• Edit

    The West

    The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a certain grunge that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, instead letting the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

    What's You'll Find Here

  • Edit

    Noah's Ark

    owned by Aiden Tetradore
    1 employees

    Noah's Ark

    Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark appears to be little more than an abandoned cargo ship. Accessible from an entrance hidden in the shadows, The Ark is a veritable Were-playground that specializes in fighting tournaments for all creatures great and small. With both singles and doubles tournaments to compete in, the title of Ark Champion is hotly contested amongst the Were population. If anything illegal is going on in the city it's sure to be happening within the back rooms or behind the ring-side bar.

    Owner Aiden Tetradore

    Co-owner Tobias Cain

  • Edit

    Warehouse District

    Warehouse District

    The warehouse district rests just upon the harbor within the city. Many of the warehouses belong to corporate companies although some are used for less the legal means. Be careful when wandering this district at night for many groups meet within those dark, dilapidated buildings. There are also whispers of hard to obtain goods being sold behind those closed doors but you have to know who's who to get an in!

you said its meant to be101.180.51.10Posted On September 08, 2017 at 8:51 PM by Tobias


He hardly anticipated that blanket she draped about him, his features contorted in a brief look of confusion. The boy decidedly sure blankets were for cold. Tobias equally sure he was not cold and yet he made little effort to move from beneath it. That leather-bound book pressed towards her instead with that insistence it was a present. The boy often delighting in gifting things to others even if he was perhaps prone to wanting them back only moments later. This gift however, had been distinctly created for his mate. That dark-haired boy allowing her to undo those heavy locks and open that hand-made leather cover before his finger pointed to that first page and those childish drawings that, though simple, surely displayed exactly that moment in time they had met. The wolf alone was perhaps the single most perfectly drawn part of that scene. Every other line seeming unclean, blurry or as if the boy simply could not remember the rest of that picture. His words holding that same fractured tone as he made some effort to explain it. His dark gaze shifted to her own, seeking some hint of approval before his lips pulled upward in that ever-fleeting grin of pleasure that he was, slowly, learning to hold for but a few seconds longer each time before allowing his features to shift into that curious look of expressionlessness once more. The boy hardly unhappy, rather, he simply forgot to display those outward signs of it on most occasions. His head nodded eagerly then at that memory she seemed to place into words in a way he was hardly capable off. His own gaze drifting to that hammock and back once more, though whether he truly understood that implication remained to be seen.

That she remembered, it seemed, was all he truly desired. His fingers lifted to turn to that next page then. This one so marked by a night sky and stars alone. That sky a blend of black and blue and purple. Those marks of white representing those stars he remembered and yet so much of that scene was missing. That grass was absent, those surrounding trees or roads or indeed anything other than the sky itself- as if he so remembered that alone. Tobias himself absent from that drawing as if he remained unable to place himself within that time or space and yet, just as before, that image of Raven within her wolf form prevailed, decorating those stars above. The boy seeming to remember her with clarity even if the rest of the world remained blurred. Another page was flipped then, this one a haze of smoke-like grey so meant to represent rain, poorly drawn as it was so much like all those other drawings and yet that distinctly curly-haired woman remained visible through that rain. As if that drawing had been done exactly as he recalled it from his own eyes. A snapshot in time and one he clearly remembered with some significance, that kiss upon his cheek drawing his attention away from that page if only briefly. His head tilting to the side in some curiosity at the gesture, amusement seeming to tug at him before he returned to that page. Raven’s assurance she recalled that date seeing his head nod once more with a clear enthusiasm.

That Christmas picture was next. That page a swirl of green and red and blue. Those near stick-figure drawings of Tetradore and Nadya and Raven once more the only truly clear parts of that picture. As if he could place those people- as if they themselves attached to that memory rather than the event itself so affording the boy that understanding. He liked presents. He liked Christmas. That last picture a more detailed drawing of that wolf alone surrounded by the angry red lines of the ring. Raven coloured with care against the blur of the world, each of her markings near perfectly placed. Those quite words uttered from him then as his fingers traced over that picture. Raven suddenly leaning in to him then, her hand lifting to brush that hair out of his eyes as she smiled, the man moving to mimic that gesture before the question on why those drawings appeared as they did seemed to see that look on concentration return. Those fathomless dark eyes flicked from his mate to that book and back again, a part of the feline simply…..failing to understand just what the woman meant. This, after all, was the very way he saw the world. Tobias oblivious on some level to the idea that this was not how most people drew. Those efforts to blur all but Raven hardly done on purpose. After all- it was simply the world as he saw it. His lips parting at last with clear effort.

“Birdie…..always looks like this….always….perfect….to me.”

Whether or not she might truly understand remained to be seen. His gaze meeting her own then before flipping to another page. This page dramatically different to the others. This page painted by someone significantly more skilled then any singular drawing within that book so far. The painting that spread across both those pages undeniably exquisite. It was crafted within watercolours, soft blues and greens and browns with accents of red and gold. A picture of Raven herself seated upon a bench beneath the tree within the park, Tobias drawn in the same detail several feet away chasing after those children in play. That scene decidedly tranquil, almost serene in its perfection. That golden signature at the bottom declaring this to be the work of Dorian V. Aragona I none less than that Italian King himself. Those neatly printed words crafted in that same gold calligraphy far older than any modern handwriting dictating that simple note in Italian ‘In bocca al lupo’ just above it. Tobias so evidently having seen that Fae King that day in the park even despite his lack of addressing him, the boy so clearly aware of that friendship between his mate and that man, at least, enough to so have him contribute to that book and that masterful watercolour. He offered no words on this though, that next page turned, this one decorated with similar well-wishes from that staff and crew of the Ark, each of them having contributed something to that page. Several of them having attempted small drawings in turn of the times each of them had met Raven or indeed some memory of the woman. Jackal so having struggled to write his own note in sentences that seemed half English, half Spanish in an effort to speak of his appreciation of her.

“Birdie….is sometimes sad…..because sometimes…..thinks…..she is….alone but….is not. These are…Birdie’s friends. All of them.”

That this was, perhaps, the most foresight the boy had ever displayed was surely clear. That entire book veritable proof of that family and friends he was almost assured his mate so often seemed to worry she did not have. Tobias so having…..understood far more then he had perhaps ever indicated in those moments. That book so detailing not only those moments he remembered but too that collection of others who remembered her too, even if largely compromised from the Ark’s staff and the man with the accent Tobias did not understand in any sense. Dorian having proven decidedly difficult to find and yet, that lanky leopard remained capable of finding anything or anyone he desired. His gaze lifting to her own again in some effort to assure himself the woman was hardly upset, his ability with emotions decidedly lacking before he moved to turn that page to the very last one. Tetradore’s handwriting clear now, Tobias’ own writing having traced (rather poorly but he tried) over his chosen Alpha’s. His own letters shaky and crooked and not nearly as straight as Tetra’s had been. That writing still clear all the same, Tobias placing his finger under each word in an effort to read his own writing- a skill he had so far largely failed to master. Until now. The boy struggling to remember those words he and Tetradore had gone over and over.

“It says……that I…..love you and…..would like to….marry you and….that…..is…a...question….mark.”

That he had read out ‘question mark’ was perhaps irrelevant in that singular moment even despite the amount of times Tetradore had assured him announcing that punctuation was hardly needed, the boy simply pleased he had learned that new word at all. His gaze lifting away from that book then to meet Raven’s gaze once more. That faint hint of anxiety tugging at him still. Tobias distinctly unable to truly understand ‘nervousness’.

That proposal perhaps so entirely perfect in all its imperfection.


madness, as you know, is like gravity: all it takes is a little push




Replies

Post A Reply