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.
Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn
Just like any city - Sacrosanct is not without it's deep, dark underbelly. Hidden in the graffiti-ridden streets of the West, behind closed warehouse doors, lies the Black Market. Forever moving, it's nearly impossible to find without knowing someone who knows someone. Anything you desire can be brought for a hefty price within the Black Market - be it drugs, weapons, or lives.
Hidden within the dark alleyways of the Western Ward, Cull & Pistol is a dim, often smoky bar. With a small variety of bottled and craft beers, Cull & Pistol is a quaint little neighborhood joint. With its no-frills moto, the dingy bar offers little more than liquor, music from an old jukebox, and a few frequently occupied pool tables.
Bartender Raylin Chike
Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark (known simply as The Ark) is a sleek superyacht known both for its fight rings and recent...renovations, of sorts. Accessible from an entrance hidden in the shadows, The Ark is a veritable Were-playground that specializes in fighting tournaments for all creatures great and small. With both singles and doubles tournaments to compete in, the title of Ark Champion is hotly contested amongst the Were population. If anything illegal is going on in the city it's sure to be happening within the back rooms or behind the ring-side bar.
Note: This is a Were only establishment. All other species will be swiftly escorted out.
Home of: Nightshade
Owner Aiden Tetradore
Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford
Within the turbulent industrial district lies this club. The warehouse doesn't look like much on the outside but it provides a memorable experience from the state of the art lighting, offbeat Victorian-inspired artwork, comfortable black leather lounges, and the infamous 'black light' room. There is a wide variety of alcohol that lines the shelves of both of the magical and ordinary variety. It is a common stomping ground for the supernatural who want to let loose and dance the night away to the music that floods the establishment. Humans are most welcome if they dare.
Owner Risque Voth
Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward
isolt griffin
The impudence of the flame-crowned woman's actions is quite a foreign matter, indeed; so unlike the normative modesty that would have otherwise held the proverbial strings of her dancing marionette. It would appear that the blood of the fae was beginning to have an effect far deeper and of a far grander breadth than either vampire had anticipated that it might. She is brazen with her affections and unabashedly and lasciviously gluttonous in her hunger for more. More than the caress of his lips or the gentle coaxing of his fingers coiled so beautifully within her flowing gossamer locks. She yearns in silence to know the feel of his bare flesh as it presses against hers, to know the sensation of being made his, if only for this singular night. It writhes about within her as some voraciously starved serpent with a hunger never to be sated... and yet even this does modesty touch with the supple bulbs of its clandestine fingertips, for despite the haze of intoxication she cannot bring herself to coax him further. She cannot bring herself to press her body further for fear of his rejection and what it might do to her heart. Fear constrains her with the heft of its self-made shackles.
Fear limits her as it always had before.
And so she can do little else but relish the final kiss he bestows upon her, the lamentation of his departure silent as he moves from her. It was a peculiar thing, indeed; Isolt had grown to view touch and the implications that were its companion with repulsion and anxiety beneath Risque's cruel hands. Even now did she manage to maintain a "safe" distance from those she would have even attested to holding some friendship with. All of them... apart from the man who lingered so nonchalantly within her bedroom. His touch, unlilke so many others, could soothe the wounds that lay beneath the pallor of her flesh and beyond the azure diamond pools of her eyes. He was the curative balm to the raw and aching lesions of her secret agony. Even still does she labor under the crippling hand of her own hesitation as his eyes fall upon her, his body perched just so upon her bed.
Before the decision can rightly be made, however, does her body move ever so slowly towards his own, the leisurely pace of her gait calling quiet attention to the curves of her frame, her crimson locks a waterfall of fire as they cascade over a single shoulder. Isolt may have been bereft the courage to move upon him as her body so desired her to do, but that seemed not to hinder her ability to tease him in this admittedly subconscious manner as she reclines herself unto the bed beside him, her auburn curls a fan of gossamer strands against the violet of the duvet. "Paint each other's nails, huh? I feel like to let you near me with nail polish would be the definition of poor judgement. And do you really want Davante asking you why your nails are painted 'Tickle Me Pink'?" She giggles then, a beautifully melodic sound, before her eyes soften, daring to meet his own. "What's it like... to live for as long as you have? What's it like to watch the world change around you while you just... stay the same?"