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
get up. Get up. GET UP.
The whispers started their fateful return. They crept in quietly, at first. A buzzing few words here and then a few more there. But the longer she lingered, the louder they threatened to become. "Not now, goddamn it." He muttered under his breath, a grimy open palm reeling into a tight fist, if only for a second. He blinked his bright blue eyes in rapid succession, focusing his gaze on the pretty, dark-haired girl who was either real or not at all, sitting across from him. The same sensation persisted since she revealed herself - calm. Whoever she was, she made him feel safe. Clearly, it didn't take much.
A simper of a smile crossed his chapped lips when she quipped back with a clever retort. That's something only a dreamed up girl would say. He winced again, momentarily, his hand balling again and then relenting. "So what do I call you, made-up girl?" He asked out loud, his gaze drifting to the near empty contents of his coffee. "I'm Ben," Ben said, and tossed back the mug one more time, finishing off the now lukewarm beverage.
He grabbed feverishly for his worn gloves next, quickly moving to hide his sensitive mutts, before allowing the fingers of one of hand root around in his pocket for some notes. He slapped the crumpled cash onto the table. The finicky waitress wouldn't appreciate the pound, but wasn't it carrying higher than the dollar these days, anyway? It was all he had, so it was what she'd get, whether her thoughts revealed her displeasure or not.
His gaze followed the girl's then, watching with interest as she investigated his clippings. The whispers were getting louder, and his head jerked to the window as he he tried to tune them out. The streets weren't so dark anymore. More bodies were mingling about. Soon, the morning rush would be upon them. The waitress - and the man in the kitchen - hoped he'd be gone by then.
Ben snapped his head back when the girl offered to help. He recoiled his now gloved hands from the table, hiding them in his damp lap. But an eyebrow raised at her offer. "I'm chuffed to bits." He said with a jolly grin.
Ben Collins | Fairy | Vinyl