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
She can't help the light laugher that bubbles from her soft lips as Alistair sees fit to rise to the bait of her humor. It pleased her to elicit such a response from him, to break past the seemingly stoic façade he was so eager to present to the world and get a genuine reaction. He had a nice laugh, and she couldn't deny his smile was rather cute.
He seemed a touch surprised that she lived there at all, though quick enough to agree with her reasoning as to why they had never crossed paths within that building. For a moment she wondered if the same would be said moving forward, knowing he was just down the hallway cast a different light on things in her mind at least. She didn't have many friends to speak of outside of the Ark, and maybe it was presumptuous but she was beginning to think she wouldn't mind seeing more of the dark haired artist. His agreement to let her peruse his precious sketchbook only stoked that notion further, her hands taking it from his grasp with reverent delicacy as she became engrossed in the scene he had so skillfully captured.
Lowering herself to the sand beside him, her shoulder nearly brushing his own she couldn't keep herself from asking about keeping the piece for herself. Everything about it spoke to her, and the fact that it so perfectly captured his moment only added to its appeal. She didn't hesitate as she shook her head in disagreement to his flippant attitude toward it, fully aware that it was a sketchy, incomplete piece that typically he might never have spared a second thought. Her genuine words seemed to give him pause as she looked into his dark, fathomless eyes as he studied her in return. His head tilted ever so slightly even as her sweetheart lips pull up into that soft smile as if he hadn't expected such passion from the Were, and she found herself wondering what he was thinking. He seemed to come to a decision as his gaze swept back to the choppy waters as the waves crashed endlessly onto the beach. Her hazel eyes followed his as he replied, accepting her words yet as he continued on so perfectly capturing exactly why the piece meant so much to her she can't resist turning back to study the fine lines of his face in profile.
Backlit by the muted light of the stormy skies overhead, the dark clouds a perfect accent to the dark tendrils of hair that whipped around his face she wished she were an artist to recreate what she saw there.
Pulling her aquamarine eyes back to his shadowed face she offered him the lightest simper, though a bit of disquiet lingered in her gaze.