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
Her sarcasm was an almost easy transition away from a topic that clearly still lingered rawly upon the young girl's soul. It was a bait that Alistair effortlessly fell for, the man constantly one to conceal the ongoings of his life and too his feelings with the same ease that Carolina had so seemingly perfected, albeit far less lighthearted than she managed. A soft chuckle left his lips at the sheer incredulousness of her quip, his shoulder lifted in a vague shrug. "You must have been practically buried beneath them all then." He commented back, the corners of his lips tilted upwards in a glimpse of a simper. The conversation, however, smoothly turned away from the absence of the Ark and instead towards the comfortable flat that Alistair had willingly left in favor of the bleak, dismal beach. Admittedly, he hardly understood her inquiry of how long he'd been living within the west until her apartment number was so freely given. Alistair hadn't realized how small their world seemingly was - the pair in the same building, on the same floor, and had yet to cross paths? Really, he would have thought she'd take up residence in the giant floating ship like the rest of her pack...though maybe it was for the best she hadn't since...well, it was at the bottom of the ocean.
Nevertheless, he was quick to return her glimpse of trust with his own apartment number, the artist hardly seeing any reason to keep such information to himself. After all, she certainly didn't seem like the type to attempt to stalk and murder him in the middle of the night for the unfortunate fact of being a hunter. Carolina was quick to brush away the peculiarity of the pair failing to run into one another on their daily routines, though it was...sensible. Alistair, after all, had kept his day job, hardly transitioning yet to those night watches in which the Hunters as a whole were most frequently needed. "Ah, yeah, that's probably it." He agreed lightly in response. He hardly anticipated, admittedly, the sudden question that followed their striking realization of their new status as neighbors. For a moment, Alistair merely inspected the woman in front of him intensely, as if judging her worth for the book nestled within his hands. So few had seen the entire contents of those sketchbooks, not when they carried such meaning. It was with a soft sigh that Alistair handed the spiral-bound notebook towards her, the artist fairly certain that little damage would fall to it within her hands.
He watched as her gaze fell upon the page he'd been working on, the young woman settling beside him on the sandy beach as her fingers toyed with the edges of his notebook. The idea of selling the sketch prompted his brow to raise. The idle drawing, he was sure, was not worth it when Alistair was capable of so much more. Flippantly he offered the piece to her, the man certain he had far better ones to showcase on the event he did decide to sell a seascape. That small shake of her head prompted his brow to raise, her blonde locks shifting with the movement. He watched as she reached up, tucking those stray strands behind her ears before her bright irises met his own. Her words caught the man off guard, his head tilted to the side ever just so as he watched her sweetheart lips pull into a demure smile. "True," Alistair responded, his eyes turning towards the turbulent ocean in front of them. "But then no one else would appreciate it quite as you would either, being here to see it." He commented, nodding towards the body of water. No one else but her would know how accurately he'd captured it, no one else would have the same memories associated with it. If that sketch would belong to anyone else in the world, the subtle beauty would be lost.
He watched as curiosity got the best of the bartender, her fingers flipping through the pages of the notebook as Alistair leaned back comfortably against the sand. He stared at the threatening clouds overhead, their dark bottoms seeming to loom with the promise of rain. It was only her inquiry that prompted the artist to rise onto his elbows, his gaze skirting the page she had settled on. How easily that memory came flooding back to him. Lou, Yale, the courtyard and all those dreadfully dull classes he'd attended in order to pursue his true interests. His very admission of the place seemed to prompt a glimpse of surprise upon her features, though it was one he was almost used to as his head bobbed in affirmation. "Law with a minor in art." He paused for a moment before redirecting the query back upon Carolina herself. He was, admittedly, curious of her and it was surely only polite. "Did you do college?"