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

tet and risque; don't pull the plug, i swear this isn't how i want to go


Posted on May 19, 2014 by ISOLT GRIFFIN
West

It cannot rightly be said what exactly draws her back, a mindlessly-fluttering moth coaxed ever nigh to the treacherous beauty of this innocently flickering flame. It could not be considered amongst the ranks of her usual haunts, the pervading aura much more akin to something Harley would have found darkly pleasant, appealing in the most macabre and unorthodox way. That is if Harley would have ever consented to actually accompany her on the handful of occasions she had owed this particular locale her patronage. The precious few attempts to bait the unruly brunette into the excursion had only known failure on Isolt's behalf, and again on this night the demure young redhead peruses the eclectic establishment by herself. Alone in this painfully crowded space.

She cannot but succumb so readily to the awe that grips her even now during this, far from her first visit to the none-too-modest and industrial space. Unlike her first, and admittedly accidental, foray into this new world, Isolt is able to keep the majority of her admiration internalized... lest she should appear as foreign and out of place as she surely felt. With her flaming auburn curls cascading in a heavenly sheet across her shoulders and her modestly demure attire, Isolt hardly looked the part of this bar's proper patrons; in truth, she had considered on more than one occasion pilfering some strappy leather gem from the depths of the cavern that was Harley's closet. Alas, that particular whim had been for naught. At least... for the time being.

By some miracle the young woman manages to claim herself a small parcel of space at the packed bar, certainly not the choicest locale and yet... beggars could not choose. Crystalline blue eyes flow easily over the impressive display of glass beyond the bar's slab, a glittering mass of alcoholic temptation that beckoned to her as a siren to the lost sailor that swooned within. So absolute is her gluttonous perusal that she neglects an innocently shifting elbow, accidentally nudging the gentleman at her side; a hardly intentional gesture and yet one that could not have easily been avoided given the proximity of the bar's patrons. "I'm so sorry," she begins, turning at once to the man at her side, her eyes catching against a pair of startling clear green ones. "Oh...," the exclamation is little more than a whisper, recognition gripping near immediately, a genuine smile budding innocently upon her lips. "Hi." She has seen him here before, remembers him from previous excursions, and not only by merit of the peculiar emerald of his eyes. Isolt remembers his demeanor, or rather what she presumes as such, more than perhaps anything else; he does not bustle about within the crowd, roaring curses and shouting nonsense as so many of the other patrons do. He is merely... steady in a way that most others are not.

The young woman pauses, anxiety at the slight awkwardness of the encounter and her own social folly manifesting in her typical nervous gesture, a single dainty hand reaching up to straighten a few unruly curls behind an ear. "Look I'm really sorry, it's just... a little crowded." She pauses, that same beautifully simplistic simper casting light into every last inch of her upturned face. "I... I think I've seen you in here before. What keeps you coming back?" A sad substitute for the witty conversation that Harley would have certainly been capable of initiating, and yet even this small sentiment is quite a momentous step forward for the usually painfully shy Isolt.


isolt griffin


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