West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess 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, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

Just like any city - Sacrosanct is not without it's deep, dark underbelly. Hidden in the graffiti-ridden streets of the West, behind closed warehouse doors, lies the Black Market. Forever moving, it's nearly impossible to find without knowing someone who knows someone. Anything you desire can be brought for a hefty price within the Black Market - be it drugs, weapons, or lives.

What You'll Find Here

Edge of the Circle

Cull & Pistol

Hidden within the dark alleyways of the Western Ward, Cull & Pistol is a dim, often smoky bar. With a small variety of bottled and craft beers, Cull & Pistol is a quaint little neighborhood joint. With its no-frills moto, the dingy bar offers little more than liquor, music from an old jukebox, and a few frequently occupied pool tables.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark (known simply as The Ark) is a sleek superyacht known both for its fight rings and recent...renovations, of sorts. 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. Note: This is a Were only establishment. All other species will be swiftly escorted out.
Home of: Nightshade

Owner Aiden Tetradore

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

Within the turbulent industrial district lies this club. The warehouse doesn't look like much on the outside but it provides a memorable experience from the state of the art lighting, offbeat Victorian-inspired artwork, comfortable black leather lounges, and the infamous 'black light' room. There is a wide variety of alcohol that lines the shelves of both of the magical and ordinary variety. It is a common stomping ground for the supernatural who want to let loose and dance the night away to the music that floods the establishment. Humans are most welcome if they dare.

Owner Risque Voth

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

juliet loves the beat and the lust it commands


Posted on June 28, 2016 by AIDEN TETRADORE
West
aiden tetradore

Tetradore settled himself against the wooden column of the twin-sized bunk bed, his spine nestled against the dull edge of the wood where the two corners met. His vibrant gaze remained steadfast upon the foreign female, his arms crossing over his chest in a nearly blasé fashion as he watched inattentively while the Egyptian woman settled at the bedside of her fallen comrade. He had observed the fashion in which the woman's fingers reached out after a moment's consideration towards the hand of the unconscious fellow though he thought particularly little of the touch alone. Breaking fingers, after all, was hardly Tetradore's specific realm of anguish. That crack of bones, however, hardly prompted even the slightest reaction within the stoic male - the sound almost strangely familiar in some regards. His gaze slowly shifted towards the man whom abruptly sat up from his previously unconscious state, his cries filling the room and yet, Tetradore was entirely assured that such sounds would hardly be noticed from the participants of the ring, much less the crowd that surrounded it. In here, every cry was muted and every action besides death entirely permissible - though even that restriction too was sometimes turned a blind eye to.

The were creature did, however, wince ever so slightly as the Egyptian woman's fist slammed into the already damaged features of her contact's face the sound alone caused his lips to press together ever so slightly and yet, despite such, he hardly once intervened. After all, he had been taught that hitting a lady was forbidden, once...a long time ago. To do so when the man surely earned the disfigurement that was coming to him was certainly another level of moronic. A soft sigh left Tetradore's lips as the man fell against the pillow once again, his own gaze tracing the features of his face as those tears welled up within his eyes. Pathetic. It would seem the fellow had yet to recognize his own limits - a weakness he displayed over and over again. It was trait Tetradore would remember. He could make good money betting against him should he ever think to grace the ring again. The were-creature was pulled from his thoughts as the man gripped onto the very beam Tetradore had taken residence upon, pulling himself upwards and hobbling of the room as if he could scarcely wait to rid himself of the presence of the two individuals.

It was only then his gaze turned back towards the fair features of the exotic female he found himself in the company of, his eyes watching in silent observation as she shoved the last of her parceled goods into her bag. His gaze but briefly met hers as she spoke before the most peculiar of things happened. A rather genuine simper etched itself across Tetradore's features. A chuckle rumbled in his chest at the rather sarcastic words that left her hips, his head shaking ever so slightly. "So it seems he has." He responded after a moment, clearly bemused by the woman he found himself in the company of. "I take it you have everything you came here for now?" Tetradore inquired, that ghost of a smile still settled on his lips. Davante had been right - she was certainly a firecracker, that he couldn't deny. She was, perhaps, the first spicy demeanored woman that he found himself not entirely hating. It was, as she had put it, a miracle.

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