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 witch has a sneaking suspicion Spencer was enjoying this little power play, his fingers grasping her chin to inspect her. The edged smile she gives him merely causes his smirk to grow and though she wanted to stomp on his feet like nothing more than a child, she refrains from doing so. When he finally releases her and states that he was, in fact, not bartering his fake wife off for the evening, she relaxes... briefly. When Andrew hedges on about buying her, she has to refrain herself from closing the distance and either setting him on fire or kicking him in the balls. Vhalla, instead, used that as a distraction, imaging herself doing both of those things to this pathetic man. She's torn out of her violent thoughts when Spencer suddenly tightens his grip on her, Vhalla tipping her head back to look at him with a mildly curious look. It was one thing for "Mr. Johnson" to state that he would not be bartering his wife and whole new thing when his irritated voice comes out almost possessive. She blinks. Once. Twice. But that's all she gives Spencer as her gaze returns to the henchman. If she were a normal girl, she might have blushed, but she wasn't, and she didn't blush. Well, at least with comments anyways.
She's momentarily distracted by the drumming of his fingers on her hip, though she doesn't look at him this time, her eyes focusing elsewhere for the moment. She realizes, instantly the nervousness of that movement and for a moment, a small shred of relief floats through her. She was wondering if he actually felt nervousness at all, sure... pissed off and annoyed at the situation but she was surprisingly thankful for that small nervous tick. At least she managed to confirm he still valued his life in these interesting circumstances. He stops only after a moment as they begin to make their way to the bar, her comment of disdain flowing through her lips. He's quick to respond, a surprisingly witty man she supposed, "True," she shrugs, a pale shoulder lifting slightly, "And indulged I did," she purrs, looking back at him, her blue eyes mirroring the amusement. She comments on his optimism casually and his response actually pulls a dark laugh from her, "Oh, trust me darling - I'm hardly optimistic," she says though she doesn't feel inclined to explain.
She gently fingers the stem of the champagne flute, one hand wrapped around her stomach, propping her elbow up that's holding the glass. Her weight is shifted to her right side, a hip jutting out in a manner that only seems far more provocative with the slit that climbs her leg. Her pale leg is bared to the dim light and there are a multitude of scars the decorate the limb, though they are hardly visible unless you were looking hard. The murmuring of Spencer draws her attention briefly as he grabs a glass of bourbon. Oh, she was jealous. She wouldn't mind having that burn it's way down her chest right about now. His attention is distracted for the moment and she can't help but let the little quip about his kissing habits slide, the simper that stretches across her lips only widens as his gaze snaps to her - the irritation flaring wildly. It's enough that Vhalla laughs quietly, unable to help herself, a small shake of her head as Spencer insults her. He busies himself with the bourbon, taking a deep swallow and she can't help but watch him. Was that embarrassment she saw? It was hard to tell, though she doesn't have long to study his face as the lights dim and the crackling of the microphone fills the hall.
The first round of bidding starts as they stand their, each of them holding a glass before she notices suddenly that Stanley was no longer by the fountain. Her eyes darting back and forth across the room, only to find him at the bottom of the stairs. She curses under her breath, reaching for Spencer, the flute being set down on the bar. Vhalla quickly presents the options and the man is remarkably still, even as she explains the potential purchase of a room. It felt like an eternity for Spencer to decide and yet, it was only mere seconds before that sigh escapes his lips, his hand finding her lower back to propel her forward. His words causing her to look up at him, a wicked smile on her lips, "Darling, I won't take your v-card if that's what you're worried about," she throws him a sultry wink, though it fades after a moment. They almost reach the bottom of the stairs when Vhal suddenly reacts up and tugs at his arm to pull them around the corner, into a small alcove that hides them.
"I don't think you understand, it's not like we can approach someone and ask, we have to be offered the room," she states, taking a step back to relax her back into the wall, her hand dropping from Spencer's arm, folding them gently around her stomach as she gives him a serious look, "We have to look the part," she hedges, her voice tight, a steady hand reaching up after a moment to grasp onto his hand, pulling him towards her gently. She's hardly holding onto him tight, it would be easy for him to pull his hand away and they were hidden for the most part. It was, perhaps, one of the only times he could jerk away from her tonight. Not that she would blame him, the night had been so thoroughly altered that she was amazed he hadn't found a way to escape. Still, her blue eyes are patient, burning with a serious intensity, "This is your one and only chance to change your mind and stay down here because after we walk up those stairs I have a feeling we won't be exiting through the front doors," she admits, hardly wanting to lie to him about this.
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered