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
Raylin Chike
She was beyond distracted today, her chocolate gaze darting to the windows, watching the subtle sunlight filter inside the dingy bar. It wasn't warm per se, but the sun was enough of a taunt to finish her shift as swift as possible to head back to the beach. The surfing had been beyond good lately and she didn't have to battle many people for the same wave, especially when she woke up before the sun crested the mountains and was already at the beach. Sighing heavily, she scrubs at the bar, trying to lift some sort of sticky substance off of it. Raylin really did not want to know what that was. Her nose wrinkles in distaste before she gives up and plops the towel back into its bucket. She would let the closing shift deal with it. Turning, she sluggishly walks to the sink and scrubs at her hands, drying them off before tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. So rarely was it swept up into a ponytail, Ray enjoying her wild curls of pink hair to be in constant disarray but... today was one of those days she couldn't even drag a brush through it.
Glancing up at the clock, she frowns, she still had an hour and it was beyond slow today, she's very nearly ready to beg to go home early when commotion drags her attention to the seat at the window. Her favorite seat in the bar if she was being honest. She had watched the... fancy man walk in a few moments ago. Clientele like him were few and far in between but every once in awhile, rich folks from the north would wander in, trying to get a taste of the wild west before realizing they were not designed for such things and scurry home. However, this man, no faerie, she realizes after a moment, her gaze noting the delicately pointed ears, seemed rather content to lounge. He didn't seem to bothered by the older men sitting a table away, taunting him. She couldn't hear what was being said, although the round of laughter that echoes through the bar makes her sigh. Ray recognized the regulars after only a moment, those three always making problems in the bar. It was a miracle they hadn't been banned yet.
The woman is content to mind her own business when she notes from the corner of her eye, the three men swarming around and filling a glass with... cigarette ash? What the hell? She's about to yell at them to not put disgusting things in a cup that she had to clean before she sees the wad of cash on the table. And when she said wad of cash, she meant wad of cash. Curiosity wins, which, it usually always did for Ray. Leaning over the bar, she rests her elbows on the smooth top, holding her chin as she watches the scene unfold before her. The gray concoction the men made was... disgusting looking to say the least, as they presented it to the faerie. He swirls it contentedly before those very ingredients disappear, replaced with a golden ale. She blinks, surprised, straightening as she hears the outburst from the man, going on his way with an ale. Ray is still staring when the faerie senses her, his head turning and meeting her gaze, his finger coming to his lips as his eyes dart to the... disgusting gray concoction placed in a shadow corner.
And despite the fact she would have to clean it later, she grins, widely, quiet laughter falling from her lips as she shakes her head. "I'm going to take a break," she calls down the bar, a nod of confirmation from her coworker as she walks around the bar, revealing shredded jean shorts, paired with scuffed black boots, and a sheer black shirt that was see through enough to show her bra and that wicked scar where her neck and shoulder met. Brennan had done a superb job at patching her up but the scar remained, a constant reminder that she had very nearly died but more importantly, that she had lived.
She was, perhaps, a bit daring in her attire but she liked it, feeling quite comfortable in her skin, even with her ravaged neck, she never tried to cover it. Still, that's a memory that is hardly on her mind as she strolls over to the faerie, taking a seat across from him, quite enjoying the sun on her skin as she slides into place. "You know, if those three found out that you bamboozled them, they would be throwing fists at you right now," she says, a half smile on her lips, "And then I would have had to chase them out of the bar with my trusty bat," that half smile turns into a grin. "But that didn't happen and more to you for swindling them out of their money, they could use a bit more of that happening to them."