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.
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
Her petite arms wrapped around his neck, her slender figure pressed firmly against his chest before she leaned forward, her silken lips delicately pushing against his own in a kiss Alistair hadn't anticipated. With those superior senses, with his accelerated healing, his newfound powers and the adrenaline pumping through his body, the Hunter was near made for those quick reflexes and yet, the Artist found himself merely standing there dumbly as if her affection had solidified him into stone. His mind struggled to comprehend that simple moment if only because it was so far from any experience he had ever had with any woman. It took a moment for the vibrancy of his Juniper pigmented irises to focus upon her feminine features before Alistair recoiled from her, shoving her away from him in an abrupt attempt to break that kiss he had hardly wanted to begin with. Frantically she seemed to reach for his arm, that shove far more forceful than he had truly meant it to be. It was, admittedly, yet another problem with his transformation, Alistair no longer truly capable of judging his own strength. He allowed her that brief moment to steady herself, even if her proximity was regarded with a very clear scowl of discontent.
Her soprano voice was near frantic as she uttered her apology, that was until she became distracted by something else entirely. Alistair's gaze shifted downwards, following her glacier colored eyes towards the body that laid but a few feet from them, the vampire's blood pooling around his figure in a thick, dark crimson. The Hunter glanced upwards just in time to watch her delicate fingers tangle in the blonde of her long locks, her fears bubbling to the surface as she contemplated her the life of crime apparently ahead of her. A soft breath left Alistair's lips, the Hunter certain that this was not their biggest concern, even if he wasn't quite sure what to do with the vampire's body now that he had effectively killed it. His maker, of course, would know, and yet as soon as that thought entered his mind, Alistair realized that he had been holding his phone when she had pummeled into him. His gaze swept purposefully over the concrete around them as he recited that passage he'd long ago learned when it came to the interference of Hunter affairs. After all, his mind was meant to be the counterbalance to the supernatural. Their entire duty was to provide mortals with protection at the demise of the otherworldly.
He listened, inattentively, to her words as she discounted his extensive knowledge on the topic of murder, Dark Hunters, and Vampires. Alistair might have argued the point if it were not for suddenly finding the very device he was looking for - on the ground and several feet away. His mutterance seemed enough to silence the woman as he reached down for his cellphone, the artist turning it over within the palm of his hand only to note the crack on the screen. His brows furrowed as he turned on the screen, it's brightness near blinding in the otherwise dark space and yet...how it so illuminated the extent of the damage done. A soft sigh left his lips, the Hunter certain that tonight was by far one of the worst nights he had experienced...at least since the night of his own death and transformation. He heard that stammered voice and yet, Alistair paid her distinctly little heed as his fingers tried to swipe around the crack in an effort to pull up his text messages. At that moment, he'd effectively tuned her out as he struggled to type that text to Adrien, at least, until her fingers pulled on his sleeve. "I - what?" Alistair hardly had a moment to react before she was near dragging him down the alleyway, his text message never complete as he struggled to shove that phone in his pocket in the wake of her pulling.
It was only once they were on the brightly lit streets of the West that she finally released him, Alistair pulling back ever so slightly if only to increase the distance between them. A soft sigh left his lips as he adjusted the messenger bag on his shoulder to a far more comfortable position. Spending dinner with the woman was not how he had particularly wanted to spend his evening. It was the sudden factualness of the girl's soprano notes that drew his attention towards her and slowly, the Hunter nodded. "Yes." It was strikingly obvious what he was by now, even the vampire had been able to detect it and really, Alistair saw little point in denying it. It was that question of his power, however, that saw him pause. His power. He had almost forgotten of it in the aftermath of....well...everything. Of course, he had known Hunters had powers just the same as all supernatural had, and yet..he hadn't know that would be his. Blue...flames. The juniper of his gaze dropped down towards his palm before Alistair nodded in agreement, the man uninclined to admit that it was the first time he'd called on such an affinity, much less that he had no idea how to do it again if the need arose. Slowly, his gaze turned back towards the bright blue eyes that stared up towards her, the fear in her voice entirely palpable and yet, Alistair could hardly help that upwards rise of his brow. His gaze shifted briefly down the street behind them before turning back up in front of them. "Well, I don't see any other murderous vampires around unless you happen to have another on standby." He commented and yet...God, she had no idea how lucky they had truly been! Dinner and home had never sounded so good to the artist.