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
Ian posed no challenge. He never had. The ungainly bartender was easy to read and easier still to outplay. He could be...cunning, in his own right and yet Ian was predictable. Darcy had long ago learned the other man's patterns, his tells, his weaknesses. Ian could bluster about all he liked. The man wasfar more bark then he was bite and how well most of those beings within Syn knew it. Taking that prize from Ian was like plucking a toy from some fool of a child. Easy- and yet- Darcy was content to find some pleasure in it alone if only for the distress it caused the other man. The bartender was quick to skulk back to his bar. That sharply uttered word from Risque herself, one the man was hardly fool enough to dare question. After all, within these walls, Risque's word was....law. Her will, her wants, were above all other things. Why anyone ever tried to resist it Darcy so hardly knew. Not when he himself was inclined to all but relish in her attention. The vampirc cowboy, in that moment, so seeking to do just that. His offer to teach her to play was uttered into the gloom. It was rare, in every sense, that Risque so ever allowed another to instruct her- in anything. Not when she had perfected the very art of her existence so flawlessly. An existence Darcy was all but content to worship and yet- he had already fed beside her tonight. Perhaps it was time he showed her how to play an entirely different sort of...hunting game. Gambling, after all, so readily offered that same rush of adrenaline as any hunt. Those twists and turns, those veritable unknowns. Perhaps the vampiric queen might even enjoy it. If she so chose.
Darcy's mismatched gaze lingered upon his mate in those moments. Her expression, as always, so very near unreadable as she seemed to consider his proposal before, at last, accepting that offer. Darcy was quick to rise to his feet. Those Southern manners reserved for his lover alone as he moved to pull out that chair beside his for her femanine figure to recline upon. The sheer anxiety within the room seemed to near double the moment Risque took her seat at that table. The sensation was near palpable. Darcy was assured he could all but taste it upon his tongue. How he adored it when their hearts beat faster, when they began to sweat like the prey they were. That predator within hismelf all but relished in that 'hunt'. Even if it remained entangled within that game of chance. Another unknown, another odd for him to rise above. To outwit. To outplay. How he adored it. Lorelai's discomfort was nothing short of clear. The vampire woman near unwilling to stand before her Mistress for fear of making some foolish error that might try Risque's patience. Risque, for now, was content to dismiss her. The Southern cowboy calling forward one of those WereCat's instead. That feline a far more...appealing victim. One with a rapid little heart that fluttered and danced within his fragile, feeble chest. His very body all but stank of that fear. That cat the perfect fist victim for his beloved to toy with. One that served that equal purpose of drawing Risque's attention away from Darcy himself. The cowboy was hardly foolish enough to encourage her to play agianst him. Those were odds he did not....favour.
Yet....to teach his lover that game sufficiently so as to please her within a matter of mere moments was an equally difficult task. A dangerously precarious one. Blackjack, despite its simple appearance, took....years to master. Darcy was assured he could hardly teach her every subtle trick of that game within mere minutes and yet his lover would expect to win. She would accept nothing else. His own mind turned darkly behind his mismatched gaze, the vampire reaching for that deck of cards before he began to near lazily and yet efficiently shuffle that deck. He need teach her that game in a manner that would satisfy her- without boring her. Afford her victory with just enough of a challenge as to engage her. Darcy began to deal those cards smoothly outward. The Vampire offered an explanation of those values upon the face of them before beginning to explain that game in its basic form. That ideal score of twenty-one, or the closest number to it, was the way to achieve victory in that very game. Darcy laid those cards out neatly, clearly. The ever-impatient cowboy so seeming to have....endless patience for his mate. Darcy was a surprisingly astute teacher when he desired to be as such. Risque placed her glass delicately upon that patterned table. The Vampiric Queen focused upon the task at hand as she bade him to continue that explanation. Darcy, for now, was content to play that role of the dealer in that brief, mock game between them. One designed to display that gameplay he had long ago mastered within the depths of the Southern Swamps.
Risque was quick to understand that language. His mate demanded that 'hit' as Darcy dealt another card. Her total was impressively higher then his own as he moved to flip that last card that sat before him. That 'mock' game falling neatly within Risque's favour and yet....how purposefully he had insured that it had. Darcy had been nothing short of....conservative in his efforts- even if that game was no more than a mere example for his lover to learn from. How rarely they had ever been matched agianst one another in a game such as this. Darcy so eternally...submissive in all he did. The Southern cowboy long ago mastered that art of proving his capability, his worth without pressing upon his lovers dominance or appearing far too weak for her attention. He had, somewhere along the way, found that very balance that seemed to appeal to her. Risque seemed satisfied with her practice win. The Vampiric Queen further judged that table before suddenly querying why he had not taken another card when the opportunity had presented itself. That chance for his own victory having been....forgone in favour of her own. How little she missed. He should have anticipated she would hardly fail to observe that very thing. Darcy, for now, so merely allowing his shoulders to lift lightly in a simple, casual fashion.
"I didn't need another card jus ta show ya 'ow ta play. I couldda taken one but dis is jus for practice after all."
There would be little to be gained from affording her a displeasing hand in a practice game. Darcy more than content to lose when those stakes held no odds and the only outcome of that very loss was to afford his lover a victory that appeased her. Any further words he might have offered, however, were cut short by Ian's sudden shout from across the room. The still jaded vampire content to call him out on that card counting he had perfected over a century ago. A method that was hardly so much as illegal as it was...frowned upon. After all, no one could ever truly prove those cards had been counted. Darcy's own retort was equally sharp in an effort to silence the other man, Ian wisely seeming to reconsider his words before Risque shifted within her seat. That very action so affording hima view of those boots at her feet. How devastatingly....tempting she was tonight. The mere sight of her arousing. God but how he fucking adored those boots on her feet. Ian, in that moment, was very near forgotten- at least until his beloved spoke once more. Her words were nonchalant, as if they were no more than an afterthought and yet how quickly and efficiently they sold Ian down that metaphorical river. The bartender having pilfered extra from that tip jar for years. A crime his companions had been decidedly unaware of until now. That irritated embarrassment was quick to flash upon the other man's features before Lorelai sought to exact her own revenge, the pair content to squabble as Risque watched on with a vague amusement. When would they learn that it was so hardly worth their time to displease their Mistress? Ian would be lucky to survive the night with Lorelai at his heels. Such petty squabbles so hardly captivated his attention however, Darcy instead sought to draw his lovers attention back to himself once more. The Vampiric Cowboy so affording her a promise to teach another way to secure that victory. One he was assured she might take delight within. Darcy seeking to have that game appeal to her in another fashion.
Darcy was quick to summon forward the nearest WereCat, the man all but trembling at the realisation of his fate before Darcy handed him that deck with the command to deal. The Southern vampire shifted to stand behind his mate then and eye those cards she had been dealt, his form crouched down lower. Darcy's lips pressed softly to her ear. Those words for Risque alone as he offered them. How well he knew of her love for that hunt, for the satisfaction that predator within them took from hearing the frantic beat of their victims' hearts. Hearts, after all, gave away everything. They told no lies. This very game of chance no more then an opportunity to hear the heart of her opponent sing its sad little tune. One that would near always give them away. Fear, after all, held a scent unlike any other. That card game was a hunt- just in another form. Darcy near assured such a thing would appeal to the Vampire Queen. The faintest hint of a simper upon her lips so assuring him of that as her tongue traced briefly upon the pillow of her upper lip. It was surely far better to have her focus upon that WereCat then himself. Darcy sought to draw that attention away from any desire to play agianst him and too- so taking that opportunity to further please her in turn. The vampire was nothing if not cunning in his own way. Darcy's lips pressed to her neck, just below her ear, as that final word was uttered. That touch of affection near worshipping as he moved to step back just so. Allowing Risque to play that game as she wished. Her final card affording her that unbeatable hand. The grin that found his lips matched her own. Darcy quickly insisted she take the prize she was owed.
How pale that fallen WereCat had become as Risque seemed to muse over her decision. The Vampire woman at last demanding....a tooth. Darcy's own tongue brushed along his fangs in a gesture near...hungered. How near satisfying it would have been to watch that tooth ripped from the lion's jaw. How pleasing it would be to seem him grovel at her feet in return. How he adored when she turned upon those cats that all but infested Syn's walls. The Cat was sent fleeing from before them, Risque turned to face him once more as she declared she had liked that game. Darcy so hardly anticipated those words that followed. Risque rose to her feet in a single, fluid motion. Her each and every moment as near seductive as it was graceful as she strode towards him. Oh but how quickly his body betrayed him at even the sight of her, especially dressed as she was! His tongue brushed upon his own lip once more in simple...want and yet how he hardly dared to move beyond that. At least not until her hand moved to cup him through his jeans. Darcy was unable to prevent that soft sound of desire that rose within his throat. Her hand hardly moved, her touch offering him none of that friction he near craved and she alone was capable of providing. Her hold simply designed to....torment him and oh how it did. To shift his hips, to seek more of that friction here and now would be....displeasing to her. Oh how well he knew this very game and yet how close he came to falling into it snares all the same. Her voice was near melodious in that gloom. No other being so daring to make a sound when she spoke. Her words were near...riddles. Promises and gambles turned in upon themselves. His mind was near reluctant to seize upon them when her breath was so warm agianst his skin. That recent meal having afforded them both a warmth to their bodies. One that made them seem so very...alive. One that made her hand at his groin feel all the more...tempting. The sensitivity of that very area notably increased with that fresh blood flow.
Another round? How she tempted him with those promises and yet how gambled they were. Did she truly mean to play agianst him? Did he dare take that very risk when he had already won that metaphorical bet? What more could she afford him if he won? Then again, if he were to lose- to throw that game and assure her own victory, an outcome she would expect.....what did he stand to lose? He had made a veritable career from those gambling games and yet his success came from the notion he refused to take those...unsavory bets. This gamble by far one of his most significant. One that proposed significant reward and significant loss in turn. Darcy's mismatched gaze narrowed ever so slightly, the vampire content to contemplate that temptation his own mate offered as she stepped away.
"Ya offerin' ta play me, darlin?"
That singular potent question seemed to hang within the air, that subtle sound of that music continuing to play and yet that room was near unable to take its gaze away from those two dominant vampires. Darcy's hand reached down to that table, the deck of cards plucked from it before his long fingers began to shuffle them near idly.
"Tell me, Darlin'. If we was to 'ave another round. What would ya ask from me if I lost? Ain't no one gambles unless day know what day playin' for."
That game, as far as he could tell, gave him but everything to lose and yet....how the Southern Cowboy sought to satisfy his curiosity all the same. Perhaps it might be worth the gamble yet. How he would see.
Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet
Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth