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
Although the newly turned Dark Hunter had an admittedly naive idea of the organization he now belonged to, Alistair had never thought he would be reduced to an errand boy for traffic infractions. They seemed so...frivolous for an institution that had dedicated itself to keeping the supernatural species in check. The artist was quickly coming to discover that the world at large was certainly not as he had once viewed it. Thankfully, the bartender seemed to hold some level of empathy for the Hunter that was so drastically out of his depths. That curiosity, after all, was still potent within the depths of her hazel eyes, prompting some effort from her to continue that conversation beyond what Alistair had anticipated. Her sudden query to if he was new to the city prompted a soft sigh as his hand rose to the back of his neck in an almost sheepish manner. He hadn't realized that he had made it that obvious. His admittance that he was hardly new to the area, per se, was perhaps only vague enough to further that very intrigue within her. Nevertheless, Alistair corrected both himself and her as he informed her that it was rather the whole...supernatural side that he was new to. Life, after all, was just...different now. As a mortal man, he had never spent much thought to whether or not his barista was a Dark Hunter or his waitress was a Were - now those distinctions were a veritable assault upon those newly formed senses.
He hardly expected the woman's almost blunt rebuff and yet, how utterly accurate she was. His own introduction to the Hunter life had hardly gone without a substantial amount of...risk. He had heard the news stories, of course, of mortals falling victims to the undead, he'd heard whisperings of unfortunate friends of friends who had played too close to the fire and had been turned into one of them - but such happenings had always been to someone else. That was, until now. "Yeah, I know," Alistair admitted, the corner of his lips once again pressing a slight frown. "It seems to be one of those....learn on the job kind of things...that is unless you care to tell me things I should know?" The artist's brow rose almost inquisitively as his emerald eyes brushed over her fair features. She was...nothing like the last member of her species he'd had a brush with. She almost seemed...normal. He watched as she suddenly moved with a dancer's grace, only to place two glasses on the polished surface between them. The very sound of them seemed to reverberate in the quietness of the large hull they sat within. How aware he was of that silent inquiry that lay between them and yet, for a moment, Alistair found himself pausing as he contemplated whether or not indulging in such a drink was either allowed or a good idea. Finally, he inquired of the Ark had any sort of specialty drink - the very question the sorts that prompted a small grin upon her lips as she nodded.
She seemed to spin upon her very heels as she approached the wall of liquor behind her, selecting each bottle with distinct care, that swing of her hips altogether drawing the Hunter's eye. There was denying that she knew precisely what she was doing - from the alcohol she poured to how she moved her body with serpentine grace. He had been at enough bars to spot that salacious demeanor that was usually put on display only to prompt lust in partons and, as a byproduct, increase the tips of the bartender in the process. He was not usually the type to fall prey to such antics, even if he could appreciate the curves and swells of the woman's figure. After all....he was still a man and the present lack of company meant the dance was surely just for his benefit. Alistair's gaze shifted as she glanced over her shoulder, that almost mischievous wink prompted a soft snort of amusement from his nose as Alistair shook his head ever so slightly. The ice clinked almost loudly in its metal tumbler as she moved towards those presently empty glasses, only to pour out her concoction in all of its chilled splendor. Alistair reached for his own glass, only to glance upwards as the woman tipped her own beverage in a clearly seductive manner. His brow rose ever so slightly through the artist chose not to mention all he observed as he brought his glass to his own lips. A soft sound of vague approval left his lips as Alistair savored the beverage, the sharpness of the liquor somehow softened by the sweetness of the fruit. He swallowed, taking another sip before his attention turned back towards his bartender. "This was not what I expected the Ark to be known for." The Hunter admitted, a simper toying with the corner of his features. Still, he had to admit, it wasn't bad. Maybe he had misjudged this bar, not that he'd ever get in again anytime soon.