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.
Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn
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.
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
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
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
The Western Alpha had all but forgotten that promise he'd made to the sweet little fae child who had, of late, taken to relishing in her time within the Ark. There was, admittedly, something endearing about the young child's presence. That unjaded innocence was such a fascinating rarity - his own life the stark opposite and, in some fashion, he so found himself desiring to protect the girl if only because she had the childhood that he so blatantly did not. He hardly glanced up from his work, initially, at the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket, nor did the man even contemplate the time as he tipped that bottle of oil over and into the small yellow funnel in the engine of his bright red Alegra. The vehicle's recent trip to the desert had resulted in the sports car requiring a level of maintenance that Tetradore was more than happy to do himself. Those cars, after all, were one of his few great loves in life. It was only at the subtle sound of the oil thickly glugging out of the plastic bottle that Tetradore reached for a blue rag, wiping his hands clean before he reached in his pocket for his cell phone. His fingers flicked effortlessly across the small device only to pull up a curious text message from Mira no less. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the obscure message, the man only just beginning to type an inquiry upon what exactly she was talking about when that commitment he'd agreed to dawned upon him. "Shit." That word softly left his lips, as his gaze turned back to the bottle of oil. Thirty minutes was enough time, he was sure, as long as he made a point to take a quick shower.
'K' That singular letter was texted back to Mira - a simple acknowledgment of her text message to show that he'd read it before his attention turned back towards the car in front of him. He shoved his phone back in his pocket, tapping the bottle on the edge of the funnel before he placed the cap back on the oil can. Easily, the man maneuvered around the vehicle, turning it on to let it run and ensuring the car was free of any leaks. The rest, he was sure, could wait until he returned - after all, the car would surely go untouched in his absence. A small sigh left the Were-King's lips as he tossed the packaging for both oil and filter in the trash, only for the man to glance down at his hands with a small glimpse of disgust upon his lips. Despite his familiarity with violence, bloodshed, and the macabre, Tetradore had never particularly liked the lingering feeling of dirt upon his skin - or perhaps, it was simply because of gore that so often filled his world. Those shadows all too easily rushed to his figure in the wake of his call, the Alpha so rarely tended to exploit his affinity for teleportation like his own faux father and yet, when time was of the essence, even he could be prompted to utilize those shortcuts life had given him.
It was several minutes later that Tetradore was standing beneath the warm embrace of the hot shower. The very heat to that water was nothing short of enticing, as it so often was, the Alpha almost tempted to simply linger in the manner he usually preferred to and yet, today, he knew such was hardly an option. It was no longer than ten minutes later when Tetradore stepped out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist. The heat steamed out of the bathroom behind him as he moved towards his closet, flipping through the hangers to locate those clothes that Matteo himself had deemed 'acceptable' for Tetradore's visit with the fae's son. A pair of dress pants were pulled onto his hips before Tetradore saw to the buttons on the collared shirt he'd chosen for the evening. That watch he so often wore was fastened around his wrist before he applied his own preferred cologne to his wrists. A half-hearted glimpse was given towards the mirror and yet, Tetradore had never been one to fret terribly over his own appearance, particularly when he doubted the fae child would care in the slightest, her own infatuation far more naive than the sensual allure he occasionally tried to coax from Mira herself. The Were-King's hand dragged through those curly brunette locks as the man left behind the comforts of his own room. His shoulder leaned against the door frame of Mira's room as the Alpha all so lightly knocked on her door.
aiden tetradore