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

and as I float through the frame


Posted on June 14, 2019 by Alistair Rosenthal
West


His own blood pooled around him, his vision was awash with red. It was so...peculiar, to realize with such certainty that he was dying. He was bleeding out on the floor of some scummy alleyway - nothing more than some snack for a ravenous vampire. It was everything his parents had warned him of when he left the security of those Northern neighborhoods behind him. They had been right all along. How that would surely amuse his father. Alistair's breath was all but shallow as that very exhaustion clung to his frame, dragging him deeper and closer towards that infinite darkness. His body was starting to shut down, that shock surely about to set in. Vaguely, the man was aware of the sound of footsteps reverberating upon the asphalt and yet, his physique was too weak to move to capture the stranger's attention. He was grateful, however, that the owner to those footfalls seemed to notice his fallen form, moving closer towards before the warmth of a hand pressed altogether firmly against his neck. Oh, thank God. Someone had managed to see to that wound in a way that he could not, even if the very pressure was enough to make him flinch under the weight of it. Slowly, his head rolled ever so slightly to the side, just enough for those now dim emerald eyes to observe the man who was crouched over him. His lips parted ever so slightly and yet, any words Alistair might have offered died before they even left his throat. The very effort of those syllables, however, only caused the blood that flowed from his throat to bubble ever so slightly.

His vision was near feathered with a circle of blackness one that seemed intent upon taking him and yet, the boy was...distinctly aware of the man's scowling expression - as if his death was an inconvenience. It was a damn well inconvenience for him too though Alistair hardly bothered yet another attempt at conversation. His first efforts had felt...too...awful. That blood was all too slick upon his skin, staining the stranger's hand as it bled from his very veins. The man's voice sounded so....far away, faint even, and yet those words could somehow be made out within the fuzziness. Alistair's gaze fluttered ever so slightly as his eyes struggled to focus upon the fellow leaning over him. Something...important? What could possibly be that important at this very moment? They hardly...knew one another...didn't they? His eyebrows twitched downwards ever so slightly, though it was hardly a position they were capable of holding when his whole body had gone relatively slack. His skin was paling by the moment, the effort to respond far too great and yet, for now, the stranger held the entirety of Alistair's attention. The fellow's admittance that he was in 'bad shape' was only a confirmation of what the artist already had begun to suspect and yet, there was a certain softness to the man's gruff voice, as if he was trying to reassure him that everything was going to be okay - that maybe death...was okay?

The last thing that Alistair anticipated, however, was that choice for life. How could he not take that very option to be saved and yet, the wording of it made him almost hesitate. Come back....like him? What was he? At the very least, he hardly looked like a vampire. Was being anything else so bad? At least, in comparison to death. Though, he'd rather not be a Were, he supposed. That whole...animal...thing didn't sound appealing. His gaze fluttered, the artist attempting to provide that very answer of 'yes', and yet, his whole body hardly seemed like it was responding to him. Yes. Yes, he wanted to live. Yes, he wanted to see another day, another sunrise, another sunset. Anything, Alistair was certain, was better than the sudden death he hung upon the very edge of. All he wanted was to live.

Alistair
Rosenthal

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