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

Nightshade

our lives are made by the death of others


Posted on December 25, 2020 by AIDEN TETRADORE
West

calamity

The life I live is one big calamity

They had docked early in the morning - the superyacht once again taking up that role of a shiny, ostentatious behemoth to dominant the skyline of the Western Ward. It was hardly like the Ark they had lost - this one certainly smaller and yet, what it lacked in size, it made up for in pure and simple extravagance. The once worn paint and industrial vibe had been replaced by sleek matte grey siding with reflective one way mirrored windows that lined the hull. A large cursive 'A' had been painted upon the boat, this ship had been titled the same as the one it replaced. The Ark. Finally, after months, she was back in all of her splendor. And how undeniably stately she was! With two topside decks, one of which featured a pool with a waterfall feature over top of his garage. Her interior was just as breathless. Each pack room held floor to ceiling windows, inline lighting, and meticulous wood paneling. They each had identical modern styled bathrooms and custom-crafted walk-in closets, each room decked with only the bare necessities to allow them to be styled by each member of the pack. The boat's amenities hardly stopped there, however, there was a library, a proper spa, a gym, the observatory, and, most importantly of all, a newly revamped fighting ring just so that the Ark might continue its seedy line of business, naturally in added style.

The Were-King was settled at the new bar, his hand idly spinning his phone on the black tiled countertop in front of him before glancing at the time, again. A soft sigh crossed his lips and yet, he was well aware of the golden irises that glanced almost bemused at him. "I know, I know." He commented, already anticipating whatever word Mira might utter about how useless it was to stare at the clock, like that would make the time move any faster. The vibrant emerald hue of his gaze watched the young woman as she began to restock the lighted empty shelves of the bar with the multitude of bottles that had been awaiting them on board. It had been pointless to put them up prior to now, the trip across the Atlantic ocean had hit its fair share of rough seas and the couple, in turn, had been otherwise preoccupied with exploring every nook and cranny of the boat Tetradore had purchased, and indulging within it. Nevertheless, it was his pack that Tetradore waited for. He'd sent out a group text message earlier in the morning, something along the lines of 'Merry Christmas Eve. Come down to the docks at 8.' Perfectly vague and perfectly to the point. After all, the Ark was meant to be a Christmas present of sorts. It had been...months since he had seen the pack gathered together. In fact, the night the cargo ship had sunk was the last evening the group had been together as one...as a family.

Impatience had never been a trait that defined Tetradore, at least, not where his pack was concerned. This was...somewhat abnormal for the Alpha. He knew it, Mira knew it, and by the way she was looking at him he knew too she wanted to ask after it. Tetradore had gotten...accustomed to that probing stare, the way her eyes as questions she would only occasionally voice. Then again, his girlfriend had also learned a greater deal of his own....quirks ever since the pair had been living in such tight proximity to one another. "I just want to see their reaction to it." Tetradore offered her as he leaned back within the barstool, restlessly letting the stool turn with his feet. A soft breath left his lips, "It's already 8." He mumbled to her, that soft snort of air that left her nose told him well what she thought of that. It was the sound, however, of footsteps on the opened gangplank outside that drew the man's attention, the vibrancy of his gaze so quickly shifted towards the door, curious both of who the first person to arrive would be and how they might handle finally having a home again.

New Ark Pics: https://www.sacrosanctrpg.com/Misc/Ark

I don't owe you a god damned thing

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