West

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

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

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.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

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

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Manager Raven Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

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

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

this night ain't for the faint of heart


Posted on August 22, 2020 by ASKAREE
West

askaree



She is untroubled by the supposed distaste that slithers through the severe lines of the Kitten King's face; unperturbed by the sting of his apathy. Truthfully she could not have given less of a shit for his opinion on the automobile she had chosen for herself, the act of revealing her prize to him merely a formality in this transaction, as it were. Sliding the phone easily back into the safety of her pocket, the impish grin upon the Egyptian woman's face slackens somewhat, the gaiety of it leeching from the dark pools of her eyes. "That's a pretty stupid assumption to make when you haven't even looked under the hood. As it turns out, that old crap could out-pace one of your oversized Vespas any day. But that is a discussion for later, hm?"

The arc of a perfectly-manicured brow pitches skyward at the query he poses. Why so serious? "Johnny... something-or-other. Fat, old-ish bloke, shameless toupee, stereotypical Italian asshole.. thinks he's the fucking Godfather of Sacrosanct." The wickedness returns to the serpentine crescent of her grin as readily as it had vanished. "Why, is he a friend of yours?" As amusing as the ophidian woman would have surely found that scrumptious revelation to be, it would certainly present a quandary that might challenge her would-be companion's already-waning willingness to provide her with his assistance. Assistance that, it seems, does not extend to something as admittedly trivial as a ride. Jesus, he was a goddamn prick. "You haven't left me much of a choice, Grinch. His place is over off Palmer." The plush cushions of her lips purse for a moment as she considers him, awaiting whatever Harry Potter throwback move they were about to pull.

"You were way less of a dickhead the last time we hung out."


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