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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
Vhalla couldn't help but blink at him. It wasn't a compliment per say but it was more than she thought the warlock were possible of. Instead, she flashes him a half smile as if she were telling him, 'I know,' before slipping her silk clad arm through his. Scarred fingers coming to rest on his bicep gently, she even had managed to get her nails done for the occasion, a dark hue, not quite black but more of a deep red, darker than she had ever seen before. "Spencer darling, flattery will get you everywhere, in any kind of business. You should try it sometime, it might bring up your sales," she winks up at him, her long painted lashes brushing against her cheek bones before she starts to lead him up the walk. Her question is casual as her gaze remains fixed on the line ahead of them and within moments she can feel Spencer stiffen beneath her hand. Her hand placement wasn't merely just for show, to give them a feel of a real couple but to keep the man from bolting. If he had run off, it would have ruined all of her plans for the evening and the poison Spencer had worked on would have been pointless. Vhalla can almost feel the panic beginning to radiate from him, and since they were already at the bouncer, she squeezes his bicep firmly. It was meant to be a reassuring squeeze and yet, it probably seemed more threatening coming from the white-haired assassin.
When he didn't bolt, the smile she offered the name-taker was surprisingly real, Spencer was playing his part perfectly as they are let into the mansion. For someone who had enough money to live the rest of her life off the grid, this house was way above her pay grade. It was rich like, this owner probably was into some shady shit, rich. Most wealthy people in Sacrosanct tended to not be good people, Vhalla was no exception. Spencer's words make her laugh lightly, her head tilting back to look up into his face, and truly, if any bystanders were watching, it really did look like they were a couple joining the party. "Sorry darling, you've already been paid in full. Maybe if you're extra good tonight I'll give you a tip." She couldn't help it, the seductive curl of her lips would leave anyone wondering what exactly that meant and yet, she firmly believed Spencer wouldn't turn down any extra money coming his way. He had that stingy personality - a reason why she trusted him enough to not rat her at.
She could feel his arm untangle from his, her fingers slackening enough to release him, before his palm presses to her lower back. It felt surprisingly warm, Vhalla allowing him to lead her into a less crowded part of the room. It wasn't terrible hard, many of the clients were lingering around the displays of, probably, stolen museum quality products. It wasn't hard to figure out that this party was some sort of auction, a stage set up in the opposite corner of the room, a ridiculous marble fountain in the center, which by the way, who the fuck puts a fountain in their house? A spiraling staircase curled elegantly by the entrance to reach the upper levels but they were roped off. Mr. Fancy Rich Owner, clearly didn't want anyone seeing the rest of the home. Still, the base level was basically a ball room, far too much room for anyone to own. Her quick assessment of the room is cut short by Spencer as he pulls them to a stop, glancing down at her and demanding they were going to have a chat. A patronizing smile tugs at her luscious lips, her hand lifting to walk her fingers along his tie gently before laying across his shoulder and tugging him closer to her. She was simply playing a part and yet, she knew how much the warlock hated to be touched, his personal bubble to be invaded. Leaning forward, as if she were telling him a secret, "If you hadn't threatened me before I left your shop this morning, all you would have had to do was make the drop," her breath blows gently into his ear as she pulls back.
That was a complete lie, she actually needed Spencer for a number reasons, one: it was less suspicious to have a couple strolling these types of events, two: she couldn't very well carry the poison in this dress there were hardly any pockets and three: she needed someone with enough money to understand the ins and outs of the disgustingly rich. Not that Spencer really fell into that category but he seemed to have a keen eye for things and she was fairly certain she was going to need those appraising eyes by the end of the night. Leaning back, she watches him for a moment her hand falling back to her side before she lets out a seductive laugh, as if Spencer had just whispered her a dirty secret. "My target tonight is Fredrick Stanley, he's the man standing in the middle of those squawking peacocks by the mountain," she explains, and those squawking peacocks? A bunch of men clearly trying to win the round man's favor in the middle of them. Fredrick Stanley was a squat man, wearing a vest that was probably two sizes too small and yet, he seemed to radiate power and wealth. "He runs a sex trafficking ring here in the city and he's dumb enough to do it out of his own home," she pauses for a moment, allowing her gaze to travel over the clientele in the room, "He sets it up to look like he's auctioning off ancient artifacts that are likely stolen from museums or dig sites. It's sort of like the appetizer before the main course," her voice turns granite, though her relaxed features never change.
Looking back at him, "Mr. Stanley owes my own-boss," she corrects quickly, perhaps the first time she had ever stumbled over her words in front of Spencer, "A lot of money and refuses to pay it so I've been asked to make an example out of him," not exactly asked but close enough. Vhalla wouldn't admit it, but she had a feeling she wouldn't feel too terrible for getting rid of a piece of trash like this man, the slave trade was something she wasn't overly fond of and if she could, she would destroy it but it was impossible to do alone and to do overnight. "This asshole doesn't 'lower' himself to speak to women with respect, he believes they are only good enough to be used. This is where you come in, I need you to speak with him, to get me close enough to slip your little cocktail into his drink. Maybe offer to spend a lot of money on one of his artifacts - my goal is to get out of here before he brings out the main course," she explains, searching Spencer's face for the desire to bolt. "You don't actually have to spend any money, but the more you bet the more he's going to notice you and that's our ticket to get closer to him," she gave a little shrug, "Oh and there's a good chance he may ask you to... sell me to him for the night - that's why we are Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, he doesn't care for married women. So, I would appreciate it if you introduce me as your darling wife and to pretend to actually like me for the evening," Vhalla tacked on, her arm slipping back into his, "Anymore questions?"
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered