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
He could feel the man's eyes on him from the moment he stood at his table. He purposely made his long strides as slow as possible, giving off the air that he'd rather be anywhere else right now. Not a total lie, anyway. He used to love being the center of attention. But times change and so did he. He was on a mission to kill someone and that mission was made all the easier by him being a shadow amongst others. This was no way to be a shadow. He could already feel strangers in the bar turning their gazes to him as he followed the other man. It seems it wasn't very often that someone was escorted to the VIP lounge. Lucky him. Letting out a soft sigh, he made his way up the stairs and to the table that the other man sat at.
He looked like he was on top of the world, lounged back with a stack of cards in front of him. Erik lifted a brow, having never been much of a gambling man, not with cards, anyway. Lives, sure. Sitting with a hand of cards just got so boring so fast, in his opinion. He'd rather play russian roulette with a loaded gun. The man held up a card as Erik took a seat, looking him over before he spoke. His accent was strong but not unfamiliar to Erik, who'd once held ownership of many bars around the southern states like Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisiana. He wanted to talk about the bartender? He had to have more motivation than that. He didn't sound jealous, like the bartender was his lover or something, so it was something else. Or someone else.
Erik leaned forward a little in his seat, meeting the man's eyes head on. "Oh? And what exactly does she look for in a man? Cause I aim to please." His lips tugged into a sly smirk, even as his eyes twinkled with mischief. He was hardly interested in the bartender, or anyone, for that matter. Love and intimacy were low on his radar these days. Revenge was a much sweeter prize. He folded his hands together on the table, showing off his broad shoulders and tall stature as he waited for the man's response. He could tell the man had checked him out from head to toe and if he had to guess, he would say the man wasn't very pleased with what he saw. Almost like something in Erik's appearance insulted him. It was almost amusing, but he was curious enough to indulge him, for now.
The vampire asked where he was from and he leaned back again with a more broad smile this time. "Everywhere and nowhere, you could say. I'm originally from what is now Sweden, but back in my time, it didn't exist by that name. Since my turn, I've been all around the world and back again. What about you? You sound as Cajun as they come." His lips twitched on the last sentence. He almost asked if the man had ever been to Shreveport. Maybe he'd heard of one of Erik's many bars. They tended to get pretty popular. He held his tongue, however, not wanting to show all his cards at once, ironically enough. At the man's last question, Erik tilted his head a little, his brows furrowing in thought. "I usually consider myself pretty known in things but that one is lost on me. What exactly is Night Train and why does it make you squirmy?"
The man could always tell him to fuck off, of course, but if it was something that made him give that look then it couldn't be good, for the Southern gent, anyway. It could be a threat just to his business or his person, or it could be more of a threat to his kind, in which case Erik was very intrigued.