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
Truthfully, Alistair hadn't anticipated Carolina might provide him with the detailed knowledge of the Ark's ongoings. Nor was he terribly aware of just how sought after the knowledge of the Ark's activities were by his organization. That warm laughter upon her fair feminine features, however, prompted a small twitch to the artist's lips. The advice he did received from the woman, however, prompted a snort to Alistair's nose, the man incapable of that roll of his malachite hued irises. "Thanks, that's....really helpful." He commented, that sarcasm once again lacing his voice, that singular raised brow so surely giving away his thoughts upon her 'assistance'. Her sudden, albeit conspiratorial addition that she'd 'illuminate' him further when he wasn't in the depths of the boat brought another short-lived chuckle to his lips. That...pun of sorts hardly went unnoticed by the Dark-Hunter. Alistair's head shook slightly, watching as she slid those heavy glasses across the bar's surface with the offer of a drink. Oh, how aware he was of how...bad of an idea this was. His maker would surely chastise him if Adrien knew he was drinking on the job and yet...Carolina hardly seemed as if she intended to do the hunter any harm.
After a moment's hesitation, Alistair accepted that silent invitation with an inquiry of the house's specialty, the Dark Hunter almost inquisitive what a grungy place like this might be known for. How effortlessly Carolina picked up those bottles of liquor! The young woman showing off her feminine physique in an intriguing dance of sorts as she poured her chosen alcohol in her tumbler, shaking it with just an appropriate sway of her slender hips. The pair were both well aware of her intentions behind those actions, Alistair equally as attentive to the knowledge that this display was for his own benefit and yet...it was nothing if not...effective as the once tense Hunter found himself relaxing almost comfortably upon the barstool he sat upon. The Hunter hardly anticipated the decidedly fruity drink poured in front of him, his raised eyebrow surely giving away his skepticism as he lifted the glass to his lips. Alistair savored the cocktail, the man eying it with a glimpse of surprise before taking a second sip. His idle comment, however, prompted a soft shrug from Carolina's shoulders, even as the bartender admitted that most men who ordered a second drink did so through their girlfriends. The very notion of it prompted a soft chuckle on his lips though, if that fighting ring was anything to go by, Alistair almost wasn't surprised by the sheer amount of toxic masculinity that required hiding behind 'manly' drinks.
Carolina's insistence that she was certain he'd remember the Ark for the drink, however, prompted a small shrug to his own shoulders. "Amongst other things," Alistair responded, those words slipping from his lips quite before he could help them. It wasn't often the Artist made an effort to flirt and yet...she had...'performed' for him alone, surely he could offer her a word of appreciation in return? Alistair brought his glass to his lips again, finishing off that fruity liquor, even if it would only prompt the alcohol to hit his system all the faster. "Thanks for this," Alistair commented as he placed his empty glass on the bartop. "Make sure that gets to Tetradore, okay?" He continued, nodding towards the manilla envelope he'd brought with him. "I should get going but...it was nice to meet you, Carolina." The Hunter offered as he rose from his seat, the girl gifted with a small simper before he turned to leave the Ark. His job, blissfully done, even if it had hardly been as awful as he had originally anticipated it to be.