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
"Took you long enough, not as astute as I would have assumed. Don't vampires have hyper senses?" Honestly, he is just poking the bear at this point. In truth, Marcelo had hardly been waiting long at all, but he was feeling vexed and he wished for others, like an indignant chid, to feel the same as he did. She looks-hungry-or angry. Marcelo has a hard time differentiating the emotions in vampires as well as he does in other species.
"I am no less of a child than you," he says with a narrowing of brown eyes. Marcelo did not know her age, but many of the older vampires he has met have been around his age, give or take a century. The young man with hair like brandished gold is so unafraid as he stares at the woman, maybe he should have had more afraid, more cautious, more fearful, but so is the curse of young and foolish, even for those trapped in internal youth. Marcelo in this moment is only thinking of a girl with silver eyes and hair that looks so perfect in the moonlight, and pointed ears. He is only thinking of her and protecting her. Today has found a different Marcelo that what we have seen in the past. But this is not the first time he has felt such emotions, as they say, history is doomed to repeat itself.
He looks her straight in the eyes with that single word answer. "What do you mean no?" He asks her. "If he keeps his hands to himself then we wont have a problem," he says, even if rage still prickled underneath his skin, telling him if he saw that vampire right now he would have killed him as quickly as he saw him. He could not guarantee Iliana's safety while that blood sucker was still breathing. (Or whatever it is vampires do.)
He would have left probably, if she had not given him any information. She, although dangerous, was not the vampire he was looking for, but she had to say something else. Women always wanted to get the last word in and this was the breaking point for Marcelo. "What did you just say?" He growls at her, those teeth bared as those dark brown eyes flash amber with the were inside him, desperate to break out and rip her to shreds. He was no cat for her to control. "Don't touch her."
It is only then he notices the cats she does control starting to close in on him. He hears the snarl and turns dark eyes away from the piercing glacial blue of the woman to the tiger that now has began to uncoil itself from her side. Danger! Is what all of Marcelo's instincts cry. A jackal was no use against a large feline, no matter his strength and his vigor. Marcelo is standing now, back against the bar, seemingly trapped in her grasp. Suddenly there is the launch of teeth and claws towards the man and he is concentrating on Iliana and the necklace she wore. He manages to disappear from the bar just as the sting of tiger claws hits his arm, slicing it open with a deep cut. Nothing but his blood and an echo of pain are left behind.
He appears before the fae girl with wild eyes, reaching out to her. "Iliana," he says before pulling her into a tight hug. "We have to get out of here," he says urgently, looking over his shoulder as if the vampire woman could show up at any moment. "Where do you want to go? We can go anywhere."
Just not here.