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
the sharpest lives are the deadliest to lead
Posted on April 21, 2019 by AIDEN TETRADORE
aiden tetradore
A glass dangled from Tetradore's fingertips as he stepped out of the chaos-ridden Ark, the noise quite near assaulting him even as the door closed behind him with an almost loud metallic thud. A soft breath of relief left the Alpha's lips as he meandered down the walkway, pausing halfway down to lean against the railing. His emerald eyes turned out towards the sea as he sipped on the whiskey in his glass. A certain sort of exhaustion clung to his frame as he watched the swell of those waves, that double life the man led so occasionally catching up to him in moments such as this. He hardly noticed, at that moment, that faint scent upon the air, his eyebrows merely furrowing ever so slightly in some brief acknowledgment that something felt wrong. His human senses were hardly as keen as the feline within him and yet, his inner cat was linked tightly enough with the man that, on the occasion, his body reacted far before Tetradore was aware of what had prompted such a reaction in the first place. His muscles were already taunt by the time a distinct sound tugged at him and yet, any efforts he might have made to pivot in place were abruptly stopped by a wad of seaweed slamming into his head.
The substance hardly remained long, however, sliding slickly off his cheek only to land on the wooden floor beneath him with a sickening wet thud. A look of utter disgust crossed his masculine features as his emerald eyes turned down towards it. His hand rose, his fingers brushed across his cheek in some effort to wipe away the remains of that wet, disgusting sea matter. Tetradore brought that glass of whiskey to his lips, finishing off the contents in one smooth motion before his gaze turned down to the glass in hand. It was, admittedly, a rather nice weight to it. A small simper tugged at the corner of his features as his irises turned upwards, searching those shadows to find the figure of the very man he so abhored - Darcy. Risque was getting bold to send her lackeys directly to his doorstep and yet, after his last meeting with his mistress, maybe he shouldn't have been so terribly surprised. Still, as much as she would have liked to have thought him a broken man - when it came to Darcy he still had a fair bit of fight left in him. Tetradore hardly hesitated to heft that glass into the air - sending it flying straight back at the vampire even with the knowledge he was likely not to hit the man. It hardly mattered now, he supposed, his own baritone voice distinctly loud in the quietness of that evening. "Get the fuck out of here." That distinct growl all the more blatant and yet, was this not his territory to defend? Fucking vampires. He hardly bothered to see if that glass hit it's intended goal before he turned back towards the Ark and the fights in full swing within. Darcy wouldn't dare to enter now - not when the odds were so stacked against him.