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!
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 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.
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 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.
It's tough to be a god
How very....shattered that woman whom sat before him at that table. Harley so barely having made it to her seat upon shaky legs that had all but given up that task of carrying her and indeed had very near failed in their efforts to find her that place upon the chair. Exhaustion and starvation, he knew, so surely played a far larger role, this time, then her physical injuries and yet like a veritable poison those wounds so acted as a further slow drain upon her mental fortitude. If anything could be said of Darcy it was surely that the vampire was nothing if not....professional in his methods when it came to the destruction of spirit. Risque, with her love of torture was often inclined to achieve those results faster and more efficiently. Darcy, arguably the more impatient of the pair so seemed to possess his own knack for getting what he wanted from those around him. How unfortunate neither of their adversaries were unintelligent. Such a war would be all the easier if they were. How very...liberating it must be to simply feeling nothing for those around them. To be free of love or compassion or care. To destroy so wilfully and idly. There truly was a freedom in such a thing and yet too- how very much those vampires surely missed by ridding their lives of those very things. Matteo's head shook but slightly, removing these thoughts from his mind for now as Harley's hunger so got the better of her and she reached for those sweet cakes. How often the body craved sugar when starved, craved that quick energy release that chased away that feeling of hunger even if it so left you feeling more hollow to begin with. The addition of that soup designed to fill the veritable sugar crash that would follow without it.
Ah, but he knew how his young companion would dislike those words her had to offer. A chastisement of her actions, even though they were surely laced with his own understanding in turn. After all, would he have fared any better beneath Darcy's torment when he was, like Harley, so terribly inclined to those verbal engagements? Perhaps not. Objectiveness was easy, after all. Matteo careful in his choice of words. The Frenchman so hardly seeking to belittle her own choices that night but rather afford her a different picture of them. A reminder perhaps that her actions were still her own to control and that they would garner reactions every time. Each battle she chose to 'fight' need be weighed and measured before she took it up. Defiance only earned those points to her pride if she was alive to offer them. Her words, more than once, having further goaded Darcy. Having given him reason to harm her and reason to leave her without food for three days. How difficult a thing it was to balance defiance with subservience and yet he had spent twenty years playing this game with Aiden. His son a veritable master of silent defiance. Aiden having learned to near artfully dodge those verbal traps his vampiric keepers tossed at him like pointed barbs over and over. Harley....would be another matter entirely. His very words seeming to spark that renewed vigor within her, much as he had anticipated it might, the Frenchman very near amused with the determination in which she respond.Those verbal floodgates opening with a rush. Harley, he suspected, would be fine. A little damaged, a little chipped- but her spirit has clearly begun to rally already. Good.
How was silence defiance? Her demand so echoed within that kitchen space. Matteo affording her no answer yet, his silver gaze merely meeting her own as his arms folded but smoothly across his chest. The near ancient Fae lent back agianst that kitchen counter behind him, one leg folding over the other in that same near lackadaisical manner. He was the picture of relaxation as Harley continued her verbal tirade with the assurance someone need face those vampires, that her words were her way of fighting back and that she would not roll over and ask them how they wanted her. The very passion that laced those lyrics was nothing short of impressive. Matteo inclined to feel that....protectiveness within himself once more for that raven-haired beauty, a flickering flame he so desired to keep safe from the world and their sheer determination to put it out. What a true tragedy it would be if, one day, a woman like harley had no fight left to give. How fortunate it was that it seemed today was not that day. The violet eyes of his companion met his own with a near blazing fury. Matteo silent still as he merely met her gaze evenly and in a manner he knew Harley would find....frustrating. Silence, after all.....was frustrating. Silence in this moment was the lesson in itself. Silence offered with no lack of ground on his part nor shift in his position. Matteo watching that cutlery lift with that same silence as his companions gaze rested expectantly upon him. The Frenchman so at last reaching effortlessly forward to take a spoon from the air where it floated, turning it about within his hand almost curiously before so at last glancing back to Harley.
"Im sorry, Mon Cher, did you say something?"
Ah, but he waited only so long as it took for that very look of irritated disbelief to find her features before that grin to broke out upon his own. A rich, warm chuckle humming within his throat then as he moved to place that soup before her and so take his own place across from her within that chair and his own meal before him.
"Which part of my silence did you take for weakness, hmm?"
He knew, oh how he knew, how that veritable lesson so offered to her through that very example alone would irritate her entirely and yet what better way to show her just what he meant in regards to that silence then by showing it to her? By allowing her to feel the irritation that came from being met with nothing but silence. Inoffensive, irritating, defiant silence. This manner of her powers however was another thing entirely. Matteo taking but a singular mouthful of that soup, the man pausing to summon that bread, before turning his attention to that display of her proficiency (or lack thereof) as it hovered before him. The Frenchman contemplative for several moments.
"Is it telekinesis or a manipulation of....metal?"
That Harley had lifted only the cutlery and nothing else had hardly escaped his notice. Matteo wholly capable of peering into that future to seek that very answer and yet it was her response he was far more curious off. Along with just what she had learned of her newfound talent in turn. A curious power to be sure and yet a terribly powerful one. Perhaps it was not so surprising that such a power found her when it did. That faintest of simpers finding his lips once more.
"From my experiences, Mon Cherie, most of our powers do not reveal themselves until the moment they are needed. This ability has likely lain dormant for some time. It suits you though, do you not think? You have developed the power to, quite literally, push back at the barriers that would otherwise cage you in."
Metal so merely a metaphor, of sorts, for the oppression of the woman's life. Though whether or not she chose to see it as such was for her to decide. Harley's sheer determination to move countries in an effort to escape her tormentors was met with his own simple correction that nordic was perhaps far better to consider then those less prosperous asian countries. The Frenchman inclined to agree that Sweden was a suitable choice.
That teasing simper so readily found his lips at those offered Swedish lyrics. Matteo very near anticipating a spoon to be thrown at his very head were the temptation of her meal not so very great at that moment. It was that take off his own powers however that perhaps prompted that return to seriousness. The Frenchman considering his words once more before offering something of an explanation for his own gifts. Even if he knew, like so many before her, Harley was so unlikely to understand. Even Aiden, after all this time, he was near sure did not fully comprehend the weight of the future and its press upon him. Matteo having near feared for so long that his sons, both of them, might.....resent him for just how he chose to use his own affinity and yet.....if only they understood. Yet how to explain something so vast, so complex, something even he did not fully understand! Such was an undertaking in itself and one he so rarely allowed himself to dwell upon if only for the notion it so often inevitably lead to the very question of what.....was he? What was his purpose in all this? Why had he been given such a power when it so often brought nothing but pain? Why was he so damned to watch the suffering of hundreds of thousands of people each day, over and over? Had he truly been so wicked in a past life that he was damned to atone for it eternally in this one by seeking, desperately, to help those he could- only to damn them with his own choices half the time? Such thoughts were so...disparaging for the soul. Matteo, for now, dismissing them in the wake of that abject curiosity tat had found his companion. Harley sincere in her desire to understand, it seemed, even if it threatened his mystere. Her words prompting a soft sound of amusement from him.
"I fear, mon Cherie, it may only increase. Before the night is out though, I shall explain it to you as best I can."
That near rueful smile so found him then. Matteo taking but another mouthful of that soup in contemplation before daring to suggest that she had, for a moment, had him worried that her will had been far more shaken then it appeared. Harley's gaze shifted in that moment, her eyes momentarily closing as if to further steele herself agianst that long line of battles she knew so instinctively were coming. The Frenchman assured there was little comfort to be offered to her in that moment when she knew that veritable truth. This so merely the beginning of that metaphorical war. Harley, if nothing else, was a realist. A trait that, for now at least, would serve her well. That insistence she was a mess however, so merely prompted that shake off his head.
"I have, of late, seen messes far more ruined then you."
That brief, fleeting simper so found his lips once more. Matteo hardly daring to allow his thoughts to shift to his own son and the....devastation that had been Aiden's last battle with That Woman. One that had very nearly cost his son his life and one that had, in the same fell swoop reopened far more than one wound in Matteo himself. The Fae, for now at least, near violently attempting to press those images so ingrained within his mind aside to fixate on the being before him. The sheer anger that came with those memories a force Harley so hardly need witness here and now. It was the young woman's mention of his gift of sunglasses and their assistance, partially, in helping her survive that evening that so prompted his own chuckle once more. Matteo taken but another mouthful of soup before insisting that she owed him a partial gift then, Harley decidedly quick upon that uptake once more. The womans return to sarcasm nothing if not pleasing to witness. That veritable mention of someone named Marty-Oso coaxing a shrug from his shoulders.
"I've no idea who you are talking about."
Ah, but how those very words said one thing and that near sheepish grin another! The near ancient Fae so content to inquire then after what she had learned from her time in that place, if nothing else. That something, anything from her time in Syn could be taken as positive it was surely her momentary chance to see it function. Harley commenting upon its labyrinth like interior and the sheer amount of doors within that so prevented anyone from infiltrating it- or escaping it. Risques very...care for those cats perhaps only reinforcing his own belief that the animals so presented to her something more. A final and frail connection to her human existence she as unable to let go off. A last remembrance of something, anything, that had once loved her- though she would vehemently dent such a thing.
"Risque is paranoid. Paranoia makes her cautious and yet it presents a problem, as you said, for those on the outside. Syn is near impossible to navigate and you need a key card to go through those doors. Each card is individual, did you know that? Risque's is the only card that opens every door. Darcy's opens almost all. Most of the other staff can get only where they need to go. Risque is many things but a poor planner is not one of them. An unfortunate advantage of paranoia and Darcy is far more intelligent then he appears."
Harley, he suspected, had come to realise each of those things in turn. Matteo simply reaffirming her knowledge and so adding a little of his own before that mention of the bartender saw that near curious look find his own features.
"If you can befriend him you might as well. He might have more to offer you."
He so hardly needed to warn the woman agianst trusting the vampiric barman and yet trusting and conversing were wholly different ideals. It was, perhaps, Harley's own turn to be near cryptic then. The woman insisting she knew the way to a vampire's heart. Her method so apparently the most efficient in turn. Matteo inclined to allow his gaze to rest upon her near expectantly- only to Harley to declare rocket launchers.....or flag poles were the most efficient. That ready chuckle humming smoothly from within his throat at such an unanticipated answer.
"One cannot fault the vampire race for dramatic flare when it comes to murdering one another."
Vampiric wars had carried on for centuries, after all. Vampires seeming to relish murdering one another near as much as any other being. Darcy so apparently possessing that flare for the dramatic. Matteo's own meal was smoothly finished then, the Frenchman pushing aside that bowl as Harley worked eagerly upon her own. The raven-haired woman so nearly affording that food a compliment, his own simper finding his lips then. Food, after all, so tended to have a power all its own in the right moments. His company so apparently acceptable in the very least. That return of Harley's nature, for the most part, seeming to satisfy him and yet.....her wounds were another matter. Vampire bites were...noxious. Those wounds often persisting even with that advanced Were-healing. Harley's lack of food for those three days only further hampering her bodies abilities. Darcy's bite almost certain to be infected. Ah, but how wary Harley so looked at him in that moment he suggested his presence might have a purpose! Matteo wholly content to continue to feed her suspicions of him. The man nothing if not a perpetrator of the Fae race in that moment. Harley abruptly choked upon her soup at his veritable announcement, that rich, ready laughter only increasing. Matteo, perhaps, near incapable of not finding some delight in even the bleakest of moments. That expression upon her face surely worth it, right along with her admittance she had walked well into that verbal trap as her hands were thrown backwards. Matteo unable to prevent that further chuckle.
"Tonight, Mon Cherie, I promise this is about your wounds and not my desires to see you without a shirt. Here, then let me help you and we shall say i offered, not that you asked."
That reassurance so fell from his lips all at once. The Frenchman rising smoothly from his own seat then to move around that table and place himself behind her. His fingers reached easily then for the collar of her jacket, Matteo distinctly slow and wholly gentle in that action then as he moved to carefully begin to work that jacket from her shoulders and slide it downward. How quickly his gaze found that wound. How Harley could move her shoulder at all something of a wonder. Matteo scowling at the sight of it and yet he was careful to keep those sounds of distaste from his lips least Harley be made to feel any more self-conscious then perhaps she already did. That jacket was at last pulled smoothly from her figure. The eternally youthful Fae draping it over the back of the chair before eyeing the shirt that rested beneath- or what remained of it.
"You are going to have to lift your arms a little this time I fear."
That action, he knew, was likely to bring her no small amount of pain and yet with that shirt in the way that wound was still partially covered from his view. Matteo's fingers reached smoothly then to grasp the hem of her shirt on either side, the warmth of her skin easily felt agianst his own in that moment. The Fae slowly beginning to draw that fabric upward. Matteo hardly oblivious to the smooth plains off her skin and figure that gesture offered his gaze. Yet- there was still a promise to be kept. One that so afforded her a distraction in that moment. Those accented lyrics offered then.
"I can choose whose future I see. Originally I could not. Originally I was beset with thousands of visions that struck at me like....seizures and so nearly cost me my life on more than one occasion. I learned, over the years, to block them, for the most part. Some visions cannot be blocked but that is another matter. When I look into someone's future I see the path they are on now and where it will lead. I can look as far into the future as I desire- but the future is a finicky thing. It can change and it does- often. I can see not only the path a person is on, but every possible path they could choose and there are....thousands of them. Each and every person has thousands of possible futures, futures that change based upon the smallest of decisions. Choosing where to sit, for example, might change the outcome of hundreds of futures. Each and every decision a person makes will alter their path, even if only by a few steps. It is....an exhausting thing to keep up with sometimes."
He exhaled softly, as if the thought of it alone was tiring, that warm breath so brushing agianst the back of Harley's neck as he continued to raise that shirt until it rested beneath her arms, Matteo stepping around to stand in front of her then. His features softening decidedly.
"You need to lift your arms now, I shall be as as quick as I can, Mon Cherie."
How stiff and sore that action was likely to be. The Frenchman waiting for Harley to lift her arms, as best she could, before lifting that shirt the rest of the way up and over her head and gently over her arms before finally discarding it to the chair with the jacket. Harley left in little save her bra. The wounds to her stomach and shoulder painfully clear now. How unfortunate something so....unpleasant marked her otherwise truly......appealing figure. His silver gaze lingered on her form but momentarily. That teasing simper finding his lips.
"You have a very nice-"
How readily his gaze shifted from the curves of her sides to her chest and abruptly to meet her violet gaze.
Those words little more than a playful tease once more. One so aimed to chase away but some of the unpleasantness of that very wound. Matteo stepping around her once more then, his hand, this time, so smoothly running along her shoulder to the edge of that infected bite. It was deeper than he had anticipated. Darcy so hardly having tried half-heartedly.
"This will feel a little strange, Mon Cherie, but trust me. Now, where was I? Ah yes, my power is explained best I think by having you think of it as I am forced to. Imagine for a moment you are at the beach, you see a child fall from the docks into the water, unnoticed by any save for you. He cannot swim. He will drown if you do not save him. Your first reaction is to save him no? But what if you see into the future, what if you know that child will grow up to become a killer, that at nineteen years of age he will come onto the college campus and murder fifteen other students and a teacher. Do you let him die now to save the lives of fifteen others?"
Matteo's fingers pressed gently to that wound then, his own affinity summoned now. That wound so beginning to heal, to stitch itself back together. That infection slowly chased out beneath his touch.
"Yet it is still more complex. If the boy drowns, his Mother, so grieved by his death will divorce his Father. She will have no other children and spend her life alone. Yet, if the boy is saved, a year later she will have a second son. This son, so afflicted by his older brothers actions the day he takes a gun to college will study to become a doctor, to help people, to atone for his brother. He will become the leading heart surgeon in his country and save the lives of thousands. Tell me, Harley, who do you save?"
That question, he knew, had no easy answer, no simple solution and yet it so provided insight into the world he lived in. One filled with impossible choice. Matteo's fingers so continued to run along her shoulder then, his free hand resting at her waist to so gently hold her still. That healing rapidly beginning to knit together that wound at her stomach now. His words quiet.
"I can see thousands of these choices every day, all around me. It took me a very long time to understand I could not help them all and sometimes I still make the wrong choice. I have brought about great things and I have brought about disaster. I still don't know why I was given this power. I fear sometimes that if I have some great purpose I have not yet discovered it. How do you feel now? I am an exceptional doctor, no?"
Each cut and scrape and wound and mark so miraculously having healed from her figure entirely.