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 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
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
Vhalla decided it was going well. He hadn't kicked her out nor had he leveled a loaded gun at her... at least not yet. Still, the annoyance that is wafting off the warlock is almost palpable, not that she minded, the assassin rather enjoyed tormenting him, it was far too easy to get under his skin. A knowing smile remains on her lips, her gaze watching him as he makes a comment about the lining of his pockets. Releasing a bark of laughter, she shrugs, "Yes, but I'm sure the rest of your buyers aren't nearly as breathtaking as me," she waves a dismissive hand, her voice not quite sarcastic but perhaps a little condescending. The witch didn't think highly of herself, more or less a tool of seduction if it was needed. It was one of the tools in her arsenal that she didn't care to use, it was a disgusting approach to a job and yet, she hardly had any say in it, especially if Ivan was responsible for the job. Unpleasant thoughts, things she hardly wanted to think about right now so she pushes it away, her gaze focusing on the knives as she announces she needed some fresh air.
Her hangover wasn't nearly as prominent, the pouting of her head becoming more of a dull throb, much easier to ignore. It doesn't take long before she's launching into her request, only pausing for his snarky retort which causes her lips to curl in more of a bare of her teeth rather than a smile. Vhalla can see his brilliant mind working as she lays it out on the table. Instead of turning her away he's immediately launching into what he could create in a narrow time frame. At least, it sounded like he was going to humor her. If the positions were reversed, she may have set his pant leg on fire just to see him run out of the store, truly she was amazed he hadn't kicked her out yet. He barely has his words out before she straightens, her eyes taking on a narrowed look that makes her features seem more fierce... more assassin like. "Tonight," she states the word as a demand, "If you can't do droplets then I vial will do but I need it by tonight. Two if you can," she says, her own mind whirling, first slowly, then picking up speed.
She runs through the different scenarios, a broken vial, a dropped glass, so many possibilities that could go wrong. It was good to always have a backup. Absentmindedly, she's aware it was the most words Spencer had said to her in a single exchange of words, the man usually so... dry and curt. He was crumbly like a graham cracker she decided. A half smile stretches across her lips at her own joke she had made within her mind. Vhalla is certain he wouldn't be pleased to hear her thoughts so she pushes them away, instead glancing up as he inquires about the second half of the job. She tilts her head, her facade taking on a wry look, "I need you to meet me at 9 PM tonight with the vials," she pauses, her fingers reaching across the counter to grab the daily newspaper, a sudden wave of deja vu swirling through her, though this time, she wasn't threatening him. Reaching out her scarred finger, she grabs a pen lying on the counter and jots down an address in an absurdly wealthy part of town on the north end. Sliding the newspaper back to him to show him the address, she sets the pen down before looking up at him through her lashes. She was already entirely aware that her seductive charm didn't work on him but it didn't hurt for her to try.
"No briefcase this time, just keep it in your pocket. I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention to ourselves when we meet - holding a briefcase in the middle of the night will make you look like a drug dealer," she sniffs with amusement, her gaze looking him up and down, "And... wear something nice, we will be in the nicer part of the city, we need to fit in," she offers him a wink. Though, it wasn't as if he dressed in rags, the man was always nicely dressed, she wasn't entirely sure he had an expensive taste, something that would fit him into the rich people of the northern district. She supposed she could see but she still takes a moment to gaze at him for a long moment, her ice blue eyes taking in every detail and tucking it away into the corner of her mind. Pushing off the counter, "Name your price," she says after a moment, money wasn't an issue but she was still a penny pincher... unless it was alcohol and then all bets were off. "Do we have a deal?"
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered