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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
The look of utter outrage that crosses the warlock's features, Vhalla's lips only widening into a genuine smile of humor. It was particularly easy to get under his skin much to the witch's delight. If he didn't give her such wonderful reactions she might not harass him as much but alas, it seemed impossible. "Oooh, a lover's quarrel," she breathes with a quiet laugh, just as he returns his gaze towards her, Vhalla blinking innocently up through long lashes, "Darling, I couldn't very well bring a suitcase full of money here, now could I?" She purrs, her fingers wrapped around his bicep, drumming lightly. "Anyways, our home isn't as tightly sealed against robberies," she shrugs casually, the loose smile remaining on her painted lips, "Perhaps we can discuss this when we retire for the night?" She muses thoughtfully but doesn't really give him an option as they continue their stroll through the gilded room.
The humor vanishes instantly from her features as he makes his joke and though it takes her only a few moments to regain control of her composure, she can feel Spencer's eyes searching her face trying to deduce her reaction. Damn. She was thankful to have him here, to observe the night but he was catching on to more of her than she wanted him to know. At least, he didn't seem like the one to pry. He doesn't respond - and for that the assassin is grateful, it gives her an extra second to work on rebuilding the rest of her composure though, its entirely in vain as she catches a lanky man strolling their way with a purpose. Swiftly, she's turning towards Spencer, her hand releasing his bicep before looping them around his neck. He was so tall, even with heels on, she had to stand on her tip toes. Her red clad body pushed roughly against him as she stares at him, the edge of panic dancing in her eyes as she makes her demands.
She's partially aware of the surprise on his face, his lips parting and the hovering of hands behind her. Instinctively, she presses harder into him, her toned body coiled around him tensely. Part of her was almost certain he was about to push her away, to refuse even after she offered him more money. Her body is rigid, heart fluttering in her chest while she waits the excruciating long second before his hands settle on her hips. Relief is palpable in her face as she releases a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. When he brings a hand up slowly to cup her cheek, Spencer tilting her head back even farther, she can't help but part her lips beneath the administration's of his thumb. It was surprisingly sensual - Vhalla hardly taking Spencer as the type and yet, here he was actually playing along. Whatever was written on her face causes Spencer to smirk which only draws a slight crease between her brows. As he leans towards her, she tugs gently against his neck as if she were impatient to kiss him, only for him to pause, a hairs breadth apart.
Vhalla hadn't realize her blue gaze had been drawn to his lips only for them to flick upwards into his eyes in surprise. Was he playing her? He wouldn't really sell her to Stanley... would he? Yet, his hand seemed to adjust on her hip as if he had been the one to drag her body against him. His quiet words have her brows arching in surprise briefly before he's crushing his lips against hers. She's faintly aware of the way he moves the hand that's cupping her cheek to the back of her head, abruptly thankful her hair was down and not piled on the top of her head. Blood roars through her veins, going so far as to color her cheeks giving her face a nice glow as her red lips move in time with his. She's not exactly sure what she's doing as her hand unfold from one another, one gripping the back of his neck hard the other somehow dragging itself up into his hair. Spencer was a surprisingly... good kisser, not that she would ever admit that to him. In fact, she added it to her to do list to insult him about it tonight at some point.
When they finally broke away, Vhal's breathing was hitched slightly, cheeks colored as she falls back onto her heel clad feet. Her hands were the last to disentangle from his hair, allowing her fingers to drag down his shoulders and to continue down his chest slowly. The man was just approaching them as she carefully slides her arm back into Spencer's, going so far as to rest her head against his shoulder, carefully avoiding the warlock's eye contact so she could get her broken composure put back together. It was, perhaps, a good thing the matte lipstick she wore was waterproof, it didn't move an inch from her lips and when she tosses a quick glance at Spencer, she confirms there's nothing smeared across his face. Damn. She might actually have to write a review about the lipstick. Pushing the thought aside, she dons that look of adoration once more, the henchman coming to a stop in front of the couple. The man was tall, lanky and greying at the temples - though, other than that he was unremarkable. "Mr. Johnson, a pleasure to have you with us tonight," he greets, entirely ignoring Vhalla at his side. Though she had expected it, she still couldn't help but feel the annoyance that threatened to sleep through her lips. How she hated men who thought women were inferior to them, if only he knew she could literally turn him into ash from the inside out. Tempering her agitation, she doesn't allow it an inch to move, even as the stranger continues, "My name is Andrew and Mr. Stanley has asked that I provide you any assistance you may need," he extends a hand, waiting for Spencer to take it before dropping it by his side.
"The guest list states that this lovely woman is your wife, Mrs. Johnson," he leads, with barely a glance in her direction, "Though, I don't see any... rings," he hedges, pausing for only a moment, "Were you hoping to barter with her tonight? I can assure you that Mr. Stanley can provide anything you could ever need." And despite all her training, her years of maintaining a mask - it's difficult to control the rage that boils in the pit of her stomach, the fire churning within her, smoke curling like acid in her mouth. Vhalla was not a good person and yet, these men sickened her, everything about them was wrong. If she felt like she could get away with it, she would burn the whole god damn mansion to the ground. It takes her only a moment to cool herself enough, to run through the different scenarios in her mind. Clearly, they had someone watching them since they walked through the door, they must not have seemed like a real couple, even after that... kiss. Still, she knew that Stanley would continue to pester "Mr. Johnson" to purchase her unless Spencer did something drastic. What? She had no idea - if she were being quite frank, she was out of ideas and could only pray Spencer had something up his sleeve or she would not be enjoying the rest of her evening.
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered