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
I don't think I'll make it out alive
The day had been relatively slow; only a small trickle of his regular customers dropping in for a few minutes before departing and hardly any new ones. Spencer had realized he may be in for even longer day when he completed most of the tasks needed by lunch time, leaving him to puzzle over what he would do come afternoon. While he contributed the success of his productivity to the absence of the constant thorn in his side that he would not name least it summon a headache, silently he may admit he may not have completely totally loathingly tolerated her company. Of all the things she was, boring was not one. A nuisance, a pain in his ass, the bane of his existence, his tormentor, his headache... but not boring.
Leaning against the counter, flipping absently through a gardening catalogue as he mulled over possibly expanding his garden (again). Maybe he would try his hand at something that could be picked up at the average store instead of requiring numerous permits or backroom deals to acquire. Like peonies. Those were somewhat popular right? The old teetering ladies on his street seemed to enjoy them. While the thought of growing something for its looks wasn't the most appealing (he preferred utility), the more his home seemed the average run-of-the-mill nondescript place the better. People didn't tend to snoop or ask too many questions if there was nothing that seemed out of place.
Still, gardening just to have something "pretty" seemed a waste of time and resources.
His eyes flicked toward the front door as he heard the bell chime, telling him of a new customer, mildly curious to see what wandered in. That mild curiosity turned into a brief moment of disinterest then recognition then (ever so briefly) disbelief before settling on slight annoyance. Despite the range of emotions, outwardly it was mostly expressed by a slight lift of his brow before turning into a furrow as he turned all his attention to the woman. His position shifted from lazily leaning on his hip against the counter, to fully facing her, catalogue discarded forgotten on a shelf below the counter out of sight and arms folding across his chest. This is what he gets for not appreciating the rare quiet day. A new headache.
His eyebrow arched at her jovial tone, the 'slight' annoyance elevating to 'mild' annoyance. Miss her? Why the hell would he miss her after she had left him stranded on the opposite side of the city after making him treat her to dinner so they could talk business. While, yes, he had made a very good profit on that transaction, he slight had not appreciated the unexpected costs - particularly the cab ride back home that came with a free twenty minute wait for a bloody cab to show up.
"Miss Solarn, I can't say that I have." Honestly, for how long ago their meeting was, he was a bit impressed with himself that he recalled her name. On the other hand, maybe he should have elected to feign ignorance or forgetfulness rather than admit she left enough of an impression. Well, too late now. His eyes flicked behind her to the large front windows, scanning the parking lot before resting back on her. "No flashy car today?"
That wasn't really the question he wanted to ask, and she probably knew that as much as he did. What he wanted to ask was why the hell she was in his shop and was she actually serious at this moment? Really, he should just throw her out. He would be well within his right to do so.