. No networking, no handshaking with the owner, no false smiles and sincere promises to draw in new clientele. Tonight, he's just another patron looking to silence whatever the hell might be loitering in his brain. Except, the bartenders are slow - or rather, they cannot quite keep up with the mouths shouting orders, competing for attention, and the hands waving bills and cards around. Avi lets out huff because this simply will not do, and he is far from patient.
With little hesitation, he jumps the bar counter and begins to grab at whatever looks good to him, pouring it all into a tumbler. He looks into the crowd, and when his gaze catches on the first person watching, his lips curl into an easy grin, as if he's supposed to be behind the counter even if his choice of wear says anything but. "What, am i making a drink for you too?"
Avi reaches for another glass, toying with it between his fingers before setting it down in front of them with a sharp clink, leaning forward slyly.
"Tell me a secret, and a drink is yours."
Medina had seen a lot of bold moves in her time, but watching someone vault the bar at Infamy like they owned the place? That was a new one. She leaned against the counter, watching with mild amusement as the stranger helped himself to the liquor like it was a personal stash. When his gaze found hers, all charm and mischief, she smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Well, aren’t you generous,” she mused, eyeing the glass he set down in front of her. “Not sure I’m in the habit of trading secrets for cheap liquor, though.” Still, she drummed her fingers against the bar, considering. Secrets were a currency she dealt in often—but giving them away freely? That was another matter entirely. After a beat, she leaned in just enough to match his sly energy, voice low but teasing. “Alright, I’ll bite,” she said, eyes gleaming. “I was supposed to leave town weeks ago. Haven’t quite gotten around to it.” A secret? Maybe. A truth? Certainly. And one she hadn’t voiced aloud until now. She slid the glass toward herself with a smirk. “Hope that’s worth a decent pour.”
Inside the cafe he, comes back to where he'd left her and offers her the cup. "Medina." He says, reading the name scrawled across the little paper band, before shrugging to her with an amiable nod. "I'll have to say that like thirty more times before I remember it, I'm bad with names." It's little moments like this that anchor him sometimes - bumping into people, being friendly, paying a favor back or forward. Reminds him that even in a city full of vampires and werewolves and witches, there's still a boatload of humanity. Granted - this woman could be a vampire or a witch or a werewolf and he'd never know - well, she's probably not a vampire at least - they apparently can't do sunlight like in the movies, but you know, two out of four options is still half and half.
He sits down opposite her and lowers his backpack to the floor to root through it a bit. "Where'd you say you were heading? If you're in a hurry I can give you a ride."
Medina took the cup, her fingers brushing the paper band as she glanced at her name written across it. “Not bad,” she remarked, lifting a brow. “Though if you forget, I won’t take it personally. I’ll just start making up new ones every time.” She watched as he settled in across from her, casually rooting through his bag. There was an ease to him, a kind of unfazed friendliness that wasn’t common in her usual circles. It wasn’t unwelcome, just… different. At his offer, she smirked over the rim of her cup. “Not heading anywhere in particular,” she admitted, taking a slow sip. “Figured I’d just see where the day goes.” A small shrug, as if that was the whole of it—because really, it was. No pressing obligations, no grand plans. Just the city, the coffee, and wherever she decided to go next.
"Just the tail end of it, darlin," he smirks, glancing towards the woman whose heels clip-clop away. He can smell the magic on her from here. "Let's not pretend any of us are strangers to the strange, yeah?"
He's glad, then for his recent drink; no reason to thirst for what courses through Medina's veins. "Don't worry, I'm mostly harmless, promise - just a new kid in town looking for a drinking establishment that doesn't give me a headache or a crippling identity crisis."
He flashes her a grin, still pink on the teeth. "Know one?"
Medina tilts her head, eyes scanning him, catching the pink still on his teeth. “Mostly harmless,” she repeats, testing the words. Her smirk sharpens. “Dangerous promise, though. People love a challenge.” Her gaze flicks to his last meal before returning to him, unreadable. “Strange’s relative. I’ve seen worse than late-night snacking.” A beat, her lips curling knowingly. “But I doubt you’re looking for my kind of drink.” She crosses her arms, pretending to weigh her options. “What are you after? A stiff drink? Infamy’s probably your best bet—loud, strong drinks, and a crowd looking for a good time. You know, if that’s your thing.” Her smirk deepens. “Or, if you’re feeling a bit more adventurous, you could try Satin Cabaret. Though, it’s not exactly what you’d call... low-key.” She shrugs. “But honestly? Don’t take my word for it. I’ve barely been around here long enough to know what's what.”
Who: Open
Where: Infamy at night.
Weekdays were always slower nights for Infamy, something about responsibility and work in the morning. Yet as the night wore on people still found their way into the club, Silas was amazed how it always seemed like there was always someone in Port Leiry that wanted to party late into the night. It was almost like they were allergic to the sun or something. The ebb and flow of the crowd created exactly the kind of night Silas loved, it was enough to keep him busy, keep him out of the spiraling thoughts about the body that had been found and his brother. Too many nights this week had already been lost to pour over minuscule leads in the dark of his apartment. However even as Silas maintained near constant movement behind the bar, thoughts of what was haunting the streets of this city tickled the back of his mind. Biting hard on the inside of his cheek Silas fought to stay in the moment, refusing to let his mind drift away. The coppery tang of blood flooded his mouth snapping him back to the flashing lights and pounding music around him.
Setting a finished order in front of the patron at the bar, Silas paused to scan their features, desperately looking for anything to keep his mind occupied. Leaning against the bar, and propping his head up against his chin, Silas gave the patron a large charming smile. Turning on years of burying his own problems deep in his chest “I hope I'm not overstepping here love, but has anyone told you, you have a fabulous bone structure. Have you ever thought about doing drag? In my professional opinion you'd look fabulous.”
Medina barely had time to lift her drink before the bartender—no, the host of the evening—was leaning in, all effortless charm and flashing lights. She took a slow sip, letting the warmth linger before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. At the compliment, one perfectly arched brow lifted, amusement dancing in her dark eyes. “Flattery and a recruitment pitch? You work fast,” she mused, smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Though, I have to admit, you're not the first to say that. Something about the cheekbones, I suppose.” She tilted her head slightly, studying Silas in return, like she was weighing the offer—or him. “But drag?” Medina exhaled a soft laugh, tapping her nails against the rim of her glass. “I don’t know if I’ve got the patience for all the padding and glue, but I do love a good stage entrance. And drama. That part I could manage.” Her smirk deepened, eyes flicking over his outfit with clear appreciation. “Though, I imagine I’d need a mentor. Someone experienced. Know anyone?” She held his gaze, playful but intrigued, because if nothing else, she could appreciate a well-timed distraction—and Silas seemed like just the type to provide one.
