East

The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired 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. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.

What You'll Find Here

City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Inner Sanctum
Red on the Water
Starlight Tower

i'm not selling out, i'm buying in


Posted on October 27, 2019 by ASKAREE
East

askaree


A series of perfectly-lacquered black fingernails tap a slow tempo upon the heavily-smudged glass of the display case upon which her lithe figure leans, Askaree completely unbothered by the general untidiness and the not-insignificant layer of mystery-grime that lay upon absolutely every surface of this jeweler's shop. What's a bit of asbestos when you're a spawn of the third world? Astute brown eyes trace a slow trajectory about the shop that, despite only housing two other patrons, was quite wanting for space. Christ, what was taking so fucking long? The Egyptian minx had begrudgingly agreed to this particular errand after finally having grown tired of her counterpart's (i.e. some lazy, walking scrotum looking to for a quick buck) assertion that she was the most well-suited given that the shop's owner was from "over her way"... as if her fluency in Arabic was all it would take to win the favor of the Saudi Arabian jeweler. Arabic... and some gold-star cleavage.

Askaree captures a glimpse of the fellow perusing a collection of necklaces, her eyes drifting steadily from the austere curvature of his jaw to the worn flesh of his hands, dark crescents of what was assuredly grease slicked into the curve of each fingernail. A gearhead, perhaps? Her idle contemplation of this random stranger is interrupted by a hard blow to the shop's swinging door that nearly rips the tiny entry bell from its holdings. A trio of men appear, each with a black ski mask pulled over his features and brandishing a variety of firearms: two AK-47s that, by the scuffed looks of the stocks and handguards, had seen some shit and had likely been purchased last minute and at bargain price at whatever gun show had rolled through town and Saturday Night Special. How very quaint.

The olive-skinned woman does naught but pitch a perfectly-manicured brow skyward in the increasingly awkward silence that ensues before the tallest of the trio quickly surveys his audience: an elderly man cowering by a dust-choked watch display, a gearhead, and a chick. "Alright, hands up and against the wall NOW," he barks with as much bravado as can be heard from beneath his ski mask. A heavily dramatic rolling of dark chocolate eyes accents Askaree's ascension from the display case, the leather of her jacket squelching as she raises her arms in a manner that could only ever have been interpreted as sardonic. Some dude and his bros watch one too many heist films and suddenly fancy themselves to be Daniel-fucking-Ocean... or Bruce Willis circa Die Hard. Well yippee ki-yah, motherfuckers.

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