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
His weary, though wired, blue-eyed stare followed the waitress' hands almost feverishly. She seemed to be moving in slow motion, the way she poised the steaming hot pot over the table, the murky brown contents sloshing from one side to the other. He winced almost when the piping liquid finally began to pour from the pot into his cup. "There you go, sweetie." She croaked out loud with a nervous smile, or at least Ben was fairly convinced she did.
He removed his worn gloves, revealing a pair of sweaty, grimy palms and pressed them slowly across the table to encapsulate the mug. It was this familiar sensation, the heat from the mug warming the insides of his hands, that provoked a hard slap of nostalgia within him. For the first since he arrived here (so in reality, over the last 36 hours or so) he was reminded of home. The coffee reminded him of his grandmum, and the afternoon tea times they kept, even into his adult years. "Miss you grandmum." He grumbled to himself before raising the cup to his lips.
The coffee was satisfying, though not in the way he anticipated. Americans and their love for coffee was strange to begin with. He swallowed the earthy drink nevertheless, smiling to himself as it grew heavy in his stomach.
Ben needed to figure out where to go next. This flat, he imagined, would become increasingly important the more tired he became. Jet lag was bound to hit him - if it hadn't already. And he was mostly lucid now. The key word in that sentence is "now" - he could not explain his whereabouts over the hours prior to this one. The coffee had been enough of a distraction for Ben to turn off the whispers of those around him, at least for just a few seconds. The insults and prying comments from the wait and cook staff had subsided. The wandering stares and misplaced fears of the few other souls in the chairs and booths, too, were shushed.
That is, until a very real girl was suddenly standing next to him. He craned his head abruptly to look at her - she smelled clean, with lovely floral hints. Her overall manicured appearance matched her unsoiled smell. Ben's blue eyes were wide with surprise and perplexion as she looked down at him, and asked him a question. He studied her lips as they moved, matching the nodes of the words with the way her plump lips pressed against each other. "Did you just say that... out loud?" He asked, bringing a thick blonde brow to furrow low over one eye in a skeptical gaze. This very real girl could not be.... very not real after all. His mind had certainly played more complex tricks on him.
Nevertheless, she was quite something to look at.
Seeing her, up close, or perhaps just imaging her here made it strikingly clear just how lonely he was. He breathed out a heavy sigh, realizing then, just what terrible shape he was in. He smelled of that dark, putrid water from the puddles in the street. Oil and dirt mixed into his tan skin, streaking across his cheeks and his stubble and his forehead. No, he was not okay. But he smiled at her all the while.
Ben mused that even if she was not real, he could use the company. This was problematic, of course. He flew halfway around the world to get away from his made-up realities. He wanted something true and real. A fresh start. But... she would do. For now. Just for now.
He dug a dirty hand in his pocket and slapped down a crumpled plane ticket and pamphlet for his River Dale apartment on the table. "I came from across the pond." He said in a cheery, ultra British tone. The American ladies liked that, didn't they? "And now I live here, though I don't know where 'here' is at all."
Ben Collins | Fairy | Vinyl