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
She is reckless and impulsive, a character trait which more often that not led to trouble of a sort one would thing might have taught her better, and yet as the pair careen down the street and up the metal staircase into her apartment she feels more alive... more herself than she had in far too long. Pieces of herself had been stolen away by the terrors she had witnessed, and somehow in the spontaneity of that afternoon she felt as if she had recaptured a part of herself. It leaves her with nary a care, least of all for the hardwood floor they are dripping all over, even as she laughs lightly at Alistair's astute if not obvious observation that they had not been fast enough to avoid the rain. Though her laughter was cut short as thunder rolled loudly outside of that building once more, the effect was sobering but even the fear she typically would feel was dampened in her exhilaration.
It does however allow her to focus enough to extend the artist's prized possession back to him, the book miraculously dry despite the weathers best attempts otherwise. The presence of that sketchbook obviously a relief to the hunter as he took it back into his ownership.
The silence which fell around them next however was different, Carolina finding herself staring up into Alistair's dark eyes, deepened by the diffused light of the apartment and she could not help the charge that raced up her spine. It was instinctual, everything about the moment causing her to feel as if she were holding her breath even if she didn't really know why. The feline was a passionate person, that tendency to jump off the deep end of things reflected in most of her life, but it wasn't something she had necessarily expected today, and it took her off guard.
Perhaps for the best, saving Alistair from embarrassment, for despite all the attempts of her parents and etiquette teachers growing up she was no proper southern belle to wait for a gentleman to make the first move. His friendly if not uneasy attempt at ending their encounter unable to be missed, and she didn't doubt that he wanted to dry off.