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
Askaree Bint Bahar
Jesus, he was such a fucking stiff, cowering away from her as if he might contract some manner of wretched disease (oh no, cooties) solely by venturing too close. It was proving quite the internal conundrum, a paradox of amusement and agitation, to discern how she truly felt about the holier-than-thou, "strong silent type" bullshit aura that seemed to leak from his every pore like some damned awful cologne. Askaree had dealt with his type before and had come to discover that it plucked quite nicely at the strings of her more predatory, basal yearnings... for a time. Though, being of the personality type that she undeniably was, she found herself afflicted with the most terrible manner of boredom after only a short while spent in the presence of his sort.
"For the love of God, give me that. You're going to drive me insane if you have to recount one more time," she hissed, collecting the discarded bills with a single swift swoop and counting them deftly and without pause before scribbling the determined figure on Spencer's sad little legal pad. Without another syllable did she go back to her reclined position, the sloping feminine curvature of her body accentuated in a diabolically intriguing manner. Perhaps it was a little cliche, the way in which she chose to tease him, to tickle at the soft underbelly of his otherwise stoic facade; alas, the humor of it all, of watching as he looked upon her with such dilluted disdain was... laughable. Was he this uptight in the sack? Surely not, for such a thing would be excrutiatingly disappointing. He did, after all, seem to have the potential to be a positively magnificent lay if he would just loosen the hell up. An impish grin props itself just so upon her lips at his comment... how adorable. So he did have a sense of humor, surprise surprise!
The celebratory musings of this discovery are short-lived, however, Spencer's next comment earning him naught but the darkening of her gaze in a manner that is both threatening and voracious. Askaree permits him a few moments of his pathetic attempts to evade any proximity to her before blocking his passage with one long, finely-muscled leg, the heel of her boot tapping lightly against the wall opposite. Only then does she slide so effortlessly from atop her perch, drawing nigh to him to close the gap betwixt them and bring her figure nearly flush with his own. Smiling for a drawing moment, the young Egyptian bites sensuously into the lush cushion of her lower lip as she peers up into the face of the evening's prey. "With all do respect," she utters in little more than a tantilizing whisper, "you should think twice before putting that sort of challenge out there, Spencer. Now stop being such a fucking pansy and just come out with me." She departs from him then, sashaying around the counter, tapping perfectly-manicured nails against the dilapidated wood.