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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

saw her in the amazon [mag <3]73.96.164.127Posted On June 10, 2017 at 11:51 AM by cecily grace

all along the western front, people line up to receive; she got the power in her hand to shock you like you won't believe.

The bright lights across the downtown strip are beautiful and blinding, reflecting like stars in her glazed blue eyes. She sips from a straw, the soda cup playing host to a mixture of Dr. Pepper and Jim Beam, a little more of the latter than the former. She’s not quite drunk and doesn’t plan to be, sipping slowly to remain just on the edge of tipsy while she makes her way through the city, glancing in shop windows with no real intention of buying anything. A ghost shimmers at the edge of her vision, reaching bloody fingers toward her and for the first time, she is not frightened of it.

Instead, she turns toward the specter, appraising him with a quick glance. Bullet wound to the chest and neck, bloody fingers from staunching the blood in a desperate attempt to save himself. It is tragic and heartbreaking, and she mourns for him. ”I am sorry,” she says, though she isn’t sure whether she is sorry for the pain he must have suffered or for the string tethering him to earth when he should’ve moved on. She doesn’t speak to him any further, striding past and refusing to look back at the face she knows is turned to watch her, beseeching.

She cannot help him today, but at least meeting the Viking - knowing that someone else in the world shared a similar affliction - had given her the confidence to look at the ghost without wanting to shut her eyes and cry. She could pass by them if only because of the knowledge that someone else out there was living with the same sort of nightmare, surviving with it.

Her mind wanders to her sister as she continues down the street, weaving her way through shoppers and tourists, sipping at the mixed drink with slow, measured swallows. She needs to speak to her away from Frost, to get her out of that house so she can convince her that the safest place for her isn’t with the were-horse, but with family. With her.

Tomorrow. She will go to Claire tomorrow, perhaps invite her for brunch and then broach the subject. Tonight, she has other things to worry about - like Iorkaell and the meeting she’d stumbled upon. Utlagi he’d called himself when they first met, and somehow she had found herself to them. Fate, that voice in the back of her mind whispers, but she swats it aside. She’d never had any use for fate - fate was a cruel, monstrous thing that ripped families apart and gave ghosts to fragile souls. Fate was a monster.

But something had lured her to that meeting; divine intervention, or coincidence? She recalls that night with perfect clarity, frowning to herself as she takes another drink. As if in response to her thoughts, a familiar scent trickles in on the breeze, the overwhelming musk of lion and man. She stills, her nostrils flaring wide as she sniffs the air, panic settling into her chest, her bones. The smell of the city corrupts the scent of the male and she cannot tell who it belongs to - rather, which brother - and the thought of that other lion, the second…

She is a cornered rabbit on a crowded street with nowhere to hide. Even if she could slip away, he could easily follow her. Fear had its own distinct aroma, one she’s certain the predator could - and would trace.

It’s too late to run so she stays there, frozen to the spot like a statue with moving eyes that dart back and forth, searching for the source of that scent.






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