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 (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
I don't think I'll make it out alive
"Oh, Spencer darling, I'm touched - you think I'm beautiful."
Spencer was pretty sure he just rolled his eyes hard enough to strain the optical nerve. At least they were a match in the eye rolling, both seeming to repeat the motion the longer they talked. God, why did she have to pay well? Why couldn't he just throw her out the door and be done with this headache? Oh wait, that's right, she was a temperamental firemancer who (probably) had more violence than common sense. When she shifted forward to invade his personal space, Spencer met the motion by straightening his posture so that it shifted him ever so slightly away. Thankful he had the counter to continue to provide the buffer to keep him from actually invading his space. He really wasn't the biggest fan of people that elected to just casually invade spaces. Why did they need to do something like that? They could talk just fine at arm's length.
How flattering that she had spent so much time looking into him and trusted his work so fully. If he were inclined to do so, he could even blush. However, he was never the type to frivolously blush. She was right in that he was the unlikeliest to speak. He knew his reputation and it wasn't something that arrived from thin air, no that took years of careful business transactions and crafting. The moments of knowing when to speak and when to shut up, even to the point that it had cost him his livelihood in the last home he had before Sacrosanct. That was his secret though. All the public knows is his previous shop was a victim of arson... Perhaps that was why he was so keen on preventing her from burning down this place. For now, she would have to settle for watching his thoughts twist and turn as he mentally thumbed through the options suitable for her designs.
Spencer barely - barely - stopped another potentially straining eyeroll as she dramatically proclaimed her thievery skills. It wasn't that he doubted her abilities or the fact that she had been a thief at some point, no not at all. He could just do with a straight answer for once. He huffed slightly in annoyance, jaw tightening briefly before he forced it to relax. Well, as relaxed as it ever was which wasn't much. Between the two of them, another secret - she would have to push rather hard to get to the point to see Spencer 'fly into a rage'. However, it was probably best for the two of them that she didn't push to that point. Safer too.
Parade him around? What was he, some prized peacock? He sent her an unamused look, shaking his head slightly. Ridiculous. Spencer reached over to spin the paper she scribbled on to face him, eyes darting over the writing before the scrap of paper disappeared into his pocket. He would look up the location when he returned home before he had to prep for her little errand. At the undignified squawk from Solarn, his eyebrows lifted and, perhaps for the first time in their actions, there was a look of genuine (but smug) amusement on his face. Well, that was entirely unexpected but immensely welcome to put her on the back foot for once. And so thoroughly! "Ms Solarn, you know it will work. That's why you're here and why I'll agree." He shrugged, not really seeing a point in drawing this out. Though it did beg the question of how she intended to deliver the other half to him.
"Remember, I only deal in cash and I expect to be paid in full tonight. Don't try to cheat me; it won't end well." He called after her, a hard edge taking to his warning. He watched as she left, shaking his head slightly before turning his attention to his actual work duties for the rest of his shift. Why did it seem every interaction with her ended in a headache?
Several Hours Later
While Spencer had been sorely tempted originally to go out and spend probably too much on a new suit just to shove her face in the fact that he cleaned up perfectly, Spencer did realise that was probably an overreaction to his indignation and tempered it. It was a delivery drop off for an irregular (very irregular) client. He wouldn't be able to get a new suit tailored in time for tonight and he couldn't show up in something like that. Besides, he had more important things to discuss such as why the fuck did she decide to let herself into his home. Oh, she was right. They would certainly be having that discussion at some point tonight because, as she guessed, he absolutely did not appreciate the subtle message that sent to him. Not only did she know where he lived but she knew how to enter without a trace. Well, he would have to make some subtle changes to his landscaping not that she's inadvertently illuminated some of the weak points to his security. Guess he had some gardening to do this weekend when he could afford to spend the time and, most importantly, the energy it would require.
Glancing around, he didn't spot his purpose for being here in this overpriced neighborhood until movement caught his attention in the corner of his eye. He turned to see her stepping out, Spencer adjusting his direction to approach her, his hands in his coat pockets. His eyes scanned over her, a little surprised how well she could clean up when she put the effort in. Definitely a different appearance than this morning. "Miss Solarn, flattery will get you nowhere." Hold a beat. "I'm surprised you clean up so well." He returned in greeting, though without the usual disdain or irritation, probably as close to a compliment as he was willing to give to her. As she would say, he couldn't make it too easy.
However, Spencer was a little puzzled when she hooked her arm through his, tugging him along toward a building. A building he certainly wanted to not approach filled with people he did not want to interact with and whatwashappening. "I do but what are you - " He hissed with no small amount of alarm as she directed the two of them to the front doors, his teeth clipping together audibly as she reached the front with the bodyguards. Where she may appear relaxed, he probably had enough tension in his stance for six men. What the absolute hell was happening? What was she doing? His eyes glanced sideways at her, jaw clenched tightly as he fought back the urge to demand answers or simply storm off. When she flashed a smile at him, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly, his displeasure at this charade needing no faking.
"Thrilled." There was her favourite deadpan before she was tugging him past the men and into his new hell. God, what had he done to deserve this karmic hell? Before he could demand answers, she was offering them in the worst way. THIS was the second part? Oh god no. Oh god. Oh fuck. He would rather have been forced to help dispose of a body or make up a story or lie or anything but this. She was making him break cardinal rule number one - deniable plausibility. He didn't want to know what she was doing or why or how or who.
"I should fucking up my price for this." He grumbled sullenly, unhooking his arm from hers to place a hand on her lower back as he guided them to a less crowded part of the room. They were going to have a quick conversation before this went any further. "You and I are going to have to have a chat about the rules of our business relationship, but another time. Miss... Mrs Johnson," god that was almost physically painful to utter "Is there anything else I need to know about tonight? Preferably before you drag me into it?"