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
I don't think I'll make it out alive
Why the fuck Spencer hadn't thrown her out after their first meeting really could only be chalked up to, while annoyed by her stunt, he wanted the money she was only so willing to flaunt. She obviously had either a very generous benefactor or was some sort of trust fund shithead that found fun in slitting throats (or poison or whatever). To be honest, he didn't give a shit which it was so long as she paid the prices he set. Honestly, she was almost pleasant in the way she didn't attempt to haggle or barter him down. Still, for as big as her wallet appeared to be, it wasn't going to make him hide her success in annoying him, especially as the time they interacted grew longer. While he may usually attempt to maintain that business front, with her... well, it just sort of cracked the more she talked. She reminded him of a certain co-worker who was also adept at breaking that veneer... Godforbid they ever be in the same place at once.
"Oh no. You cracked the code of how I choose my clients." Spencer deadpanned in response, unable to stop himself. Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was regretting it. Great, now he just without an absolute doubt confirmed she was needling him successfully. Still, thankfully, they were launching into a familiar territory, a comfortable territory - business.
Tonight... of course she needed it tonight... They never wanted to come in advance to give him the appropriate time to brew. He hummed softly, leaning forward on his hands against the countertop to reconsider his options available. Maybe it would be possible to... but he couldn't guarantee it would meet his quality standards... Was it worth the risk? Hm, unlikely... His eyes darted back to her, narrowing slightly as his mulled the same as she did. Then Spencer was straightening again, making a brief mental note to wipe down the glass later. "I'm charging you for both, obviously. The vials are small; if you're any good with your hands, you ought to be able to slight-of-hand the pour." He added having noticed that her own gears were churning rapidly, though he wasn't sure he liked that smile curling her lips. Women and smiles rarely meant positive things (at least not for him).
Spencer couldn't help the flicker of annoyance flashing across his face as she laid out the second part of this plan. This damn woman and her personal deliveries. Since when did he become UPS? Okay fine, he didn't have it on him - it was safe at home - but he could literally meet up with her any time between 6PM - 9PM and yet... "You seem to enjoy making me join you on your errands, Miss Solarn." He commented drily, displeasure seeping through. He preferred to keep a city's width of deniability between him and his clients' jobs and yet this one seemed to enjoy dragging him across that goddamned city (and then leaving him stranded for it). Spencer spun the newspaper around so he could read the address she jotted down, eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition. Someone liked to play with the obscenely wealthy... As for her fluttering lashes, he didn't bother to spare them a glance. Going to have to try harder than that, dearest, if you want to play at his affections...
"Briefcase would be overkill for your delivery anyway," He mumbled, more to himself than her. He grunted in acknowledgement at her comment about his clothing, rolling the newspaper up to stash for later. Then he stopped, brow drawing together. Something about what she said... 'we need to fit in'? After a moment of mulling that, he dismissed it as nothing. She probably meant so he wouldn't stand out during the trade off. She would be insane to mean to drag him along on the actual kill. That wasn't the agreement. He was the provider, that was it. On the other hand, he was a bit insulted at the insinuation that he didn't dress well. Now he was nearly tempted to buy himself a new suit simply to make her eat her insinuation.
Spencer reached under the register to pull out a small pad of paper, ripping off the top sheet before jotting an (absurd) number on it then passing the note, folded, to her. Was the price higher than he would have asked from others? Yes. Was it partly punishment for leaving him stranded? Obviously. Was he trying to that fact? Not at all. She was welcome to try to call him out on it but, at the same time, if she had other options for suppliers, why was she standing in front of him?
"Depends if you can pay. If so, then I'll see you tonight."