West

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

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

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.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

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

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Manager Raven Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

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

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

We drink the poison until it's gone;


Posted on April 20, 2020 by Risque
West

out for blood

she's somethin' so cold-blooded with

a deep killer instinct


Her hypnotic eyes narrowed, focused upon Darcy, her attention abandoning the distractions within that room. His ignorance was enough to stoke her impatience. A swift, short-lived flash of discontent brought on from that mention of her letter to the French government. A long-standing battle about the animal meant to represent a supposedly proud country. "A Rooster... France's animal. Is a rooster. A chicken nugget to represent my mother country... a lowly barnyard cowering specimen." Risque could not help but feel riled by the thought. A rooster... She did not even like chicken was perhaps a petty reason and yet that hardly stopped Risque, when she disliked something for any reason she didn't care that her motives were petty. The animal of France was no more than a barnyard animal, picking at the ground for crumbs like a glorified peasant. Was France a peasant? An absolute mockery! Where was there any sense of pride? A prey animal of all creatures. She would feed Roosters to her cats simply to satisfy her anger. Perhaps... she should send them the remains. She scoffed, as she glanced at the unfinished letters. She had taken great care in writing it, her penmanship pristine, neat script she had perfected over centuries rather than lose it as many had over time. It was surprisingly a lost art in itself, rarely anyone took to handwritten letters nor believed in their potency anymore. This was beyond a mere email. "Ridiculous." she grumbled, gesturing to that letter perched near innocently atop the unfinished book she was reading. She possessed half a mind to finish that letter once and for all right that instant. Her accent thickened with the wine loosening her tongue and her mind was free from such thoughts. How she could have begun ranting. A french curse danced off her tongue all the same.

But the wine had its effects, that magical concoction as though it warmed her veins and cushioning her mind into a comfortable embrace that rivalled this bed. She hardly possessed the desire to fight against dawn itself after a night like tonight. Some things were better off left until tomorrow. Risque was hardly able to cure stupidity amongst the masses. Her mind heavy with thought, that even though she half-watched her show, content to ridicule the contestants of the tv screen whilst nonchalantly sipping the contents of her glass, hardly giving Darcy a hint as to what truly dwelled within her mind. Yet how easy it was to sit upon that bed, plotting ones demise as though she savagely ripped apart one's personal style. It certainly drew her attention away from the television and toward Darcy's phone. The voices droned on as background noises, the flash of that all too bright phone reflected upon her features. A nearly diabolical glint flashed upon her face as that light seemed to emphasize it. The Crusnik was asking for it.

Especially one so flaunting himself within the news, his kind usually taking to the shadows for a reason. Their kind rejected them for the most part. An error of their species. To rely on another vampire's blood for survival was blasphemy for no shortage of reasons Risque could state. But to control such a beast. Ah, now that could prove useful. There was always a way to contain the so-called uncontainable. There was always a cage.. Always leverage.. Or motivation to manipulate and control someone. She knew it all too well. Knowing the inner workings of one's mind, an art she had perfected. It was an artform she had perfected and coupled with her powers it was a wicked cocktail she had no issues with exploiting. And if the creature did not possess a use, he could be destroyed as easily as he was caught.

Regardless she either gained a reputation that she hardly needed, as she was already a creature to be feared and respected. Which was why there would always be people like Cade. A man vying for what she created... along with the desire to dominate a woman that wielded such power. Even with his growing army he hardly stood a chance, even though those numbers outweighed their own. Even her own mate was unaware of the secrets she kept, the power she could level them with. She didn't fight fair... but all was fair... in... war.. And some other little word she couldn't quite place a finger on. She was sure there was a saying.. And yet she was merely content to swipe it away from her convoluted mind. Oh Cade didn't stand a chance. Even though she still prepared... for that mere reason that something felt different about this battle. She never spoke about that spec of unease, a queen wouldn't dare it, least of all the hellish woman they attempted to tear down. It was that spec that Risque least of all acknowledged it within herself, despite the paranoia that pressed irritatingly. Some part, a far more dominant side was eager for that bloodshed. It had been a long while since the battlefield commanded it. A call that seemed to appeal to Darcy just as much. How easily she dispatched that potential snitch who attempted to play both sides and attempted to blackmail her for more money than the scum was worth. More uncertainty... that left her with her own volatile thoughts even though his death was barely an afterthought, the issue behind him far larger. Hence the fae-blooded wine. How devilishly good, every last drop of it that perhaps was too effective. It put the wicked queen in a strange mood, one Darcy was surely unable to read himself... Not that he would notice as the blood wine seemed to seize him with that gentle but unrelenting grip. That drink surely... snuck up on her.

She seemed to zone out after that uttered praise that seemed to cause Darcy nothing but means to prean his masculine feathers, her narrowed gaze fixed upon the lynx getting huffy with a measly tomcat. Her pale gaze shifted back toward the man in her bed, his eagerness palpable. "Good." She uttered a nonchalant praise, waving her hand almost blandly as if already distracted with something new. There would be much to arrange in a week's time, one more pet in a neat little package would serve its purpose she was sure. No one was safe from her should she desire it.

Soon she would secure all that was needed to level the playing field. That conversation shifted once more to incubus prince and his many...talents and his entirely vaguely familiar king keeper. Hm. Although it was arguable who the keeper truly was. Perhaps the vampire kept the king, possessing him as a powerful puppet he could easily toy with his strings. That thought drew her interest. After all, an incubus could prove to be quite addictive.. To the point of enslaving one's victims. Which was precisely why she kept them far from her own bed.

Darcy's jealousy was palpable, a potent venomous thing that clung to him. How Risque cruelly enjoyed it, toying with it simply because Darcy's loyalty and adoration fascinated her and she enjoyed prodding its boundaries and how predictable and easy it was to find, a game she played well. Or was it a game at all? But a test she offered time and time again. Searching for a reason.. A blemish upon that nearly perfect record.

Ah but there was a matter she could not ignore. That uneasiness that the house cat seemed to rouse within her mate. Of all things, not a tiger, a panther, or a lion. An orange tabby seemed to unsettle the man that could chew through bone itself, that could kill with a mere glance. What was it about this little long-haired feline that seemed to unsettle him so? She clearly could not let it stand, a sadistic amusement forming from that very thing. There was a way to settle this dilemma. Darcy quickly deferred the focus from him and into a challenge. A bold offer and yet a rather effective distraction, for now as she swallowed the remaining contents of her glass that she abandoned next to her. Her free hand pressing against the silken fur of the feline upon her lap, the feline nothing but smug beneath her temporary provoking, intentional touches intending to make an unannounced point.

Darcy should have known better than to trust that Risque would be satisfied losing. After all.. He called him her champion. Her champion a mere Maine coon? Surely the wine had been getting to his head. No, at the very least she would choose another. That fight prior was simply just for rights within that room. This would be the true battle. Risque knew that those odds would fall to her, the woman having complete control of her leopard. Not to mention, she had raised that leopard since a cub. Risque announced her intentions not that he could argue, Darcy, welcoming that challenge with an unflappable demeanour.

He didn't seem worried in the slightest but oh he should have. While there was no set wager, Risque had no intention of losing. "So confident for a man marching toward his own demise.." she uttered rather ominously, knowing Mekel was rather unproven but... had clearly displayed her dominance. But first, the initial battle.

Risque announced the start of the fight with a mere unceremonious word. 'Begin'.

Both felines took to face off with one another at the foot of the bed. Both princess and the orange tomcat squaring off with one another to fight for the earned spot within that very room. It was a lost battle before it began there was no way a healthy lynx would fall to a housecat. Especially one that Darcy had proven to have trained well enough considering he lacked those feline gifts. Risque knew this much, her intention entirely focused on another battle altogether, the true one that lingered afterwards.

That minor distraction of the male model on the screen who decidedly looked a lot like Tetradore drew both vampire's attention toward the tv once more. Risque's fickle attention hardly lasted long on any one thing for long with the sweet fae blood rushing through her veins. Ah, how that substance went straight to her head. Unfortunately for Darcy as it was, the man entirely enraged at the mere sound of the man's name alone. How reactive... how quick to unhinge. He admitted that it was his face that attracted the opposite sex to him like a fly to honey. Hmm maybe... but a sharp cry of pain sliced through the usual sound of the room.

Risque's words all but distracted from leaving her tongue, those additional thoughts of Tetradore soon forgotten. Suddenly nothing mattered as the heightened scent of fresh blood trickled to her nose. That vicious battle was clearly coming to close with its victor clear especially after his attempt to dominate the larger feline. What a bold little thing, it was almost a pity he didn't possess a more useful form. He possessed a fight she desired when looking for cats and yet his size made him less than desirable. She leaned in forward as Princess executed her fury with a final blow.

The battle short-lived as she anticipated it so, their feral vicious sounds echoed through the room. It would seem that the tomcat was unsurprisingly not strong enough to hold his own to claim his spot within that room, he fell from the bed with a thud and a yowl. The truth in the matter Risque callously cared very little for the creature that had somehow found his way within her home. Just how he had managed to find his way inside amused her for a time, his complete fascination with her tolerated as he held his own amongst rival giants. Although, his time was up. If he was lucky, he could earn a space within that club to call himself a home... which was unlikely due to his disappointing size.

His lost battle might as well have been the feline's death sentence if not careful, one bite from her larger felines and he was mincemeat without Risque's protection. Princess, however, was far too pleased with herself to care about nothing other than herself, grooming her misplaced fur from that scuffle back into place but not without issuing her displeased sharp hisses toward the ginger cat. Risque declared her the victor... of the banishing of the ginger cat.. while the true battle still awaited her. After all, she should be fit enough to take on that battle... considering that this one was mere child's play.

Risque already committed the Lynx's battle tactic to memory, not that she needed it, it was perhaps an automatic thing, exploiting those weaknesses. She was sure she had nothing upon Mekel. That wide triumphant smile upon Darcy's face would surely diminish soon even with the limping retreat of his unusual enemy. How she was sure she would rob that smile with his true defeat. Yet, how... unaware she was to this uncharacteristic playful territory they wandered within. Especially with those terms so hardly set, as if Risque seemed far more interested in the outcome rather than those stakes.

Mekel prowled through the darkened silence of that room, already prepared to answer Risque's summon. Darcy, smart enough to not voice his own displeasure at his own odds. This was as fair a fight she would allow him, he only despised his own chances lowering. Mekel, the scrappier of the two seemed eager as she eyed her opponent.... Her companion with newfound eyes. It was certainly not out of Risque's nature to turn those with amicable inclinations against each other. Just as she would expect for Mekel to turn upon the male that she was destined to be mated to if Risque wished to breed the pair. Ah but those idly placed thoughts were so very far from her mind. No, she suddenly felt the need to move, as though she could not bear it any longer.

She drew to her feet suddenly without notice, eagerness for that battle that she was sure to claim victory over. The fae infused wine sang within her body and most of all her mind, but the sight of Darcy's phone within his hand seemed to irritate her; the tech seemed to stare up at her mockingly. Technology had its time and place and she was certain the time for it was over, she would not allow her mates attention on anything other than her and this apparent fight. Risque decided. She nudged him with her toe, hardly a true kick by any means even though she towered over him, her body cast an intimidating shadow. He was quick to comply, in an instant, his phone was off and placed to the charger at the side of the bed obediently. Good. Risque observed this very task, placing her hands upon her hips. She looked ridiculous as she was fully prepared to boss him around. Yet how that intoxication made her almost feel oddly settled, almost too content.. And wired all at once as if she was anticipating that fight.

Mekel began to pace as if sensing her mistresses strange anticipation, a guttural sound ground from her throat... and yet undeniably wished to join her 'sister'. "On my word..." Risque snapped sharply before Darcy spoke, drawing her entire attention toward him.

She frowned at his words. That was hardly a fight! Yet, she peered at Princess once more. "Three minutes." Was all she afforded, showing no signs of returning into the comfort of those sheets. She nudged him again, simply because she could. "Not a second more." she nodded as if agreeing with herself. Darcy drew his wine glass, finishing the last of it. She was feeling wonderful, almost unwilling to wait. But part of her felt Darcy looked far too peaceful sitting there... Suddenly she wondered what it would be like to use him as her throne.

After all, he was hers and she dominated him. She seemed to allow her gaze to drift until Darcy spoke. Her name uttered oddly from his lips, that sound snapping her out of that strange inflicted reverie. She was just about to shift her gaze before... he moved so abruptly fast and with her mind on satisfying thoughts, she ended up crashing down softly upon the bed. What devil possessed him? An instinctual growl escaped her lips, flashing fang and yet hardly moving to claim her own retribution as quickly as she normally would, just yet..

In a moment Darcy was upon her, pinning her arms over her head, straddling her. She merely stared at him perplexed by the entire situation, knowing full well that he would need a lot more than that and prayer to be able to keep her there. Her lips still curled showing fangs, yet the expression upon her features seemed oddly puzzled, Darcy hardly displaying any kind of dominance at all save for that position. She did not understand that shift in his demeanour. This playful side he had never dared to show. That second hiss that failed to leave her lips. The woman far too dominating for such antics, she was always the dominant one in sex and yet. This wasn't sex, nor this wasn't a battle, in the true sense.

It was foreign, feeling the weight of his body pressed against hers, further pressing her back into the bed. What a precarious new feeling... His words were nothing short of... a tease. His gaze soft, his lips moving to form those words. Followed by a chuckle she felt rumble through his body. What... was wrong with him? Did that blood make him lose his mind? Surely that was it. How her dominant mind rioted against this position and yet it conflicted against every last dominant fibre in her being.

Risque's base instincts rose, admittedly slower than usual.. That need for control rose up within her. She did not play. Not in the true sense.

He leaned in suddenly in response dragging his lips and gentle caress of fangs across her neck. A death wish. And how she hardly felt like killing him tonight. But if his fangs snagged even a little of her flesh she might be inclined to change her mind. She tensed as if braced for some kind of true battle of dominance, a soft hiss of warning escaped her lips. Until he kissed her upon her neck. The action was almost tender, affectionate before his southern twang declared he was winning. That was enough of this nonsense. He leaned back easily then. Winning, he thought that's what this was? "Have you lost your mind?" She snapped and yet somehow it lacked her usual punishing conviction.

In an instant, she all but broke free from that bind before he could truly release her... A growl like one of her agitated felines escaped her. In about the time it took for a mortal to blink he was beneath her. Her long silken locks framed her face as she forced that dominance half-heartedly. Her hand clasped around his throat, her fingertips finding the natural groves within his neck as though his throat was made for her hands.. while her other hand snatched his own hand, pressing it firmly into the bed. One knee pressed into the bed, the other placed in between his legs. How precarious those moments were hanging in the balance as though she fully intended to react as she always had, with punishing force.

How vaguely that part of her seemed to drift just out of reach. For several long moments, she seemed to consider it, lost to the fae blood. She all but straddled his thigh, leaning forward then. "Do you still think like you are winning... cowboy?" The words that escaped her were nothing short of that melodic and taunting as she suddenly pressed her leg up to nestle up snuggly into his groin, enough to feel its presence. "To me... you look like... one of those... calves... before they are about to be... what is that word.." She hardly tightened her grip, her thumb traced the skin instead of using those fingertips to dig into his neck as they had many times before. A slow smug smirk tugged upon the corner of her lips. "Swine... tied.. Oui that is it. Swine tied." She hardly cared that it was the wrong term. She was far too pleased with herself, a singular sound of what threatened to be laughter escaped her. What an odd sensation and yet... She sat upward, releasing him from her hold and yet not completely. She sat up smoothly, glancing at her nails then, having no intention of getting off her newfound perch. Ah, at that moment she was quite sure she enjoyed this game.

you better run

the full moon's rising.

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