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

me and the devil, walking side by side


Posted on September 05, 2016 by ASKAREE
West

Askaree Bint Bahar


Askaree should have known, instinctively, that her unquestionable command to keep his grubby paws off of the merchandise was to be challenged in some manner by the fae boy. Men, it was abundantly clear (as it always had been), presumably labored tirelessly beneath the delusion that orders, especially those imparted upon them by those in possession of a vagina, were trivial and could thusly be disregarded. The nearly playful notes upon which his syllables flew tugged coyly at the brims of her lusciously-plump lips, the Egyptian imp proffering up her insidious gaze for the first time since he had seen fit to venture into what was, for the next few hours at least, her lair. Oh goody, a chatterbox. Praise be. "If you touch that sword I'll be cleaning off a lot more than your nasty fingerprints," she offers flatly, as poised and faultlessly composed as if she were doing naught more than offering up bland chatter meant to saturate the silence that might otherwise spread between them.

Of course that couldn't be the end of it, it couldn't have been the silky black bow to tie up this little chin-wag. Of course not, because lo and behold did this gentleman find his attentions maneuvering from the forbidden weaponry unto the woman who had deemed it so. Just fucking peachy. Slowly does she lay the dagger down upon the countertop, the command that it should not be touched implied and therefore not needing to be spoken unless Tinkerbell was absent a few very important brain cells and thusly chose to attempt it anyway. Askaree draws herself up, a glistening waterfall of nearly-black tresses dancing about her shoulders, a solitary digit tapping dismissively upon the weathered oak of the counter.

Girly type? His species had, historically, been depicted as teensy little fireflies who flittered about granting wishes to the desperate and dim-witted and shitting glittery dust wherever they went and she was the girly type? And he had plead to not allow him to interrupt whilst simultaneously making himself pretty damn hard to ignore. "I'll tell you how I can be less than content. Instead of being out using these "beautiful things" on the myriad raging idiots of this town like the good samaritan that I am or, better still, dousing my liver in alcohol to celebrate or doing literally anything else I'm here... having to tell grown men not to touch every goddamn thing they see. Now, how the fuck can I help you?"

Employee of the month, here we come.



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