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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

wouldn't want a princess, too high maintenance67.143.208.55Posted On November 23, 2017 at 7:24 PM by Taylor Dixon



Books were never his thing. He could read but he didn't choose it as a hobby. He was more of a doer. He liked to go out in the world and experience things rather than read about them in a dusty book. Why read about adventure when you could be on one? Most of what he knew about the world was from just going out and doing it. He'd cliff dived, couch surfed, bungee jumped, hitch hiked his way across most of the US, among many others. He never had a lot of money on him, just enough to buy a burger and enough gas to get him as far as he could. Then he did odd jobs along the way to earn more income so he could keep getting by. He didn't have enough to buy a passport and go overseas or anything but if he could get there on his bike, he would. He wouldn't go anywhere without that bike. He had everything he'd ever need. He had transportation and any time he wanted food, he would either buy something to snack on or ask for a bite to eat while he was doing an odd job for someone. He didn't cook. He'd never learned how.

Sure, his mom tried to get him in the kitchen, tried to make it a fun family adventure by throwing flour at him to make him giggle and let him crack eggs and play with the cookie dough. His dad just shook his head when he saw him one day, covered from head to toe in flour with a huge grin on his face. He overheard his dad later arguing it out with his mom about how she was making him less of a man by teaching him women's work. Since that day, he would never get caught dead in a kitchen unless it was to eat the food his mom had cooked. She kept trying, bless her heart, but he didn't want them to fight anymore and he was still vying for his dad's approval at that point so he kept telling her he wasn't interested, that cooking was stupid. Taylor loved his mother above all reason. Maybe that's why he held most women in such high esteem. They were precious, something to be protected, even when they didn't want it. And he would continue to do so until his last breath. The woman in the burlesque was in need of assistence, whether she knew it or not. That man could easily overpower her and Taylor didn't like to see women get man handled. So he'd taken charge, not caring if he got hurt. His adrenaline was so high by the time the man hit him with the glass bottle that the pain of the glass splintering in his skin didn't register until much later.

He didn't expect to ever see the woman again, and he certainly didn't expect her to follow him out of the burlesque and feel that she owed him. Her accent was unique, french maybe? It had a musical ring to it, like english was definitely her second language. He wondered where she was from but felt it was rude to ask. When he offered her a smile, she responded with one in kind and he felt a little better. Well at least she wasn't coming out there to scold him for embarassing her or telling him off for standing up to her. Instead she reached out to grasp his hand and all he could think of was how soft her hands were, uncalloused from heavy labor. He wasn't one to judge but he had to think that she didn't work for a living, or at least not manual labor, maybe a blue collar job or something. Like a writer. She sort of had the look of a writer. Or a journalist. But he was getting off topic. She told him it was a fine quality and that it was a pleasure to meet him. "Pleasure's mine." When he told her it was enough payment that she didn't attack him, her finely groomed brows furrowed in thought as if it never occurred to her that women might not like a man standing up for their honor. He was starting to wonder if she was from a time machine in the medieval ages or if she'd been living under a rock.

As she stepped closer to him, he raised a brow in question, until he saw the concern on her features and saw that she was looking at his wounded arm. He tried to brush it off as mere scratches, knowing that it indeed wasn't. But he didn't want her to worry about it or feel obligated to help him in return for his aide. He never asked for anything when he helped someone. He would give the shirt off his back to someone in need and never think twice. She stepped even closer then, looking at his arm more closely. He tried to pull it back out of reach but she already had that fire of determination in her eyes and before she even opened his mouth, he knew he didn't have a choice. He knew that look. He'd seen it enough times on different women. His mother, numerous girlfriends, Becca, even an elderly lady or two that he'd done handyman jobs for when they wanted him to stop to have lunch or take a glass of tea with him to go. He exhaled a long breath but the smile stayed on his lips, his eyes lit up with amusement at her fervor. She really was a little spitfire, but that accent was getting distracting....in a good way, of course. He chuckled and shrugged. "Then I guess I should let you have a look. I don't want you worrying about it."

Then she even added on a bonus. Liquor was always a good reason for Taylor to go somewhere. Especially free liquor. He wondered idly if he was going to get a bill later for the shot of tequila he had at the burlesque before he got thrown out. With how up class they were, they probably already know his address. His smile turned into a smirk. "I'll accept that apology. After you." He waved out his good arm politely, feeling almost as though he needed to go back to bowing and kissing hands in manners around her. There was just something otherworldly about her. He glanced around, before looking back at her. "So, you got a car? I'll follow you. Otherwise, I don't mind giving you a lift....if you don't mind a little wind in your hair." He nudged his head toward the Harley still parked neatly in front of the burlesque, his smirk widening a little as he raised a brow almost daringly in her direction.



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