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
This night seemed hellbent on completely altering their dealer-client relationship, didn't it? Spencer had always tried to keep that line between business relationships in as a clear, bold, impregnable one, whether it was client or coworker. Now, he seemed to have blurred lines all over the damned place. There was Askaree, who was supposed to be nothing more than the 'muscle', the courier even, for the business they worked together but they had spent nearly as much time out of work together as in it. That realisation was chilling in its own right. Then there was Miss Solarn. Miss Solarn who came from thin air and had disappeared back into it. Only to reappear and upend their working relationship by throwing all her faith that he, virtually a totally stranger, would play along with her for this cockeyed mission. He couldn't tell whether that made her absolutely fucking mad or a virtual genius that she had found a way to read him so well. Maybe he needed to find out exactly what was being said about his reputation that was attracting this insanity into his life.
Unless it was suddenly the new norm in business to lock lips with your associates, which if that was the case maybe Spencer would need to look into an early retirement. Lord knows he could afford to after this. Shame he wouldn't.
Spencer felt her grip tighten on his arm, resisting the urge to glance at her as she did so. He really wanted to tell her to relax, at least just a bit, but kept his complaints silent. Again, time and place were really working against him tonight. Still, he was a bit amused that his little comment about the ring seemed to annoy her. Good, it was her turn to experience some slight aggravation for pulling him unwittingly into this mess. He let the amusement at her vexation quirk his lips up slightly, but that amusement quickly vanished when her hold when from being slightly firm to - actually that's rather painful. However, he couldn't exactly show that or shake her off of him. That would likely only draw more unwanted attention. So instead he was left to maintain his mask, though he may start seeing if it would be possible to get her to stop clinging to him. She was going to leave a hand shaped bruise on his bicep at this rate. Or a burn.
It wasn't that he just didn't trust her (he didn't know her well enough to do that) but he just wasn't sure how controlled her powers were. He'd see less powerful witches wreak havoc with something far less destructive than fire.
Oh come, she was sounding like she thought him little above the animals in this room. Simply because he didn't give something didn't mean he didn't know how to do so. He was still a functional member of society, even if he bent its rules to suit his purposes. Besides, for as much as she irritated and irked him, he wasn't blind. She had attractive qualities about her, even if they were ruined by that unending attitude. When her eyes flashed their irritation at him, his eyebrow arched as the corner of his mouth tugged upward in a small smirk before he smoothed his expression to look back toward Andrew. Yes, he entirely expected he would have to face her indignation at this later tonight, but she was the one that told him to play a role. It wasn't his fault she pulled him into this loathsome pit of humanity for it. Besides, what did he have to gain from acting a naïve, smitten fool. Did she even think him capable of playing the lovelorn husband wiling to deliver the world on a platter for her? Hardly.
"She stays with me." He said, the irritation coloring his tone as his hold on her tightens ever so minutely. Then they were moving on, Andrew's next words hanging in the air a bit longer than Spencer would like to admit. Absently, his fingertips drummed against her hip, that nervous tick of his finally rearing its head as the stress of the situation seemed to continually increase with no break in sight. He caught himself after only a few seconds, forcing the motion to stop. Grand, he most likely made himself an enemy tonight. She had better be good at what she did. He knew the cover wouldn't last beyond tonight, if it even survived the night (of which he was doubting it would).
"Hm, but you did so indulge in it at our wedding, my darling wife." He murmured with amusement, glancing toward her, before rolling his eyes as she declared her 'rightness'. He had doubts about that but it seemed like a waste of energy to argue that. "I believe between the two of us, you are far more likely to be the optimistic one." He picked up a glass of bourbon from the bartender, leaning against the bar top as she turned to face, keeping Stanley and his ilk in the corner of his vision.
"Hm, if I must spend it on these... antiques. Hardly seems worthwhile for the money though, he grumbled, frowning slightly before shaking his head. Right time to find some useless object to spen- Well, that thought was just interrupted. The insult was worn on his face, his relaxed posture immediately tensing with some unspoken protest as he glared at her. Then he noticed the amusement in her look, that hint of teasing, that just made him realise... "Fucking child," he grumbled under his breath, tipping his glass back while he pulled his indignation back under control as well as maybe a hint of embarrassment that she had so successfully riled him with one stupid comment. As a microphone rumbled the announcement about the bidding to begin, Spencer tossed back was left in his cup, letting it burn all the way down while he quickly waved for a refill. This one, however, he simply held, mimicking her champagne glass.
"How many pla-" He started to protest before cutting himself off, eyes trailing after Stanley and the young woman next to him. She looked far too young to be with a man of his age, or really to even be here tonight. When she presented the options, Spencer could almost feel half of him nearly despair. If he elected to stay down here where it was most likely to be far safer than whatever was upstairs but then he was choosing to turn a blind eye to the young woman's potential abuse, if what she said was true. Honestly, he had no reason to trust her, she could merely be spinning lies that suit her purpose, but on the other hand for all the trouble she had caused, he had to admit she hadn't really given him a reason to believe she was the type to spin such tales. But he was no hero. He was not some hidden good man, striving to better the world around him. He was a death dealer, someone who gave these crooked reapers their tools to accomplish the task. On the other hand, he went with this plan created on the fly, the one they weren't even sure if it was true... There was no guarantee it would work. There was no guarantee it was true. There was the increased risk of danger to them once they left this public area, a risk he was willing to consider very real considering he had that fucking veiled threat hanging over his head still.
His eyes stayed focused on the direction of the staircase, the inner turmoil not showing on his face other than the way his eyes seemed to dart between the crowd and the stairs, occasionally flicking to her. Seconds were ticking by, it was time to make a decision. What decision? Goddammit, why did he agree to this - No, there was no point in dwelling on that. That was long since gone, had been done since the moment he agreed to go along with this insanity. And, he had to admit he had agreed at some point. He wasn't sure when he had agreed but again, it was irrelevant now. He had.
"I'm starting to worry how far you're going to take this charade." He mumbled around a heavy sigh, hand on pressing against her lower back as he began guiding them toward the stairs. The complaint rang empty, however, something said merely to fill a void because he didn't know how else to state he was, for some reason, misplacing his caution tonight and trusting her on this. God why was he trusting her this.
At least this way he didn't have to bid on that atrocity, he mused to himself as the artifact she had dared to imply would look good in his dining room went up for the auction. Hideous.