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

our lives are made by the death of others


Posted on June 09, 2020 by AIDEN TETRADORE
West

calamity

The life I live is one big calamity

He had thought, by now, he'd become accustomed to that empty skyline that spread out before him. That ship...the one that now sat at the bottom of the ocean floor, had somehow become more meaningful than Tetradore had ever anticipated it might be. He had thought he had adjusted to his new life without it in the same way he simply soldiered on time and time again and yet, as he stood on the Western docks staring out at the crashing waves, even he was not immune to that pang of hurt within his chest. The Ark had been the first true home he'd had in nearly two decades. It was the first place that was his. The first sanctuary he'd found and now it too had been ripped away from him quite before he even knew what had really happened. Now, his pack was scattered in the wind, his possessions nearly entirely lost to the roaring waves, and, worst of all, a vast majority of his wealth sat in a vault at the bottom of a fucking ocean. A soft breath of frustration left the Were-King's lips, his arms were folded neatly over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed as he watched the work going on in front of him.

Tetradore could hardly leave everything beneath those gallons of water. His pack, after all, required the gold the Ark had harbored to rebuild, repair, and start their lives anew. As generous as his brother was to allow his stay at Dorian's northern mansion - it hardly facilitated the double life the Were-King now so feverishly tried to juggle. Too many people noticed his peculiar absences and too many questions were now asked. This...had to be temporary. A small frown pressed upon his lips as he watched one of the divers again descend into the depths of the ocean - the wreck had apparently been easy enough to find, retrieving its riches was another matter entirely when the Ark was more akin to a labyrinth of rooms and hallways in comparison to the layout of a usual shipping boat. Nevertheless, Tetradore found himself watching their every movement with diligence as he leaned with faux ease against the sleek black Bugatti behind him. The car's trunk was open beside him, several black bags settled at his feet with zippers undone, containing what had already been pulled from the Ark that was deemed either valuable or salvageable.

The last thing he anticipated, as a filled duffle bag of cleaned, dried golden bars was loaded into the back of his car, was to be watched. In fact, he hardly noticed the fae woman before that familiar lit of her soprano voice pierced through the casual conversation of work that surrounded him. For a moment, Tetradore merely stared at the fae - it had, after all been...a while since he'd last seen her. His own life had become a turbulent mess that had, admittedly, sent Samantha to the far back of his thoughts. "Oh...hey." He commented after a moment, the Were-King equally caught off guard by that sudden sensation of her arms around him, even if it was entirely laid back. He was almost sluggish to return that hug, though it hardly lasted long before she stepped back from him. Samantha's inquiry drew his gaze towards the duffle bag that had caught her attention. His hand reached out, pulling the bag's lid back over those golden bars before his arms once again crossed over his chest. "Nothing really. What are you doing here?" He inquired, purposefully shifting the conversation away from himself in the manner he so often did.

I don't owe you a god damned thing

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