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
There was an undeniable charge in the air as she placed her hand within the waiting palm of the intriguing artist who had so captured her afternoon. Likely from the storm on the cusp of breaking, though she had a feeling there was something more to it as she came to her feet in front of him. She had barely been able to take a breath before the skies opened up overhead, the large and heavy drops beginning to fall with a fervor that had her instinctively clutching that valuable sketchbook to her chest to protect it. In that very same moment she found herself gripping Alistair's hand a little tighter as a peal of thunder caused a mixture of that all familiar fear to course through her though now it was tinged with excitement as well. That single command uttered breathlessly around a forced laugh at the entire situation before she turned to sprint up the street.
She was undeniably pleased that Alistair chose to keep his hand in her own though he easily could have pulled it free as the pair raced with no doubt inhuman speed up the few blocks towards the familiar brick structure of their apartment building. For a moment Carolina could feel the artist's hesitation as she dashed for the fire escape instead of the buildings open entryway that surely most people would use in such a situation. That metal staircase was honestly one of her favorite features of the building, one she often found solace atop, for reading a book as she had been earlier, watching the stars on a clear night, or even the occasional smoke when she was feeling stressed. No doubt it was an outdate feature left only by the buildings history but now more than ever she was glad for its presence.
Together they scaled the few flights of stairs before reaching the third floor and the window she had left ever so slightly cracked earlier. Using the hand that clutched what was no doubt Alistair's most personal and irreplaceable possession she quickly pushed it open so as to get first it and then the now rather soaked pair into the dimly lit interior of her apartment. The smell of the eucalyptus candle she had been burning earlier mixed with the sweet smell of the fresh rain in the rustically furnished apartment, her breathy laughter filling the air around them. Only the thunder rolling loudly outside caused it to cease, sobering her slightly enough to look up through her rain drenched curls at the dark-haired man she had literally just drug into her home.
And maybe she should offer to go get them towels or show him the door so he could retreat to his own apartment, but Carolina found in that moment she didn't care as the water sluiced from them and onto her floor. The storm had cast a sort of spell that she wasn't quite wiling to break just yet.