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    The North

    Within the Northern vicinity of the city the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high class victorian architecture. The streets are paved with stone, the buildings are made of brick, and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting. In the North every establishment is made to cater to the rich and the wealthy. Many such places are used to the sometimes peculiar requests of the otherworldly but here there is little that money cannot buy - weather it be illegal or merely looking the other way. Vampires and Dark Hunters are often found upon these Northern streets, their long lives often contributing to their sizable wealth which allow them the luxuries that the North provides.

    What's You'll Find Here

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    St. Pancras Station

    owned by Eve Thorn
    0 employees

    St. Pancras Station

    A historical train station renovated in to a luxury resort-style country club that unites Victorian elegance with contemporary style. Relax in the full-service spa featuring spa treatments, saunas, spa pools with hydro therapy & aqua bar, and relaxation lounges. The club offers many dining and entertainment options including Seven Sisters Lounge, Victoria Bistro, Barlow Gastropub and the formal St. Pancras restaurant as well as boutique shopping and event halls. Join The Chambers Club for a more exclusive entertainment experience.

    Owner Eve Thorn

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    The VooDoo Room

    owned by Ceara Hade
    0 employees

    The VooDoo Room

    The Voodoo Room is an award winning bar that aims to provide an eclectic and exotic atmosphere. The bar is filled with intoxicating liquors and a voodoo vibe to keep you coming back. Their mixologists meet the highest standards with our fantastical themed selections of cocktails and specials.

    Owner Ceara Hade

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    The Witchery

    owned by Rowena Metcalf
    1 employees

    The Witchery

    Dark, gothic, and throughly theatrical, the Witchery is a place to indulge yourself with it's fabulously lavish suites. Whatever room you choose, you'll find glamor, indulgence and luxury. The suites you have to choose from are: the Vestry, Sempill, the Old Rectory, the Library, the Turret, Heriot, Guardsroom, Armory.

    Owner Rowena Metcalf

    Sous Chef Elenore Dorian

good has many different perceptions101.191.249.40Posted On June 27, 2016 at 12:56 AM by Rixon Leifsson

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Frost had, in truth, never really given any consideration as to whether or not supernatural beings outside of Hunters had ever risen to positions of power. His own childhood had been spent with little notion of the outside world let alone any attempt to dare to believe Were’s could be more than the servants of others. Despite his seriousness, despite his lack of childish behaviour, Frost is far younger then he appears- barely twenty one, his own life experiences far, far smaller than the man upon his back and as such there are parts of him still inclined to wonder as to what had come before him. There had been, within his entire life, no great shift in supernatural power, no rise in any supernatural leader and as such the notion of it had never truly occurred to him outside of his own Were-based political endeavours. It was difficult enough to manage his own pack- why any would seek to manage the world he hardly knows. Both white ears rotate backward as the Hunter continues to speak, Frost far more intrigued then his equine form surely allows him to display as Alexander speaks of the relations of the Irish and the United States, this notion of deer-based subterfuge of evident intrigue to the man as a huff of amusement vibrates within his towering form. Similarly, the marked distaste with which Alexander seemed to speak of such political affairs was hardly missed, the vaguest simper touching the stallions lips at the assurance that Alexander perhaps still preferred the age old method of political affairs- merely charging head long at the offending being with a superior army and watching him flee in fear. Frost perhaps, is not overly opposed to such a thing himself. It was far preferable to the tangled web of words any other method seemed to result in.

Frost is, perhaps thankfully, oblivious to the purposeful use of the Hunter’s words in the moments that follow. Unaware of Alexander distinct attempts to goad him into forging the river one way or another, this veritable chink in his armour unknown even to himself. The mere suggestion that he was incapable of something, anything, an agitation to him all the same. A trait Alexander himself surely shared and yet at this point in time one that seeks to serve them both well. The stallion content to leap the river if only to prove a point. Alexander’s rather dry words are ignored, the stallions tail flicking up against his flanks in the moments that follow before Alexanders heels bite sharply into his sides in some signal the man was ready. For once Frost remains content not to attempt to buck him off. Propelling his rather large, hefty form to the other side by sheer will power alone. A muttered (begrudging) word of thanks offered to the Hunter for his efforts in balancing the pair before Frost merely proceeds to watch his companion set up camp. He is, surely, capable of shifting and assisting and yet the stallion merely chooses to rest upon three limbs, the fourth cocked upward in a decidedly lazy fashion as Alexander unsaddles and proceeds to struggle with the tent for several moments.

Somewhere beneath that thickened forelock of mane Frost remains rather content to simply watch, violet gaze drifting from the man to the tent and back again until the Hunter successfully manages to drag most of their supplies inside. Frost assured if he desired food that Alexander was capable of finding it within their supplies. He himself however, held little desire to chew upon beef jerky or whatever other sad excuse for a meal the council had outfitted them with. He is halted, briefly, by the other man once more, head tilted towards Alexander, one violet eye meeting his own as the man speaks. He offers no actual response to the man’s words and Alex, in turn, appeared not to expect them- disappearing within the tent a moment later as Frost merely continues to stand. Perhaps…..perhaps Alexander was sincere within his words and yet truly the equine finds them hard to believe. Whom within his life had ever set him up to succeed? No one outside of himself. He alone could be relied on and no other and yet- some part of the man rather desires the Hunter’s words to be true. On some level. They would see, time would tell.

I will be back later.

He allows the words to press upon his companions mind before he moves to break into a trot once more, loping easily back through the town and towards the river, his muzzle lowered briefly too it, the water so entirely chilled it very near seared his throat with cold and yet he found he hardly cared. Perhaps the Hunter could go for hours without food or water- Frost in his mortality however, lacks such a skill, hunger biting at his gut. Yet, he had grown up in similar conditions as this. He was used to the snow and the cold, wandering only further from the town now, hooves scrapping at the earth. It is one facet of his animalistic side he is not….decidedly proud of. In truth he goes to rather great lengths to prevent himself from displaying any decidedly ‘horsey’ characteristics in his human form and yet his equine self had a decided use all the same- an ability no human truly did. The knowledge of where food was upon this frozen wasteland. It is easy to find a scattering of trees outside of town, the snow cover here thinner, large hooves scrapping back the snow to reveal the scattering of rather tasty shrubbery and tussocky grass beneath. Frost entirely content to eat it- without the prying eyes of anyone to see him do as such.

It is only after several hours of foraging, when the daylight has faded completely and the temperature has plummeted to well below zero that the stallion makes his way back to the tent, scowling at the tiny shelter with disdain. It was, he supposed, better then nothing and yet he has little desire to….sleep with another man. It is with a snort of disdain that he finally shifts forms, taking a moment to straighten his jeans and jacket before making his own way into the tent- flooding the space with a blissful, glorious warmth. Making sure to heat Alexander as he lay down beside him.

“Alex?”

The muttering of the Hunter sees the barest of simpers touch his features somewhere within the darkness.

“Once I fall asleep the warmth will stop, though I will keep us warm for as long as I can. While you may be everyone’s type, if so much as your toe crosses onto my side of the tent I will give you frostbite.”

It was hardly an empty threat, Frost proceeding to roll over, keeping his back to his companion. He is content to sleep in this position for much of the night, flaring heat into them both each time he wakes long enough to register the frigid conditions. Whom had rolled against whom by the time the sun finally rises however perhaps a debatable topic. Frost waking to find himself fitted quite snugly against the other man before he rather rapidly detangles himself in a flurry of cursing, surely waking Alex in the process before he proceeds to storm outside. Shifting hurriedly into his equine form to wait for his companion to get ready, pack and afford him directions once more. Some things are better left not spoken about. Frost is sure.

Which way are we going today?



Frostbite
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