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

b i t e the hand that feeds you


Posted on November 20, 2018 by COBAIN
West



This is not the first time, nor certainly would it be the last (that was the problem with immortality) that the pale vampire had knocked on Risque's door. The raven haired boy is tied to her with an imaginary leash, answering to her beck and calls no matter how much he wanted to refuse. Risque made Cobain her little pet since the very beginning. He knows she did not save him from death from the goodness of her heart, Risque had no heart, that much was certain to the ruby eyed hell boy. He has been sent to kill so many, some who, if she had sent someone with some sort of empathy, did not seem as if they deserved to die. Begging him to spare them, but he demolished them all the same. No one was spared, not even if Cobain suddenly had a change of heart would he be able to stop himself. The maker bond was strong, that was for certain.

Red eyes stare dead at Risque's door as he knocks. The feeling of his knuckles against it such a familiar one, and yet a distasteful one all the same. Through the smallest of cracks he can smell it. Risque had someone in there with her, and it wasn't just for tea. Fresh kill. Cobain, the ever hungry demon he is, those crimson eyes narrow in a predator fashion, his first instinct being to rush in and sink his teeth into whoever he had managed to drag back to Syn. But the maker's control is so strong over the raven haired boy, just the mere thought of his mistress disapproving of something is enough to cause him to recoil patiently await her orders.

Enter. She says and of course he obeys, pushing open the door with a quiet, stealthy touch. Cobain can tell she is annoyed just by the tone of her voice, but he has little care for her times of annoyance, he may be a servant, but he is no puppy that will cower in the corner for fear of being punished. Blood covers her, and he notes the toxic, metallic smell of it. Blood being perhaps the only thing that had more control over Cobain than Risque has. He eyes her outfit briefly. "You chose an interesting attire," he says blandly, never quite understanding the ensembles Risque tended to choose. Cobain's own desire and want for the opposite sex having died the minute his former self had, and all those humanly wants and needs along with it.

Red eyes narrow slightly at her statement, the malice in her voice gritting against his ears, before his face returns to its more naturally stoic manner. "Hope you didn't go to the trouble of throwing a funeral," he says, and even when the statement is meant to be sarcastic, the pure stoic way that Cobain speaks makes the entire sentence seem entirely monotone. He can feel her almost call him to move closer and the raven haired vampire agrees without a fight, he had stopped fighting his mistress long ago, it only ended in torture, and he was too tired to care much. So he comes to stand before her, that same bored expression on his face. He has been playing Risque's game for over a century now, he grows tired of it.

The black haired boy stands before her in that long silence, wishing to be excused or sent on another errand so as it leave her presence. His boyish face turns to meet Risqué, looking into those crystal blue eyes of hers. He suddenly becomes all too aware of the big cats slowly beginning to surround him, in typical Risque fashion it would seem. "I may be empty handed, but the ones you asked for are dead," the obsidian haired voodoo child says. "You know my power doesn't work on vampire blood," he says with narrowed ruby eyes. The obsidian haired vampire pauses for a moment before offering his mistress some sort of information. "You can rest assured though, the ones you wanted eliminated, they are gone, their ashes taken by the wind," he says in monotone lyrics. His voice though, does grow darker with his next words. "I can be many things, but a miracle worker I am not," the pale vampire says through practically gritted teeth. He runs a hand up to his obsidian locks before ruby eyes peer around at the big cats once more. "If you want something done, just ask. No need to bring in the beasts," he says practically with a growl in his throat. After all, it isn't like he had a choice in the matter.
COBAIN DALCA
image by Maaike Nienhuis

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