Sacrosanct contains four distinct neighborhoods, each with their own specific kind of houses and residents. Explore our districts, view lists of our citizens and enjoy our block parties!

What You'll Find Here

Anacosta Heights
Dupont Circle
Hawethorn Village
River Dale

Anacosta Heights

Situated above the daily life of the city, Anacosta Heights is a tucked away suburb featuring extravagant neo-gothic inspired mansions. The inhabitants of this neighborhood often show their overwhelming wealth with sports cars lining their long, circular driveways, large pools, and manicured gardens. The homeowners of Anacosta Heights treasure their privacy as seen by the high iron gates to the security personnel present at every entrance.

Dupont Circle

Dupont Circle is a small suburban neighborhood settled within the serene portion of the southern portion of town. These four-bedroom, single-family homes feature back yards, porches, garages, and far more breathing space then the Village offers. This neighborhood often is more family orientated and even has organized events for children and the neighborhood as a whole.

Hawethorn Village

Settled in the middle of downtown, Hawthorn Village consists of several victorian inspired row houses just off the main street. Due to it's convenience to just about everything, the village can be a tad expensive to live within. However, the residents of this neighborhood often have two to three-story townhouses, often with a one to two-car garage. Many of the houses feature bay windows and/or rooftop terraces with a small fenced-in 'yard'.

River Dale

River Dale primarily consists of apartments that, despite their age and industrial appearing interior, still hold to the Victorian history that permeates the town. These apartments are often the cheapest option and sport scuffed, older wooden floors, open floor plans, visible beams, and the occasional brick wall.

lost for you, I'm so lost


Posted on January 18, 2015 by Elenore Dorian
Residences
all this devotion was rushing over me, and the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me, but the arms of the ocean deliver me.


Growing up in a house of nine children, seven of them female, you would think that the testosterone in the family would live a very diluted lifestyle, ready to bend at the will of any of the women at a moment's notice. You would think that said young men would act in calm, cool, collected ways what with having to deal with so many women, so much of the time. As the youngest of all of the Dorian children, I had time to watch my siblings grow and adopt different personalities and different ranks on the hierarchy of our family regardless of their time of birth. At the helm of the estrogen driven ship, you guessed it, was Davante Dorian, man with the most moodiness and temperamental characteristics of all of my sisters combined. The sullenness of the Hunter's demeanor reminded me so starkly of the way a fog of mercurial displeasure generated itself in waves off of my brother, enough that I was able to let his words roll off of my shoulders in a very similar fashion. With men like them, words often came in short bursts filled with venomous, biting comments intended to keep others at a length away. They were like loquacious archers, intending to fire arrows at their opponents to injure them before they got too close, and as a result? Those who managed to get inside their personal bubble were already at their mercy. His disdain, whether for me personally or for my kind as a whole, strikes me as the first round of arrows, and I'm very easily able to side step this offense with a defensive shrug. Obviously, he didn't understand what the term "polite" meant. As a reputable host, I found it easy to ignore his jab, again, and watch his back retreat to the fire in an ostentatious display of his own magic.

What was it about men that they were plagued with a desire to flash their tail feathers whenever they felt displaced?

Clearly, the Hunter was uncomfortable in my brothers' apartment. To be honest, I wouldn't have blamed the man for being uncomfortable in this environment, though I was quick to move my sympathy away from him the moment he made it clear that this was a place of voodoo and horror. If that was the case, where did Davante hide his voodoo dolls and artifacts that would make this fun? Surely, knowing him as I did, the hexed sort of items had to be in the building somewhere. With half a mind to start out on a journey to find said things and lob them at Azrael's back with a childish mischief that would match that of my brother's. If Azrael had come looking for Davante himself, I was sure that he had dealt with such antics before and therefore felt even more encouraged to taunt the man with witch-related jabs but fortunately for him, the idea of preparing lunch momentarily striking my fancy more so than antagonizing him. Though my attention is wholly unnecessary on the grilled sandwiches, I am not unable to ignore the gentle breeze that rustles the ash that Azrael had created out of the stool. It brings a small smile to my face, internally noting that his curiosity surely got the better of him and instead of attempting to make conversation with a supernatural dredge of the earth like me, Azrael must lurk like a shadow over my shoulder until the very aroma of the delectable sandwiches wafted up to him, and would assuredly make his mouth water.

"It's a wonder you're alive, still," I started to say, preparing the tray. "If you were a feline of any kind, surely your curiosity would have been the end of you."

I set the tray on the coffee table before finding my position on the couch away from Azrael in order to give him the obviously desired space. As he inspects lunch, I find the same smile pulling at the corner of my lips. What, did he expect that there was going to be moving lettuce, or a dancing leprechaun folded into the cheese? His scrutiny of the sandwich seems to vanish as the cup is lifted to his lips in order to shield his smile from me, though it isn't something that goes unnoticed. With a quiet, stifled snicker, I merely lift my tea as well and allow him to reply to my discovery that he was merely... remodeling.

"Perhaps if you donned an apron and a duster, we can even fool him into thinking you're a maid." My eyebrows rose in amusement, picturing the less than stoic man before me dressed in a maid's outfit, and a quiet laugh surfaced without hesitancy. "He could surely use the reminder, yes," I agreed, alluding to the fact that my brother was indeed someone who needed looking after lest he become a hurricane. But then again, Davante himself was truly a cyclone that left much wreckage in his path whether that be physically or some kind of emotional, psychological mess. Finley, his roommate and my other brother, truly wasn't that much better. Together? The brothers wore terror and mess and carnage like no one I had met before. The haphazard stool didn't surprise me, no.

"Abracadabra?" The intonation was bemused, prepared to humor whatever nonsense he wanted to spew about witches. "You cannot seriously believe that what you do is so different from the rest of us. Tell me, Superman, what do you call that light trick you do then?"

The tea slid behind my lips, the warming sensation enough to allow no more words to fall from the very same. Did the man truly think he was so different, just because he was set out with a cause to bring supernatural justice? Even though Superman was busy saving the world, Clark Kent still had a day job too. I ran my fingers through my hair, ruminating on whether or not Azrael had a desk job where he wore unattractive spectacles just as Clark Kent did.

"I am well aware I am under no obligation to engage you in any sort, Azrael, though you are a guest in my brother's home and I would be a poor sister if I didn't at least pretend to subdue you with any sort of host-like manners. Accept that you aren't in your element here, and you can lower your hackles."

Suddenly, my desire to contend with the pretentious bastard had waned as the politely, but pointedly, spoken words fell from my lips. I stood in order to take the empty tray of sandwiches from the coffee table and bring them to the kitchen to allow the petulant man-boy to roast himself in front of the fire alone, while my fingers itched for something to make them busy. In order to keep from lashing out at him with the very magic he despised I needed to busy myself, and unfortunately for the man who seemed to let both his stomach and his curiosity get the better of him, that occupation was going to be in the form of a cherry pie. The cherries had already been pitted and I had surreptitiously put the pie into the oven right after making the sandwiches, allowing for very brief time to pass while I waited for it to be finished. A homemade whip cream unfortunately didn't take long, either, and with a glance at the clock I realized very little time had passed at all. Instead of wanting to wait, though, I slid the pie from the oven and carved a slice for myself, dressed it with whip cream and did the same for another slice, sitting it on a plate to put back on the table where the tray had been.

"If your time out is over and you've had enough time to think about what you've done, you can join me for dessert." I stood, bringing a pillow that I had, as childishly as he had acted, adorned with two buttons for eyes and a string for a mouth to place on the ground beside him. "This is more the type of companion you were looking for, yeah? Those that don't speak back?" I felt my mouth drawing up at the corners in amusement, a very Cheshire-like smile brightening my face. "Do you really think your scowl and sullied words are so abrasive? You must have forgotten who my brother is. If you're finished sulking, I would genuinely like to hear more about your... how you said ... "weapons"."

elenore arabia dorian


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