North

Within the Northern vicinity of the city, the wealthy gather behind meticulously trimmed hedges and high-class architecture. The pristine streets are paved with stone and the storefronts are brightly lit and inviting - for the right clientele. In the North, every establishment is eager 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 - whether it happens to be illegal or merely involves 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 allows them the luxuries that the North provides.

What You'll Find Here

Eternity
The VooDoo Room
The Witchery

Eternity

The newly opened Eternity is an expensive fine dining restaurant nestled high upon the hills of the North - providing it a breathtaking view of the city below. The award-winning chefs at Eternity collaborate directly with local farmers and producers to source the freshest ingredients for its ever-changing menu. The staff at Eternity pride themselves on serving each customer's unique dietary needs - from the vampiric to the mortal races. Reservations are strongly encouraged as Eternity is frequently booked to capacity.

The VooDoo Room

Located in the heart of the North, the Voodoo Room is the spirits lover's destination of choice in Sacrosanct. The Voodoo room is a craft cocktail bar that aims to provide an eclectic and exotic atmosphere. Nestled among the William Morris wallpaper, gold, and wood, you will find a new kind of neighborhood cocktail bar. One where hospitality and skill work in concert. With intoxicating liquors and a voodoo vibe, the Voodoo room will keep you coming back for more. Guided by the mantra of providing a one of a kind, high-end experience, the Voodoo Room's mixologists meet the highest standards with a fantastically themed selection of cocktails and specials.

The Witchery

Dark, Gothic, and thoroughly theatrical, the Witchery is a place to indulge yourself with it's lavish, theatrical suites. Whatever room you choose, you'll find glamor, indulgence, and luxury. From the Vestry to the Library and the Armory, the suites of the Witchery are nothing short of sensually romantic. A stay at the Witchery is not complete without dining in the rich baroque surroundings of the original oak-paneled hotel or among the elegant candle-lit charms of the Secret Garden. Whether you stay or dine, The Witchery is an unforgettably magical experience.

BUT THE TIGERS COME AT NIGHT


Posted on October 16, 2014 by REGAN IZUMI
North
"WHAT IS IT LIKE?" HE WHISPERED
"IT'S LIKE DROWNING. EXCEPT YOU CAN SEE EVERYONE AROUND YOU BREATHING." I REPLIED
Regan glances down at the invitation nestled in her hands. The scroll an elegant form of calligraphy. You are cordially invited... Her eyes roam over the letters, her lips settling into a firm, displeased line. She thought moving half way across the world would set her free of these stupid, useless forms of propriety. Now, here she was, seemingly back where she started. Being forced into doing something she had no interest or business doing. Fuck. With a giant sigh, she drops the invitation and watches as it flutters to land at her feet. A glaring reminder of her social obligations. Being new in town officially sucked ass.

Regan procrastinated. Then she procrastinated some more. She knew she needed to get ready, having spent the better part of 4 hours locating all the essentials she was going to need. Regan was a minimalist. Aside from the plethora of weapons stashed around her small apartment, she cared little for worldly possessions. Yet here she was, standing among a violent eruption of girlie crap. Make-up lined her bathroom counter, shoes strewn across the floor. Her dress and mask lying haphazardly over the edge of her bed. With hands on her hips, she glared at it all scathingly. Whoever's grand idea this whole thing was, deserved a special place in hell...and Regan was more then willing to help them on their way. Her hands rise and the heels of her palms press against her eyes. A silent, weary groan escaping her parted lips. The time had come.

Over the next hour Regan made herself presentable. Her make-up was light, almost non-existent. Her lips a soft red with her eyes lined in the darkest of blacks. Her hair, the truly arduous task, had been tamed, pleated, and woven into a intricate hairstyle that she topped with a gold Venetian headband composed of leaf work. Her hands stroke the soft fabric of her Grecian inspired dress, one that Regan knew did not suit her. Not truly. It was the palest of pinks, almost a cream. The fabric loose and filled with movement. It was a dress for a young girl. One who had not yet witnessed so much of the darkness in this world. Yet, there was a part of Regan who wanted to remember a time when she hadn't been so world weary. A time when nothing mattered but the love of family. A family that had... Nevermind. She slips into the dress carefully, her movements gentle all the while her mind is screaming in turmoil. She already knows this is going to be a colossal mistake. Had known it from the moment that invitation appeared on her stoop. Well, fuck it. Too late now. Regan slides her feet into the heels, adding about 4 inches to her 5'1" frame. With a barely restrained sigh, Regan places the mask against her face. Her fingers dexterously securing it in place. Ready or not, here she comes.

The drive is quick, but it feels like hours. Within seconds of pulling up, Regan's skin begins to crawl. She can sense the heaviness of everything that is 'other' brushing against her. The amethyst of her eyes glowing inhumanly in the darkness of the car. She opens the car door, and slips from it's interior. She takes a breath, her senses taking it all in. When she is satisfied there is no immediate danger, she begins walking to the entrance. Even in heels, Regan is silent, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet. The heel barely brushing the ground before she is moving again. There is something decidedly feline about the way Regan moves. It's smooth, powerful and slightly seductive without meaning to be. There's just something about power and danger that has always been so alluring to the human race. Perhaps it is the feeling of brushing against death and then walking away to live another day. The doorman has the door open before Regan can even reach for the handle. Her eyes narrowing ever so slightly at the man. He's only doing his job and already she is annoyed. Hell, who was she kidding. She was annoyed before she even left.

Regan descends into the foyer, the light from the overhanging chandelier casting a pale shimmer upon her scars. Regan walks past a man sitting languidly in a chair, the hair on the back of her beck rising. She turns her gaze to his, purple eyes meeting golden for a brief moment. Hunter. The word blazes inside her mind, a warning. Her eyes flash, the purple intensifying for a moment before she forces her gaze away from his and in turn quelling the rising tide of her tiger. She just keeps walking, her heels making a barely perceptible click on the floor.

There she is. Standing within a sea of faces, utterly alone. She feels no desire to branch out, meet others. Her gaze flickers from one face to the next, her small frame getting lost in the endless tide of strangers.


REGAN'S OUTFIT FOR THE MASQUERADE
WERE-TIGER -- FEMALE -- CHI MANIPULATION -- MUTE -- PLAYED BY MEGS.

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