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    The East

    The east side of the city is often considered the heart of Sacrosanct. It's here were the majority of the shopping district can be found, deep in the heart of downtown. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often times, new comers to the city may be come overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever present feeling that's hardly noticed. The streets of the east side are frequented by all species as many companies are housed in the sky scrapers and hole in the wall establishments that line the streets.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    Cat's Meow

    owned by Nadya Tetradore
    0 employees

    Cat's Meow

    An older brick building tucked downtown with only a neon sign above the steel door saying Cat's Meow and the drifting of music to let you know of the burlesque within. The inner confines have a lavish feeling of comfort and style. At one end of the building is a large stage for the dancers to entertain with small round tables scattered in front for the customers to sip or dine while watching. Directly across from the stage is a fully stocked bar so you’re never without a view of the entertainment.

    Owner Nadya Tetradore

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    Downtown

    Downtown

    The city has a unique skyline, clashing between modern sky rises and small victorian storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however.

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    Inner Sanctum

    owned by Alexander Macedonia
    2 employees

    Inner Sanctum

    This hidden little cafe is loaded with essentricities and antiques that fill every corner of this remarkable place. The walls are lined with oddities from every corner of the world. Beyond the intriging decor, this place is known for it's delectable coffees and it's exquisite latte art.

    Owner Alexander Macedonia

    Barista Alexis Wilde
    Barista Calliel Alosi

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    Red on the Water

    owned by Isolt Griffin
    2 employees

    Red on the Water

    Nestled in a pleasant alcove that is but a stone?s throw away from the dazzling labyrinth of downtown, Red on the Water is a spectacle in its own right. Renovated in the style of a classic Irish pub with a dash of modern flare befitting the city that boasts it, this up-and-coming venue is the perfect place to snag an impeccably prepared home-cooked meal and enjoy the city?s most impressive collection of brews from Ireland and beyond. You and your guests are sure to be mesmerized and invigorated by the energetic offerings of the live Celtic band to be found here every weekend.

    Owner Isolt Griffin

    Co-Owner Damon Marcello
    Waitress Yumi Chizue

you're my water you're my wine166.137.136.75Posted On October 27, 2017 at 10:45 AM by malek ackerman

Malek Ackerman

You're my water. You're my wine.



Her words are lost on deaf ears as he devours his prey. How delicious it truly was. Never again would Malek feed off of animals to sate his hunger, this was who he was, this is what the gods made him. He was a predator and the mortal trash should quake as he neared, they were no better than ants beneath his feet. Even the feeling of his fingers playing in the tangles of his hair is ignored, he knows nothing but the blood in his mouth, filling his body. And when he finishes, not bothering to wipe his face from his snack, he merely turns on a heel, practically materializing in front of Petra, that devilish grin so adorning his features as he peers down at her. Hips pinning her against the wall, he felt strong again, quick, immortal; Malek felt like a damn God.

His metal gray eyes are dark as his gaze locks with her, even going as far as to travel her body, stripping her with his look. After a moment, he leans forward and whispers into her ear, allowing the vampire to lean forward and brush her lips with his, though he doesn’t make a move to deepen the act, nor take it any farther. At least not yet. Instead, Malek arches a brow at her, the dark smile dancing on his lips, which only grows more malicious as the woman speaks to him about painting the town red. Tilting his head, as if he were truly contemplating her suggestion, he regards her as if she were a mouse, one he would rather enjoy hunting tonight.

“Ah, I cannot disagree with you,” he purrs at her, lowering his lips to brush her neck, entirely trapping her against the wall. Rather than planting a kiss there, he allows his bloodied lips to rest there as his cool breath travels across her and he speaks against her skin, “Perhaps we can start with that boy standing outside the club?” He suggests, referring to the man who gave the woman lustful eyes, he didn’t particularly care to have his belongings tampered with. And at least for tonight, Petra belonged to him. After a moment, he pulls away, his eyes hooded with hunger, yet, Malek wasn’t just after blood this evening.

Removing his body from hers, he takes a step back to allow the woman some space as he gestures down the alley to the still smoking group. “Show me how you hunt, Petra,” he growls, those baritones releasing from his throat. Tilting his head lazily to the group beyond them, he can still see that man staring into the shadows, though they were cloaked in darkness, he could see the contemplation in the stranger’s eyes, as if he wanted to brave the dark and seek out Petra. He knew the look of lust all too well.

“I’ll even leave that one to you,” he states casually, sniffing in distaste at the man, with perhaps a bit of jealousy tinging his lyrics.

“You are correct though, my dear. I don’t like sharing,” he rumbles darkly, his eyes glinting dangerously as he turns those metallic eyes back to the smaller woman. Perhaps he didn’t outright say it, but he was certain Petra would find the meaning clear. With his heightened senses, he listens to the drunk couple that passes by the alley, their laughter echoing down the walls. Darting a tongue out, he relishes the taste of blood on his lips before he raises a hand and wipes at the rest of the blood; cleaning himself up as best as possible.

He didn’t want to scare dinner off with a blood splattered face, though their terror would be delicious. And all the while, he can faintly hear the screaming of someone inside his head, telling him to stop. Yet, it was so much easier to ignore. Why would he stop? Especially when he hadn’t had this much fun in centuries.

You're my whiskey. From time to time.



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