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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
It was, perhaps, the first day in a long while she had woken up, the hangover pounding within her temples, to have Ivan standing in her apartment. Her owner had been rather absent in the last several months, the last time she had seen him he had ordered her to stay put and to not leave the city. So with little else to do, she drank herself into oblivion to shove down those pesky emotions that so desperately wanted to climb through her body and pour out like a tidal wave. Drinking had helped her forget about things she didn't want to ponder about and it was clearly worth it as she lifts her head from the table, Ivan standing over her with a look of distaste in her current state. "Well, look who's back," she taunts at him though her voice croaks with dryness. She would come to regret that quip later she was sure, normally she wouldn't out right harass Ivan, apparently the alcohol was still coursing through her veins despite the raging headache she had already acquired.
The Russian vampire looks down at her, the distaste falling away into something a bit darker. A half smile curls at the corner of his lips, one Vhalla was all too familiar with. It was one that promised pain. Maybe not right now, but it would later. "Get yourself cleaned up, I have a job for you," his accented words are tinged with violence that would normally send fear skittering down her spine and yet, nothing. She was still numb it seems. The Russian vampire doesn't stay long, he's already turning away and picking around the bottles that litter the floor and exiting her loft. Letting her head fall back to the table, she sighs, knowing it would make it only worse for her if she didn't obey, she pushes the chair back, her neck positively aching from being draped over the table. Rubbing at the nape of her neck, she staggers down the hallway, using the walls to brace herself before she finds herself in her room. Kicking off her boots and the rest of her clothes she makes her way into the bathroom before quickly showering.
It doesn't take long for the assassin to make herself presentable, dragging on dark jeans, a white t-shirt and sliding into one of her leather jackets. Pulling on her boots, she pulls her damp hair from the collar of the jacket, letting the stark white hair fall in waves down her back. She didn't have the energy to braid it back, what she needed was coffee and maybe some water. Heading back down the way she came, her steps are a little more even as she swipes an old water bottle off the table and pouring a couple of aspirin in her hands. Tilting her head back she swallows them and polishes off the old water, making the assassin scrunch her nose up in distaste. Sighing, she grabs her keys and heads out the door, slowly descending the steps into her warehouse. Ivan is waiting at the bottom, his undead stillness standing patiently in the poorly lit area. Handing over a manilla folder wordlessly, she takes it and flips it open, her icy gaze scanning the contents briefly before she closes it again. "You have three days," he states turning away as he strolls towards the back entrance, pausing briefly, "Don't think I forgot about that little quip, I just can't have you bruised and bloody for this assignment," he calls over his shoulder with that dangerous smile.
This time Vhalla does shudder as he climbs into a large SUV, the windows blacked out as he drives away. Rubbing her face, she folds up the manilla folder a couple of times before sliding it into her back pocket. She needed to restock and since this assignment was a bit more delicate... she needed to pay a visit to an old friend, someone that dabbled in poisons. Sighing, she makes her way across the warehouse, carefully navigating the literal obstacle course to help with her training, she pulls the massive door shut and locking it before making her way back the way she came. Reaching the front door, she unlocks it and steps out into the sunlight, her eyes wincing as they adjust. Pulling her keys out she locks up once more before shoving them back into her pocket. Vhalla knew exactly where she was going and luckily it wasn't terribly far away. It takes her all of ten minutes to reach the store front, the assassin hardly hesitating as she pushes up that door, the bell dinging loudly overhead.
She can't help the wince that crosses her face, her hangover still a very real thing. Though, she moves into the store, the familiar weapons lining the shelves, she doesn't stop to browse, not like the first time she had been here and instead, moves to the counter in the back. A familiar figure is there and it almost feels nostalgic as she stops at the counter and leans forward, a deadly smile toying at her plush lips, "Hello Spencer, long time no see," she purrs at him, her white locks falling over her shoulder, spilling onto the counter, "Did you miss me?"
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered