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

I'm far from sober won't hold me over


Posted on September 08, 2020 by Alistair Rosenthal
West

The potent scent of the inevitable storm filled the already sea-salted air, the wind whipped over the beach, curling the rushing waves in on themselves in a sort of angry frenzy that promised time was of the essence. Alistair reached upwards, pushing his brunette locks from his face as his gaze turned upwards towards the foreboding sky above with it's dark, bulging clouds. His brows furrowed ever so slightly and yet, his thoughts were torn away from the tempest with a singular inquiry of his status as a hunter. It was, admittedly, a rather cliche story, if he had ever heard one. How many mortals, after all, had met their demise at the fangs of a vampire? How many had fallen into those traps and walked down darkened alleys believing themselves to be invisible to the horrors of the night. It always happened to other people, surely not to him. How naive he had been. His shoulders rolled in a vague sort of shrug as Alistair admitted that he had hardly been given a choice in the matter. It had, quite literally, been a moment between life and death and Alistair had taken the only opportunity to continue the doldrums of everyday life.

How very revealing his answer was and yet, Alistair saw little reason to conceal the truth from her. She had hardly made an effort, after all, to do little more then befriend the Dark-Hunter, the lines as enemies one both seemed willing to cross over and over again. Alistair was well aware of that inquisitive look in the depths of her turquoise irises, questions that he too knew she was unlikely to ask. It was a hint of his own curiosity that prompted Alistair to inquire after her own experience as a Were. She was, in some ways, as much of an enigma to him as he was to her. Alistair had never involved himself with the supernatural until he was quite literally thrust within their world, the man entirely aware that he had much to learn if he truly wished to survive as a Hunter. Alistair watched inquisitively as her sweetheart lips pulled into a warm simper. Her admittance that she enjoyed who she was, at least now, was altogether curious to him. Perhaps, one day, he too might reach a point like his own maker where he relished in being a Hunter, a killer of the vile races and a savior of the good. One day. For now, however, he was far more interested in the story that Carolina's own turning hinted to. A transformation that was not her choice either? How unfortunate to be bitten only to discover that it had far more drastic consequences then damaged skin.

It was Carolina's insistence that they both merely had to make the best of the twists life threw at them that caused Alistair's brows to rise ever so slightly. "Yeah...I guess so." He muttered simply, hardly entirely likely the idea. How he wished he could save them from such positions in the first place - before they were forced to merely make the best out of them. It was a soft, low rumble of thunder overhead that drew Alistair's gaze upwards, the skies somehow marginally darker than the last time he'd looked at them. "I think...for now, making the best of what we've got means heading inside though," Alistair commented, pulling himself upwards and onto his feet. The intensity of his gaze returned to her, however, as the Hunter offered her his hand though whether it was to assist her in getting up, or the return of his art book, was entirely up to her.

Alistair
Rosenthal

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