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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
The two were polar opposites and yet they always managed to seek each other out, sometimes it was intentionally but it was mostly just happened to work out that way. Vhalla was entirely certain that she could be on the other side of the world and he would show up, that's just how it worked. The hunter was someone she absolutely despised and yet, he was constantly on her mind, his face never far from her thoughts even when she was desperately trying to drown herself in liquor. It didn't help that Ivan continued to torment her with his comments that everyone she had ever cared for had simply abandoned her. She already knew she was worthless, she had accepted that long ago but aggravating that old wound never helped, it simply pushed her closer and closer to that edge. Or maybe she had already fallen over that edge and was still spiraling down. She didn't know, didn't care. What the witch did know was that Laz was here. Another form of punishment in itself and he didn't even know it. At least when he was gone she didn't have to face her emotions, it was much easier to bury them, to allow herself to go numb to the world.
So, Vhalla does what she does best and that was to put on her bitchiest attitude as a defense mechanism to keep anyone from getting too close. She would much rather everyone hate her, she already hated herself. Flicking her hair, she has the satisfaction of him swatting her away, that anger boiling in his irises, Vhal simply grinning at him like a fiend even though her own eyes remain quite dead. Its easy to fall into the roll of being an asshole, especially as she comments on his choice of drink. What she doesn't expect is him to bring up that night. The night they both decided to hell with it and live in the moment, even though they both were certain they would regret it in the morning. Blood heating at the memory, she merely narrows her eyes and gives him a bored shrug, "We just used each other to get off, you know as much as I that it didn't mean anything," she states blandly, holding his gaze for a moment before she takes another swig of her beer.
Lies. Lies. Lies.
Of course it meant something to her. But, how could she ever admit it? It was best if they parted ways, to never see each other again and if Vhal could chase him off, well - she was certain it would be the safest course of action for the siblings. Still, she continues her onslaught, calling him names only for him to do the same. Snorting in amusement, smoke curls from her nostrils as she looks at him, "Of course I am," she coos, batting her long lashes at him, "Why would I ever change? I'm perfect." Oh how she knew men hated an overly arrogant woman. Laz though, he was a mystery, he almost seemed like he enjoyed it. Though, she could very well be wrong. There's only a moment of silence before she lets it slip that she was waiting for a text, for him to reach out to her. The moment it left her lips she regretted it - especially when his response was quite nearly a snarl. Ash coats her tongue as her anger rises, her irises practically a living flame as she stares at him.
"I don't even know why I bothered," she scoffs at him, managing to stare down her nose disdainfully. "I guess I thought you might be curious if I was still alive or not," she snaps as heat wafts off her, the witch struggling to keep it together. Laz knew about her, knew a lot of shit, he had met Ivan and was privy to some of the more fucked up aspects of her life. She knew she shouldn't have cared and yet, that's what happens when you tend to spend more time with someone. Looking away from him, she finishes off her beer before pulling her hair to her side, revealing a jagged scar peeking from her shirt as it crawls up the side of her neck. Waving down the bartender she slides her glass forward, "Two shots of tequila," she mutters to him and the bartender obliges immediately, pouring it directly in front of her. The bartended barely finishes before she's downing them both in succession, the burn racing down her throat. She was trying to not be an alcoholic, she supposed she could blame Laz for bringing out all her bad habits.
When he finally answers her, she's thankful for the slight buzz that's engulfed her or she was quite certain she would have closed the gap between them and decked him right in his pretty face. Instead, a dead laugh escapes her as she lazily glances at him, her eyes sharp as she focuses on him, "That's how its going to be, huh?" again, that disdainful look, "You should probably stay away from the westside, Ivan doesn't know you're in town." A gentle reminder that Ivan still held her leash, that it was only a matter of time before her owner decided to send her after Laz.
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered