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.
What You'll Find Here
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.
What You'll Find Here
Edge of the Circle
Cull & Pistol
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 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.
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.
What a wretched little thing Cobain was. A pathetic, mewling excuse for a vampire. A red-eyed weasel with little purpose in life whose existence only continued to prevail because Risque was merciful enough to allow it. Because she continued to find some menial, useless role for the boy to fill. That bond of Maker and Progeny compelling her, to a certain extent, to keep Cobain alive in the very least. How very.....irritating progeny must be. Darcy inclined to consider for a fleeting moment what he might have done with Cobain were the boy his own and yet he could hardly picture himself procuring even the vaguest thread of talent within the boy that might have prompted him to bless him with immortality to begin with. A blessing Cobain outrightly scorned when he should surely have been worshipping Risques very feet for bestowing it upon him to begin with. The ultimate gift, the ultimate honour, to be crafted by Risque herself- and how Cobain squandered it. That blatant disrespect perhaps only further fueling Darcy's own dislike of the boy. Cobain was no threat, no challenge, not to him. Not like Tetradore. The boy's existence was a mere annoyance he would sooner be rid off. Perhaps the damned fool would get himself killed tonight and spare them all the effort. Cobain, wisely, chose to near retreat from Darcy's own biting words. The younger vampire making some meek attempt to placate him with little more then muttered responses as Darcy released him from his grasp. Cobain daring to utter that suggestion that Darcy could hardly hurt him. How quickly those mismatched eyes cut sideways to meet the ruby of Cobain's own, that near crooked, lopsided smirk finding the elder vampires features then as Darcy's tongue toyed with the tip of his left fang as if contemplating engaging that very weaponry. A single, abrupt snort released from within him then as Darcy simply stepped forward and back into Cobain's space, pressing upon him, daring him to even attempt to force him back. That southern drawl loud enough for Cobain alone to hear above that music.
"Yar a damn fucking fool if yar think I can't hurt ya. I could rip every limb offa dat sad little body o'yours and fed 'em ta da cats while ya watched. Risque dun give a damn. As long as I dun kill ya, I can do anyting I like. Dun go forgetting yar place now, ya little wretch, yar belong at da bottom- and ya always will."
Cobain had been given more than enough chances to grow up, to be useful, to prove he had some value. The boy having squandered each of them as far as Darcy was concerned. Cobian having more then solidified his place toward the bottom of the vampiric pecking order within Syn. His gaze remained firmly upon the other vampires own as if daring him to challenge that simple statement. His beloved would hardly begrudge him the chance to injure the boy if he saw fit. Risque likely to be displeased only if he murdered Cobain outright and yet even then she was sure to recover from that veritably small blow. That cellphone was held towards him then, Darcy eyeing it momentarily before Cobain returned it to his pocket, the elder vampire commanding his younger comrade to follow then. Ridding the streets of a group of Hunters who saw fit to pick off their customers was hardly a difficult task and yet Cobain could clearly not be trusted to do it alone. Darcy's unwillingness to displease his Lover the only reason he saw any need to take up that role of supervisor tonight when it would have been far more entertaining to watch Cobain get himself killed. The boys insistence that he knew which street, but not the building, prompted little more than grunt from the Southern vampire. Darcy content to lead the way down that darkened street and toward that supposed target.
Darcy reached easily into his jacket then. His favoured pistol was pulled from within before that soft click and slide of the gun barrel gave away his efforts in loading that gun with the simple, quick efficiency that came from years upon years of performing that very task. The gun loaded within a matter of moments. There was little save the noise of their shoes on that road, the sound echoing into the darkness. The direction of the wind affording him little chance to scent his potential prey and yet if ambush was the game they were playing there were few buildings that would suit as well as the abandoned one at the end of the street and before the road turned back onto that far more major intersection. It was almost to fucking easy really. Darcy's boots paused upon that gravel, his gaze returning to Cobain as he gestured toward the end of the block before sending the boy on ahead as veritable bullet bait. The allure of a vampire surely enough to coax those little Hunters from their hole. Cobain's words met with a narrowed gaze once more.
"Fucking go or I'll shoot ya meself."
The southern vampires patience was notoriously short. Even without Risque to whisper in his ear and push him further and further toward that lack of control she so seemed to enjoy unravelling from within him. Darcy's own figure paused once more, allowing Cobain to press further ahead before the boy suddenly stopped to point toward that very building Darcy had suspected from the beginning. The younger vampire evidently having heard something from within it. Darcy merely offered that small nod before pointing to it again, one eye lifting in expectation. The unspoken command surely clear enough. Darcy determined to send Cobain right up to that building as his own form lingered within the shadows. Cobain the perfect bait to lure those Hunters out. His own figure leaned back agianst the nearest tree as the other vampire went forward, Darcy's gaze watching the windows of that building for any flicker of movement. They had surely seen Cobain by now, the boy nearly halfway towards that house. What were they waiting for? It would be a damn sight more difficult to kill them inside that building. Luring them outside like lambs to the slaughter was a far more intriguing prospect. Maybe the damn fools truly hadn't noticed Cobain sneaking closer and closer with every step. Perhaps he should alert them. That fleeting simper danced but briefly upon his lips once more, Darcy lifting that gun abruptly to fire at the upstairs window- that glass shattering in time with that explosive sound of the bullet firing. That- sure to get their attention. Darcy content to ignore any look of outrage Cobain might have been inclined to give him.
That silence persisted for barely a moment longer before those shouts echoed from within the house, that door thrown open a moment later only to release a stream of no less than six hunters. Several of them moving far faster than any human as they all but charged Cobain on mass. Two of them already armed with stakes. Darcy, for now, simply content to watch. That he had set Cobain up to die hardly seeming to concern him. That vampiric cowboy hardly making any move to either help his comrade nor alert those Hunters to his own presence concealed within the shadows. That distinctly evil grin so dancing upon his lips. This, perhaps, Darcy's first real attempt to murder Cobain. How easy it would be to pass it off as an accident. They had been surrounded by Hunters, Cobain hadn't made it out. Shame that. Risque would surely recover. She would believe him. No one would ever have to know the truth of Darcy's own little set up. Cobain would hardly be the first vampire he had gotten rid off. His arms folded easily over his chest. Darcy pressing further back into those shadows as he leant agianst that tree to watch Cobain meet his end....