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
It was curious, that acceptance that Carolina had come to find over her own transformation. From what he had garnered, her turning was...somewhat similar to his own - an irrevocable change that was not entirely desired, though whether or not she had even been given the chance to accept it or...something far worse, he hadn't the slightest idea. Were-ism...after all...hardly came with the same level of...attentiveness required with that change as he had come to discover of his own metamorphosis. Perhaps, one day, Alistair would feel the same level of assuredness regarding what he was. Now, however, the Artist was merely struggling to just keep his head above the water. He'd dragged his feet in deciding his fate and already he was paying the price for it. Life, it seemed, did not find itself terribly inclined to wait while he coped with this new..."improved"....version of himself. Such thoughts, however, were interrupted by a far more pressing concern. Carolina's optimistic comment that they merely had to make the best of their situations was accompanied by a deep distant rumble overhead, one that only promised the incoming storm would not hold off any longer. He could very near smell the impending rain within the air, both of their gazes turned upwards, eying those darkening fat clouds overhead. It was, it seemed, the very end of that short journey outside.
It was with a soft breath that the Dark Hunter rose to his feet, momentarily pausing to brush the sand off of his jeans in spite of its clear desire to remain. Idly, Alistair commented that, perhaps, making the best of things meant, for now, heading inside. After all, he had little desire to get caught in the rain. The emerald-eyed man was well aware of the weight of her gaze upon him though he had little realization of just how....well that environment seemed to suit him. His own thoughts were far too focused upon the book nestled within her hands, the Artist hardly inclined to leave without it. It was far too valuable, at least, to him. His hand reached down towards her, Alistair willing to assist her to her feet or retrieve the sketchbook he had allowed her to look through for the greater part of the last half hour. The very gesture, however, seemed to prompt a glimpse of surprise from her features before her slender hand reached up to slip into his. Effortlessly, Alistair helped to pull the young woman to her feet, that newfound Hunter strength yet another aspect of his life he was slowly becoming used to. He had discovered a far....gentler touch was required of him now, though he supposed such was understandable given the way their kind was meant to fight the undead.
The very moment that Carolina regained her footing, the darkened skies above them seemed to open up with far more enthusiasm then Alistair thought necessary. Those droplets were only falling ever faster with each passing moment, near promising a torrential downpour if the pair tarried. That shout of Carolina's southern draw drew Alistair's gaze back towards her, the joyfulness present within her soprano tones as she tugged at his hand ever so gently. It was, perhaps, only her carefree spirit that prompted Alistair to join her....well, that and the ever-increasing downfall that was already beginning to soak his dark brunette locks. As he raced after her, Alistair hardly expected her to lead back towards the fire escape, not when the front door to the building itself was so easily accessible. A small glimpse of confusion crossed his features as he followed her up those metal stairs though he was hardly in any place to argue as another peel of thunder rolled far louder overhead, the rain quickly beginning to soak his shirt.