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.
Resting upon the harbor, Noah's Ark (known simply as The Ark) is a sleek superyacht known both for its fight rings and recent...renovations, of sorts. 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
(dear friend it will be alright, please just stay by my side)
(you might think the world is tumbling down, but it's not)
Those pale golden tresses are a mess on her head after the ordeal she had just been put through. The kidnapping hunters had put her through an ordeal, but still she hadn't talked, through the burns she had been unable to hold back scream, refusing to let tears fall from her eyes. Within, Maeve had relied on the pack, conjuring each of them in turn, drawing from each of them what she could. From Mira she finds her fiery nature, the resilience and Maeve thinks if she can just be like Mira, she could survive anything. She thinks of Tetradore's stoic nature, making her face unreadable, providing her kidnappers neither with anger, nor sorrow, she did not want to give them any sort of emotion, she lets herself grow numb. Tobi, she pictures the leopard's strength. Tobi was perhaps the strongest person she knew, he was fierce and she had seen him take hunters before. Raven, and the scars that mark her face that Maeve finds so beautiful, all of it, she thinks about the bullies Raven had faced and how her determination must have been wild. All of them, she needs all of them in this moment if she can get through this torturous experience.
Maeve is not new to iron, she had felt its hot grasp before. Playgrounds, for so long in her childhood had been her enemy. Lucky, for her, when she came to Sacrosanct, she had been fortunate enough to find the playgrounds made almost completely from plastic and steel, or even wood. But there had been a playground at one of her schools, a thing constructed barely above code due to the low funding of the school in a poor neighborhood. It had been her first day and the bell had rang for morning recess. The little Maeve that barely knew she was a fae and knew not all the privileges and consequences that came with being such a creature, eagerly threw her books, papers, and pencils into her desk. Then she rose from her chair and quickly bounded outside with all of the other children, eager for a break and some fresh air on a spring day.
Rushing out those doors and into the beautiful sunlight that practically illuminated that snowy hair of hers, Maeve looked upwards towards the sky, grateful for a moment of play time. Her classmates had urged her on, wanting to show the new kid their jungle gym. Maeve, being so young, she could not tell the difference between a finely crafted playground and one that was built with the most basic of plaything. All she saw before her with those big, satellite dish eyes of amethyst, was a chance to run, to climb, to slide. Rose tinted glasses.
The ladder is practically calling her name and so Maeve rushed forward with a reckless abandon that one can only find when they looks to the youths of the world. Those fair skinned, frail arms reaching out to grasp ahold of it, only to be sent reeling backwards in agony as a scream threw itself from her young lungs. Her balances is thrown off and she topples backwards in an effort to get away from the equipment as quickly as possible. The kids had gathered around her, concern and curiosity having grown over their faces as they looked down at her. Quickly, a teacher came to get her, looking down at Maeve's outstretched hands as tears rolled down her cheeks silently. The burn marks a mystery as to how the child received them.
She wills herself to be any where but here. Through every birthday cake, every shooting star, she has never wished for something harder than in this moment. Violet eyes are closed beneath those long, dark lashes of hers. Tired. She feels tired. And thirsty. She wants something to drink she thinks. Eyes bat open. How long has she been here? She cant tell if it is light or dark outside. Has anyone noticed that she's gone yet? Were they looking for her. Lavender eyes rove around the area, most of the hunters were still there, she wouldn't be able to escape even if she could get these ropes, these burning, agonizing ropes, off of her hands. That head adorned with those platinum blonde locks slumps forward once more. She holds onto the fight, picturing those qualities of the pack once more, but they feel weaker, blurry. She couldn't give up, this Maeve knew, this she believed. She had to.
And then there is a loud noise, drawing that head upwards and causing those lilac eyes to widen. It an instant, no matter how much pain she was in, she recognizes who has come before her. "You came, you found me, you came," she is shouting with something akin to euphoria. This is when the hunters look at the group that has magically appeared before them. "You have got to be kidding me."