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
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.
How differently the two women responded to the aura that permeated the city. While Harley heaved a shrug of her shoulders as if she meant to slough off the ethereal redolence, every cord of muscle and activated nerve ending in Isolt's body seemed to crave it. Her very soul seemed to hunger after the otherworldly ambience that prickled at the pallor of her skin and unfurled a warmth within her that had long been sacrificed to the depthless, gelid void of death. So completely enraptured by the sensation was she that the query of her beloved companion was answered as if from afar. "Yes," she offered in what was very nearly a whisper, the azure of her eyes roving in an almost lascivious manner over every last intricate detail of the city which surrounded them. "It's like being alive again." Perhaps that was the reason that hoards of supernatural entities flocked to New Orleans... for the chance to feel, at least for a short while, that pleasant warmth and the thrill that came as companion to the impermanence only offered by the mortality that had been stolen from them.
The arrival at their hotel was a relief after so long spent within the confines of Harley's vehicle, both women almost flinging themselves from the car and promptly making themselves at home in the quintessentially historic location. At Harley's insistence (and admittedly to Isolt's apprehension) they quickly settled themselves opposite one another with the Quiji board. However, as with most of the pair's capers, the otherwise-ethereal experience promptly devolved into something playful and quite silly. The rest of the evening was spent in a jovial haze of good food and even better company, accented with a supernatural undercurrent that set the hairs at the nape of their necks to attention. It was in the early hours of the morning when both women had drifted off to sleep, however, that whatever restless entities lingering within their room deemed it fitting to chance interaction with the pair. Isolt, her body accustomed to wakefulness in these midnight hours, was jarred from an already light slumber by the none-too-subtle sensation of her foot being yanked towards the edge of the bed. Thinking that this was Harley's novel idea of a prank, Isolt slowly crept over to her "sleeping" partner and tugged playfully at the raven-haired woman's locks. It served her right...
The next day was spent in a glorious frenzy of exploration and requisite retail therapy, the pair perusing the streets of New Orleans in an attempt to discover as many of the cities innumerable secrets as they possibly could. It was peculiar, still, for Isolt to walk about in the daylight hours as though she belonged amongst the mortals and creatures not eclipsed by the veil of darkness; though truly she felt as though the suns penetrating rays chased away the fallacy of her presumed mortality to those individuals who were keen to the supernatural aura that surely surrounded her. Nowhere was this more apparent than when the pair traipsed in to Marie Leveau's House of Voodoo, a cool shiver rattling the length of Isolt's spine as she passed the ceremonial alter. More than once did she catch the eye of the House's purveyors, wondering all the while if they knew who, and what, walked amongst them.
That evening in their rented quarters did the moment that Isolt had been considering with such trepidation finally arrive upon the proverbial doorstep of her immediate reality. "I suppose it is," she conceded with a tremulous sigh before moving to shove herself into the horrific bovine costume that Harley had selected just for her and, she discovered, came complete with a silver cow's bell. A moment of distraction was offered to her, however, when she turned to take in Harley in all of her prehistoric glory. "You look deeply fabulous, Harley," she issues with a jovial laugh before her eyes fall to the obnoxious udders protruding from her already engorged stomach. "I, however, look like I have not one but four boners. Seriously, I could probably take someone's eye out with these things."