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 (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
With frustration, he runs a hand through brandished gold locks. Earthen eyes try to blink back the anger that makes him want to shake. His foot steps trace the ground as he paces, those brown eyes on fire. He has felt anger before, this was far from the first time, but it has been so long since this feeling has found him and he hates it. But he hates the thought of someone hurting Iliana more.
The boy with the dirty golden hair only steadies when he hears her pleading with him to cease. She draws him towards her and Marcelo makes a promise, a solemn promise, and inside his head he makes another one, to always protect her. She was a moon flower, and his hold on her had to be tender, gentle. He would never crush her between his palms, but just do his best to shield her from the battering winds of the outside world. He feels that surge of protectiveness rising in his chest.
Marcelo has made his bed in the palm of Iliana's hands, a place he was content to lay his head.
"Iliana," he whispers, more to himself than to her as she tucks herself into his embrace. As if only her name on his tongue could possibly quell the hammering anger that roars in his chest with such ferocity, it makes even the lions run scared. The tawny haired boy with those dark brown eyes that could turn from vicious were to a playful puppy at her simple words.
Suddenly she is sent reeling backwards and Marcelo is taken by surprise, but a simper quickly finds his face as he is taken back to one of their previous conversations. He laughs, but that seriousness quickly finds him again. "I am going to take care of this," he says, "Just stay here, stay hidden, have Mr. Crow look out for danger." He casts brown eyes towards the bird, hoping his point could get across to him. "Just, tell me what the vampire looked like." He requests of the girl. "I will be back." And with that, he leaves Iliana behind, knowing he would return shortly.
Marcelo had shifted back to his jackal form and made his way back to his hotel room. He would need clothes to confront the vampire Iliana described. He changes into something that would be suitable for a club, dressing in a nicer shirt and slacks, but he still wears simple black vans, lacking any sort of dress shoes. Hopefully, this way, Marcelo would at least blend in enough to get into the door without causing too much of a disturbance. Though, the smell of were would be pretty difficult to mask, so he hardly bothers trying.
The jackal boy quickly leaves his hotel, letting the door slam behind him and locking it. He manages to hail a cab, asking to be taken in the direction of Syn. Sitting in the back of the cab, Marcelo thinks about all the possible ways he would rip this vampire's head off for hurting Iliana. How could someone even hurt the delicate little moon flower? To dare crush her petals and prevent her from blooming. His fists clench and he looks down at them, noticing the dents his fingernails were leaving in the skin of his hands.
Marcelo asks the driver to drop him off about a block away from Syn, he would walk the rest of the way. He moves silently through the streets, navigating his way through the other people that were out and about during the nighttime hours. Marcelo had simply one focus in mind. Upon reaching the entrance, Marcelo slips his way in, he can smell the stench of death as the vampires move on the dance floor. In all honesty, Marcelo wasn't even sure where to begin. He knew little of the vampire, basing it off of Iliana's description. He was young, perhaps Marcelo's age in appearance, with dark hair and red eyes, pale skin. She had described several of the vampires Marcelo saw just upon entering, how was he supposed to know which was which?
He takes up residence by the bar and scans those dark eyes outwards. Where were you vampire? Marcelo has always loved a good game of fetch-but hide and seek-not so much.