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
How he so adored to tease at those predatory notes within his lover. His sinful Queen, just as himself, so easily enticed into playing that gambling game once he explained how far more....hunt like it could be. How the little heart of her opponent beat all the faster. Fluttering and flickering like a butterfly in the rain- destined to fail and yet frantic in its efforts all the same. That heartbeat was intoxicating. The predator within himself relished it and the way it sent more and more of that blood around the Lion's wretched body. It was as if the creature near teased him so unintentionally. That beating heart however, had a purpose that was surely twofold tonight, one that would assure his lover victory in that card game. Darcy had learned long ago how to read those beats, how to know when they came to signify the excitement of a good hand or the distress of a poor one. It was as his Beloved herself had taught him. A vampire was the ultimate predator. Perfection upon this earth. They could see, hear and scent beyond any other. Why not use that to their advantage now? Risque, it seemed, was equally as eager to take up that newfound hunt. Darcy content to whisper those words agianst her ear, weaving that tantalizing, tempting game all their own. One he knew would engage her attention and, perhaps, allow her focus to loosen from upon him in turn. After all, the Southern vampire had not lived so long because he was foolish. Darcy was nothing if not...opportunistic- and here existed the opportunity to have his lover fixate on another with her violent intent- even if for only a few moments.
That lion, as Darcy had anticipated, was quick to lose the hand and assure Risque her deserved victory. The very notion that she could claim a prize so seemed to delight her and oh- how he adored to watch her delight at work. Her mind worked in sinful perfection. The Vampire queen so choosing for herself a near curious prize and yet one that seemed to provoke no small sense of dread in the feline. How he adored to watch those cats squirm beneath her metaphorical thumb. The southern vampire had long....tolerated his lovers desire for those pets and yet it was nothing short of fucking glorious to watch her punish them, to see her turn upon them like they surely deserved. Pets- in the truest sense of the word. Darcy so content to take his own satisfaction in watching her put them in their place beneath her. He could feel that distress within the lion as his lover demanded her prize and yet- her every fickle mind seemed to consider that possibility further in barely a breath. Ruben, it seemed, was to be denied any sort of enjoyment in that game. Risque declaring she herself would take that tooth. How palpable that fear was within the cat. Darcy's own tongue brushed across his lip in a reaction near instinctive. That hunger within him prone to rise when that scent of fear became potent within the room. The vampire near conditioned to respond to that very thing. Hmmm. perhaps Risque might permit him to watch that very torture later.How satisfying it would be.
Risque rose in that moment then, Darcy thoughts near instantly returning to his lover alone as she strode with a sinful, feline grace towards him. Her outfit clung to her figure, that tight fabric highlighting every line and curve and swell. Those cowboy boots that adorned her feet, just as he had requested of her, were a near perfect match to that ensemble. A look that not one wretched being within that room had dare commented upon. How divine she was. Darcy simply incapable of keeping his gaze from roving her figure. His body....craved her in every way. Again and again he had been left wanting tonight. His final reward, surely, would be worth that ache within his groin and yet the sheer level of self control to be demanded from himself was...taxing. Darcy's figure remained near deathly still. The southern vampire so having learned long ago not to move when his Queen approached. Mate or otherwise those rules, it seemed, still remained in place. Her femanine figure brushed agianst his own. The eyes of every being within that room fixated upon them in a silent air of anticipation- and fear. How they craved to have his lovers attention, he was sure of it. Each of them surely desired her as he did. That darkly possessive part of himself so relished in her attentions- even as her hand reached to cup him through his jeans. That very gesture coaxed that soft sound of want from the back of his throat. A sound he could hardly deny even if it so awarded Risque that victory of sorts. How desperately he desired far more than her hand upon him.
His mind was nearly forced to fight through that haze of lust that threatened to overcome him to listen to those words she offered. Each syllable layered within a riddled embrace. She tormented him on purpose- how well he was aware of it and yet how easily he allowed her that very power all at once. Darcy nothing if not....designed to adore her, to worship her in every fashion and yet how desperate he was to cling to that very prize he had won those months ago within the dust and debris of the South. She had promised him....control- for one night. A power she had never before permitted any being to have. That chance to take her just how he desired was....the epitome of rewards. The pinnacle of what was within her power to gift him. How that gamble might see him lose it. Darcy so hardly having risen to the top of those gambling games by making poor bets and this....was a poor bet indeed. Risque did not lose. It was simply...unheard of. No game existed in which she would not find some way to achieve victory- else simply demand it and yet- to let her win, knowingly, would so surely earn her ire in equal measure. It would be an insult to her pride. To gamble agianst her was so hardly a matter of mere odds. After all- whether she won or lost, whether he defeated her or let her win- those odds remained in her favour. She would find displeasure in either outcome and within him in turn. How difficult it was to sort through her siren song when her hand remained upon him. That meal they had shared but barely an hour ago so ensuring his body was all the more....responsive to her touches. That life that coursed within his veins seeming to set alight each nerve within his frame.God how he wanted more. Needed more. Risque, at last, so steeping but slightly away as he managed to find those words at last and query her intent to play him.
His mismated gaze so hardly left the hypnotic blue of her own as she insisted that game was indeed her intent. A single, perfect eyebrow arched upward and toward him, her words an attempt to goad him. Did he not want to play with her? Did he not believe she would play fairly? Her very words were a trap within themselves. One he could near taste upon his tongue.
"I always wanna play wit ya."
It was a distinctly...safe response and yet one that held far more than one meaning all the same. That southern drawl so twisting neatly with her own words and yet- that choice remained all the same. If he chose to indulge her game- and she won- just what would she ask for? No gambler made a bet when that prize was unknown. Risque seemed to consider that very query for barely a heartbeat before insisting her prize would be a request of her own- her words so perfectly vague. Darcy distinctly aware she would not tolerate his asking again. That mere tendril of information so all she was inclined to give, to dangle before him. How distinctly....varying her requests might be. When her mood was inclined to pleasure her 'requests' were so often pleasurable for him in turn and yet- her nature was ever fickle. Her request so equally as likely to be one he would find....unpleasant. How expertly she had woven that web. Even her prize remained a gable within itself- Darcy too far within that entanglement to step from it now. To refuse her request to play would be...detrimental in turn. Darcy's hand reached near automatically for that deck of cards as he so began to shuffle them with a smooth, expert ease. His long fingers flipped through those cards with a vampiric speed and the skill of one who had done it so many countless times before. He had chosen to play her game,it seemed. Risque, in turn, so seeming to seize upon that notion she insisted she be dealt in. There were more gifts to show him, after all, and surely he had not gone soft. The simper that tugged at her lips was as sinful as it was alluring as Darcy moved to walk around the other side of that table to stand across from her.
"Darlin' I ain't never soft 'round ya."
How very true those words were. His own double meaning so layered within them. His words meeting her own in an even embrace of that verbal...spar. A subtle indication of his very acceptance of that game, it seemed. Even if its outcome still remained firmly within his own hands. That deck of cards was placed neatly upon the table, Darcy reaching to deal them each two- just as he had shown her- before flipping them over to reveal those numbers each had been given to work with. Every being in that room peered near anxiously forward. Even despite that music the room seemed decidedly...silent. As if every creature within it held their breath. Risques numbers were lower. A seven and an eight. Fifteen. She would need a six to win- or a lower number to draw her closer to that twenty one. His own numbers were far higher. A ten and a nine. Nineteen. Risque would be forced to draw another card for any chance at winning. If she drew a three or lower she would lose. A four would bring her even with him- the game would be a draw. A five would see her higher than him, a victory. A six would deliver her a perfect win. Anything above a six and she would draw to high and lose. His own hand- while not flawless- was a distinctly excellent one. One that would force Risque to make that gamble- so to speak. How readily Darcy had already calculated the odds of that third card. God but how he lived for these moments, these games. His own vampiric heart so gave nothing away- after all- that trick so only worked among the truly living. The very outcome of that game hung within the balance of that third card. Darcy was already near certain of what it was. Risque tapped at the table, that signal to be dealt her third card. Darcy's hand so reaching to rest upon the deck.
"Yar won't win."
They were, perhaps, the three boldest words he had ever uttered toward his lover in a century or so. Darcy so already having predicted the outcome of that game, its verdict offered towards her now, affording ehr the opportunity to command him not to flip that card. Their 'game' so destined to remain unfinished if she chose such a thing. How subtle that shift, how delicately he dared to place a mere toe over that thin line of dominance. Darcy, for the first time, so affording her that choice to back down to him.
"O'course, I could be lyin'."
How readily that simper tugged at his own features. Darcy so daring to toy with his lover. His very words prompted a gasp from Lorelai. She and Ian so having fallen silent in thor own fight if only to watch that moment. The succubus so clearly unable to believe his very...daring in that moment and yet- would it not be weak to treat his lover as lesser? To hand her that victory as if she could not ensnare it for herself? Risque was no fool. To pander to her as if she were a child would isight her wrath near as much as he already risked were he to defeat her in this game. A game that was Risque's own choice to lose- or win. The vampiric Queen seemed silent for several moments as her thoughts turned over within her equally cunning mind. Her hand reached forward, tapping at that table once more, her gae meeting his own with clear determination and simple command to flip that card. Darcy's fingers brushed agianst its sharp edges, that moment prolonged for but a breath longer before that card was flipped and placed down before her. A nine. Risque's final total was brought to twenty-four. Her total was too high. That victory Darcy's own. How silent that room had become. As if no one within it dared to breath. Darcy's gaze, in turn, so hardly left his mates. Her every move carefully watched. The cowboy was as near intrigued as he was wary. Those final words were uttered near...obediently and yet their lingered within them that finely woven tendril of....boldness."
"I dun lie to ya, darlin."
Surely, she should have known that?
Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet
Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth