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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

yet knowing how way leads on to way101.176.136.166Posted On July 19, 2017 at 12:31 AM by Dorian Aragona


There was something wholly delightful in speaking of those age-old military manoeuvres with the very man whom had all but invented their use. It had been near centuries since Dorian himself had held any need or cause to display his own knowledge of the topic and put to good use those hours spent studying those texts long-since forgotten. An excitement of sorts readily seemed to lace his voice, Dorian speaking with a clear animation despite the notion that Ferdinand had, ultimately, dismissed any notion the Fae ever had held of taking up place on that war council as the strategist his tutors and even Leonardo had believed he was surely destined to be. That disappoint, in a fashion, still existed and yet it had been so very many centuries now that such old wounds had long since healed over. Perhaps it had been fortunate too that he had never found place in those wars, after all, it had hardly taken him long to learn that the nature of war was not for him. Not as it had been for Matteo and Alexander before him. War was distasteful to him in every sense of the word, Dorian long since having considered that his own role in considering those strategies may well have been hampered by his….inability to cause so much death, either directly or indirectly. The man hardly daring to voice such concerns now and to a man whom had lived and breathed those battles. Dorian, simply, was not made for battles. His skillset decidedly different and besides, it was the very path he had taken that had so ultimately led him to Sebastian and the existence he now held. One he would not change for the world.

That soft dip of Alexanders head saw that simper linger upon his own lips as he settled within that wholly comfortable chair, those words upon his own lips halted by the Hunters sudden assurance that Ferdinand had been both a poor King and Father. So few were ever willing to speak ill of the man, even in death, Dorian momentarily taken aback by such forwardness and yet- was Alexander not a King himself? Surely another King held right to speak his mind of his peer. The Monarch himself not at all inclined to disagree with such a notion in any sense. That belief that he had still very much won that throne in the end was met with a simply nod off his own, those bright silver eyes held against that blue green of Alexanders own in that moment.

“It would seem so. I never did truly seek it either. All my life I was led to believe it was never within reach and yet, somehow, much simply fell into place.”

Destiny, fate, luck- whatever one might desire to call it Dorian hardly knew and yet a throne that was once unobtainable and indeed would have been truly far from his reach without the near tragedy that had befallen his fallen had ultimately resulted in his own ascension. A part of him almost…relished that Kingship if only for the fashion in which he might eternally hold it over his Father. How petty and spiteful such thoughts! Yet how he enjoyed them all the same. It was that mention of Aristotle then that so seemed to delight the King, Dorian positively incapable of containing his pleasure at the notion of Alexander’s privilege to be tutored by such a man as that. Alexander, as seemed a habit with the man, seeming decidedly blasé about the entire affair and yet the Monarch’s mind remained positively awash with possibility. The very idea that Aristotle and Leonardo might well have gotten along managed to bring that soft chuckle to his lips once more at even the thought. Dorian utterly unaware once more of Alexanders depth of knowledge on both himself and Leonardo and all that had occurred in that early affair that had ultimately resulted in his companion being sent away. Dorian hardly choosing to dwell on such thoughts now, rather, he allowed that warm simper to adorn his lips.

“I cannot disagree with that. Leonardo used to design the most wonderful inventions. He was convinced that man would achieve flight, I wish dearly he could see the aeroplanes of today.”

He mused those words almost contemplatively as he considered just what his once-friend may have thought out them. The idea of Egypt and those Pyramids prompting the return of that excitement. He had spent so very long away from the world, after all, that he near hungered to discover it now. Every picture of every far off place he might be given to find so often prompted him to query Sebastian on it and whether or not the vampire had visited. Dorian shocked to discover that even Sebastian had not been to every place on that globe. The Fae King eternally convinced they need make time to see everything. After all, what else was immortality for? Alexanders mention of ‘Wonders of the World’ so saw that near quizzical look touch his features, Dorian yet to discover such things. The man making a note to do just that as he nodded.

“I shall ask Sebastian off this, I do not see why we cannot.”

Any further conversation upon the topic was ended by the soft sound of Matteo’s return, the Frenchman appearing atop the bed only to reach for that cup of tea Dorian wholly suspected was cold. The elder Fae’s query as to just what sort of tea it was so seemed to prompt a moment of thought within the Hunter before Alexander declared it all but a secret, Dorian struggling then to withhold his amusement as Matteo glanced over that teacup to scowl at the other man. Those lyrics the Frenchman offered in response decidedly….not French, nor Italian, Spanish or even Latin. Greek one of the few languages Dorian had never been instructed fully within and yet he wholly suspected whatever it was Matteo had said- it had not been flattering. His own query upon Paris was met with just as much vagueness as Alexander had afforded him, Dorian content to find both men somewhat exasperating before Matteo declared he had brought a gift, the Monarch eyeing that finely crafted bridle with curiosity. Alexanders almost deadpan response to that gift being for his birthday saw one eye lift in amusement before Matteo merely shrugged, that almost teasing grin upon his own lips. I could never forget you. He responded promptly, handing over that bridle then for the Hunter to examine. Matteo long having known of Alexanders delight in anything equine related, the Frenchman almost enjoying that challenge of finding those pieces his companion deemed acceptable. That almost hinting tone to Alexander’s voice that seemed to suggest some measure of disbelief in the Bedouins so accidentally having made a bridle to large was met with yet another vague shrug. everyone makes mistakes Alexander. It merely happens that you benefit from this one. I am pleased you like it. Though I take a greater pleasure I think in you finally having met Dorian after all these years. There was, perhaps, more emotion within those words then the Frenchman so usually displayed, that moment perhaps shared silently between those ancient companions before Matteo turned almost abruptly to Dorian now. Shall I walk you home?

“I am quite capable of navigating a street, Matteo. Thank you for the offer though. It was a pleasure to meet you Alexander, I shall see you again on Sunday.”

Dorian rose easily from that chair then, his hand extended once more to the Hunter, affording it that simple, firm shake, the Fae insisting he could see himself out as he headed down those stairs, leaving Matteo and Alexander alone once more. Matteo rose easily from that bed then, easing himself into that chair his son had occupied moments ago, those sharp silver eyes resting upon Alexander now as one long leg folded over the other in that nonchalant fashion the Frenchman so easily portrayed in near any situation. Do not say anything, Alex. It is foolish I know, but I worry about him walking home alone. I have spent nearly six hundred years knowing his location, knowing he was safe and suddenly the world is open to him. I know it is good for him, that he must be independent, your advice is sound but it does not stop me worrying. I have become the very sort of parent I once mocked. The over-protective sort. You told me of the worry that came with becoming a parent but you did not prepare me for the intensity of it. Matteo paused then, his fingers drumming against that soft chair arm before his head lay back with a sigh.

Alexander was perhaps the only being in the entirety of the world he was willing to admit those emotions too and only because it was useless to conceal them from the man he had spent a thousand years standing beside. Those accented lyrics falling from his lips now far softer than before. It was good of you to offer to make that coffee for Sebastian. You would like him, I think. He is a good man. He must be- for me to trust my only living child to him. There was perhaps much unsaid in that sentence and yet much Alexander already knew. Dorian had hardly been the only child Matteo had ever fathered and yet he had been the only Fae. Over a thousand years and he had managed to Father but a handful of children, the Frenchman assured the Fae as a species were surely lacking in fertility to begin with for such a poor record to show for his conquests and yet out of even that small handful there had been but one Fae child- and how he loved him. That soft sigh fell from him once more, fingers tracing patterns upon that chair before he lent his head into his hand to regard the man before him still. So what did you think of him then? The Godson you finally got to meet.

Dorian Aragona




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