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

Show the devil how good you dance [CB]


Posted on August 24, 2015 by Eleanor
West


This is where Hollywood cues the delusion,
that everything looked this blue through Sinatra's eyes.



She scampers quietly along the damp concrete, her heavy boots barely issue a clap in the wake of her every step. Eleanor moves as she always does, slithering in the shadows more feline than human, but tonight the fae moves with haste. Ever since her run in with Animal -- that man, that fae, she's been strangely anxious. It was a characteristic of fairies, to be paranoid, she knows. And Eleanor has spent the majority of her life trying as hard as possible not to be like the others. Animal wasn't like other fae. Perhaps that's why his memory lingers in her mind. It excites her late at night when she thinks about it. She finds her fingers lingering at the base of her neck, retracing where he had touched her -- his touch nothing more than a cool mist.

The interaction had frightened her, too. Enough to keep her inside for some good deal of time. She limited her wanderings to the woods on the outskirts of town to only the day time hours, and even then, the peak of them, when humans were most likely to be there. The itch to return to her late night habits eventually gets the best of her, and Eleanor emerges after dark. She ignores the pangs of fear and anxiety that cause the hairs on the back of her neck to stand in protest at almost every turn. After a few hours of this, she grows angry with herself. So, the fae girl forces herself to travel farther and farther from home until she reaches a neighborhood she knows is ripe with the unkind.

The smell of the sea was strong here, the salt mixing with that of stale vessel oils, gasoline and the sour stench of sewage. The sound of the dark, murky waters chopping up against the algae-lined seawall was distant, but a constant reminder just how close she was to the harbor. Instinctively she was always seeking out the elements of the earth. How she loathed living so stagnantly in this concrete prison.

Eleanor toils her way down a vacant alley, her dirty, rough-edged fingers draping lazily along the wet bricks of the neighboring wall. At her back bounced a half-filled backpack, aluminum cans clinking inside. It had been so long since she'd worked outside of a studio. Her day job was beginning to grow mundane. The people around her at the university were a bore. She was considering less meaningful ways to spend her time. Maybe returning to her roots before she became a "discovered" artist, slinging drinks from behind a bar.

She finds a lone light pole and hovers on the ground above her bag. She surveys the concrete wall before her, and then the colored cans in her open bag. Her fingers mark the invisible lines she's about to paint. And then she gets to work.



Eleanor | Fairy | Vinyl

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