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.
Cull & Pistol
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 appears to be little more than an abandoned cargo ship. 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
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
There are monsters outside & they're waitin
there are vultures in line salivatin
though it is dark in the dead of night
I never go down without a fight
"Ahhh, that's a good one! It's a Ducati Streetfighter 848." That overly cheerful voice drew Tetradore's emerald irises upwards from his astute inspection of the black motorcycle in front of him - that bike one of the few that had so garnered his attention. He glanced at that warm, friendly grin upon the salesman's features as the fellow gestured lightly towards the bike. "Take a seat, you'll love it! Is this your first or....?" The fellow was clearly fishing for information - diligently attempting to ensure he made that sale and yet, for once, Tetradore hardly minded as he shifted towards the motorcycle, easily throwing his leg over as he settled on the seat.
It wasn't until another hour that Tetradore finally emerged from the store with a small packet of paperwork in hand. He watched as that motorcycle was wheeled around to him, those keys nestled within the palm of his hand. This was the final piece he required of that day he had so diligently spent nearly a week preparing. A brand new red helmet was nestled under his arm and yet, presently, Tetradore had little inclination to ride his newest purchase beyond that test drive he'd already taken. Oh no - that honor belonged to someone else. He waited only as long as it took for that salesman to showcase the features of his motorcycle and leave him to his own devices before Tetradore so called to his own affinity. Those shadows rushed forward at his command, enveloping both man and motorcycle to whisk him to the comfortable embrace of the Ark. An altogether rare simper crossed his features as he tossed the paperwork on the cabinet counter against the wall. Carefully, Tetradore guided that Ducati next to his own favored Kawasaki, that bright red helmet placed upon the motorcycle's seat. For a moment, the Were-King pulled out his own phone, his fingers flicking with ease across that screen as he checked on the weather overseas, verifying yet again that the forecast was clear of any anticipated rain, the sky was blue, and his reservation still in place for later that evening. It was only once he had so managed to assure himself all over again that all would be well that the Alpha left the garage, a singular glimpse backward given towards those shiny motorcycles, all prepared for the day ahead.
The Were-King moved with distinct ease throughout his domain, slipping through the main hub of the Ark as the boat so prepared itself to open in mere hours. It was already early evening within Sacrosanct and yet, such hardly mattered when that timezone he intended to head to was so far ahead. Jackal had already been well informed of his intended absence both tonight and the next evening, though his absences of late had become far more frequent and far less planned. Still, Tetradore had little intention to dwell upon the vampiric woman that had taken up so much of his time recently. Tonight was focused on another woman entirely. He checked in briefly with Jackal, ensuring everything was well tended to and his own presence was unneeded before Tetradore headed up towards his own bedroom. The Hispanic man pulled off that light cotton jacket, simply tossing it upon his bed before pulling out that far heavier leather jacket from his closet. He pulled the leather over his broad shoulders, only for the Alpha to pluck a black gift bag from behind those hung up clothes. Red tissue poked out of the present, so meticulously fanned out with aesthetics clearly in mind. The handiwork was obviously done by someone else, the Were-King notoriously caring little for such neatness in his own gift-giving. Things such as proper wrapping hardly at the top of his priority list.
The gift bag dangled by his fingers as Tetradore headed back down that hallway, his cellphone and wallet tucked into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. He was, by all accounts prepared for that evening to come. He hardly bothered to pause as he passed Mira's room, already well aware of where the woman was. He'd seen her settled behind the bar with Carolina when he'd come in, the woman quite taking to that once temporary job of tending to the drinks. He was thankful, admittedly. Raven had never seemingly liked the affairs of the bar and Mira seemed to enjoy the concoctions of liquors with their overly sexual names - Tetradore himself having drunk his fair share in her attempts to learn the proper way to make them. The Alpha approached that bar, placing that gift upon the counter as he leaned against it. "Mira." Her name was uttered softly upon his lips, the man simply watching her almost appreciatively at that moment as she turned to face him. "I'm going to need you to take care of something else besides the bar tonight if you don't mind...but first." He slid that bag across the counter towards her, clearly indicating by that gesture alone that it was hers to open. After all, he had to ensure she was properly dressed for what their evening would hold - that motorcycle clearly demanding a wardrobe of its own.