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.
What You'll Find Here
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.
What You'll Find Here
Edge of the Circle
Cull & Pistol
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.
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.
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.
How Darcy loathed that sight of Tetradore with nothing on and within that human form. Even if that...lust was terribly far from Risque's mind tonight. His mistress' eyes roved over Tetradore's figure all the same as if almost...appreciative of what she saw. That very act alone so prompted a growl of disdain within Darcy's own throat. That sound so readily betrayed his own displeasure and yet- with his own task at hand he was afforded truly little chance to protest Risque's desires in this. Not when she had set his own task before him. One he was near doomed to fail and so required but every ounce of his own control. It had been...months since Risque had last seen fit to punish him in any fashion and even then it had been years since she had truly seen fit to inflict any true pain upon him. Those lessons, however, had never been forgotten. No fibre within his being so desired to be subject to the torment Tetradore had damned himself tonight. That fucking fool of a cat. Perhaps Darcy even pitied him- minutely. Tetradore, after all, had foolishly offered himself up on a silver platter. A focus for Risque's rage. A target that allowed Darcy to fade into that background and away from her ire. At least to some degree. He had not been as forgotten as he desired. The task she set before him promised an equal punishment if he failed at it. She had merely provided him a chance....to prevent his own torment. Yet how impossible that task was.
Tetradore was near forgotten in those moments. Darcy so hardly allowed himself to enjoy the sight of the other man's torment. Not when every part of his own control was fixated upon that task ahead. Even with that unfortunate taint to his blood that Fae was nothing short of...delectable. God he could smell every drop. Darcy's own saliva all but pooled behind his lips and threatened spill over the edges of his teeth like waves agianst rocks. It was sheer desperation alone that prompted the Southern vampire to shut off his own breathing. Without breath, after all, there was no scent. That lack of scent, in turn, lessened that desirability of that blood even if it still coated his hands in tempting delight. One taste, surely...she would hardly notice. She was hardly even looking. Darcy's teeth bit firmly down upon one another. His jaw practically grinding upon itself as he violently attempted to push those traterious thoughts away while those fucking demons within his mind clawed at his skull and throat in hunger. Bloodlust had so eternally been his weakness and how well Risque knew it. That Fae had no sooner been removed from the rack and placed on tha collection device then Darcy was nearly forced to flee to the other side of the room. His head was kept purposely turned into the stone of the wall, his fingers biting at the cool rock in a further effort to distract himself. God it was on his hands. Darcy was near oblivious to Tetradore and Risque both at that moment. Whatever fate had befallen to cat he hardly cared. Not when even the faintest slip in his concentration would spell his own disaster. His fear of Risque, tonight at least, so managing to rise above that desperate want for blood.
The Vampire Queen's command for her silver and that glass readily prompted Darcy to respond once more. That vampiric speed once more engaged. After all, she had not commanded he walk. To complete those tasks at speed afforded him less chance to falter, less time to accidentally smell that blood or raise even a droplet of it to his lips and yet how dangerously he wavered all the same as he dipped that glass into that still heated blood. The warmth of it, the feel of it agianst his fingers was....desperately tempting. The saliva within his jaws seemed to flood his teeth and tongue anew in anticipation of a meal he continued to deny himself. That desire to bite something, anything, seemed to rise with violent intent. Darcy, in that last moment, so simply choosing the only acceptable target within that room to unleash his anger upon. Himself. The pain of his own fangs biting into the flesh of his arm near prompted him to gasp and yet his teeth bit only harder like a dog with a bone. Darcy content to maul his own flesh if only to satisfy that need to bite. That very act so earning him a slither of control. A moment of reprieve from himself before his teeth released. The vampire near sprinting to Risque once more with that glass and box held towards her. Darcy was near desperate for her to take that blood from him. How his body seemed to....relax, if only ever so slightly, the moment she took that blood away.
His mismatched gaze so readily found her own as she uttered that single French word of thanks before she abruptly stepped toward him. The desire to move away from her in those moments was...potent and yet how well she had trained him to stand. Darcy, for now, so merely remaining in that singular spot as Risque encircled him. How very innocent that action appeared and yet how distinctly he knew better. Her every stride so possessed a near predatory grace. Whatever thoughts turned within her devilish mind surely contemplated his fate. How precariously it hung in the balance. How his gaze followed her every movement. His frame tensing once more in anticipation of some strike agianst him. Her free hand extended suddenly to grasp at his arm. The surprise of that action prompted Darcy to hold it tautly, her grip only tightening in turn before the vampire near obediently relaxed his arm- allowing her to examine it. Darcy could hardly prevent the way he winced. That self-inflicted bite wound nothing short of tender and yet Risque seemed...satisfied with what she had seen. The vampire Queen released his arm, her frame brushing agianst his own without a word before her attention returned to Tetradore. Had he pleased her? Or did she merely wish to torment him with the unknown? Risque's attention returned to Tetradore and the machine he was now fastened too. Darcy, for the first time, affording the other man his attention as Risque cranked at those handles, forcing Tetradore to suffer that rack as it threatened to dislocate each of his limbs. Those cries of pain no doubt filling the room.
Risque reached for her glass of blood once more, the vampiric woman savouring that taste. Darcy left to merely watch near enviously before she considered the silver implements before her. That whip chosen from amongst the contents. Even Darcy himself was inclined to frown at the sight of that favoured whip. How well he knew just how much its lash stung and bit. That sudden praise from his Mistress' lips however prompted his gaze to meet her own once more. Darcy remained...wary all the same before she mused out loud just how many lashes he thought Tetradore deserved. She allowed that whip to dangle over Tetradore's skin, resting upon it, only for the silver to begin to sizzle into that flash. This- Darcy was more content to watch. Tetradore deserved it. He had brought it on himself. Fucking fool. Yet he was a fucking fool whom had so...graciously taken Risque's rage like the idiot he was. Darcy more than content to allow Tetradore to suffer the full brunt of their Mistress' ire. How it pleased him to see Tetradore suffer. Darcy was unable to prevent that near perverse satisfaction he took from watching the panther scream. This was surely what Tetradore deserved for daring to steal Risques attention from him, her affection. How darkly the vampire's eyes fixated upon the WerePanther then as Risque carved her very signature into his flesh. Darcy hardly offered an answer to that near rhetorical question she had presented him when it seemed she had already decided just how she wished to tattoo Tetradore's flesh.
The vampire queen moved once more. Risque so abruptly turning from Tetradore to focus upon Darcy again. His mismatched gaze was readily keen to follow her in all her unpredictable glory. Surely....he had escaped her wrath tonight? Perhaps he had displeased her in some other way. Her words were a near melodious whisper as her fingers resched to press at his own neck. How he relished in her touch even as she traced invisible scars left from Tetradore's fangs that fateful night. The skin had long since healed and yet neither vampire had forgotten the damage done. Risque's sudden declaration that it 'was time', prompted a near quizzical look from the Southern vampire then before Risque continued. Bite for a bite. Her permission at last given for him to punish Tetradore the way the Were deserved. It had been...years since he had been allowed to bite her pet. Such a coveted prize as that was one she so rarely, rarely ever allowed. Darcy having near killed him the last time it had been permitted.
"Oh yes, Darlin'. I agree."
That want for that very prize was surely notable within his accented voice. Darcy content to eye Tetradore like a veritable steak laid out before him at a buffet. He had promised Tetradore that night that he would not forget that bite- how very....pleasing it was to be allowed to so finally exact his revenge. How unfortunate Risque would not permit him to maul off a limb entirely. His tongue brushed along his doubled fangs. Those rows of teeth so piercingly sharp and decidedly eager to meet flesh. Darcy turned towards Risque once more. That grin he offered her so displaying his delight in that gift- and every single sharpened tooth in his arsenel.