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
The fact his little tick showed itself was vexing in itself, but not entirely surprising. It did seem to be a habit brought out whenever she showed up, whether it was her thinly veiled threats or lies or vexations. It was one of those habits that had several faces, showing when he was particularly vexed at someone or annoyed, the difference being in the pattern which he tapped. Such a small change, such a small detail, but if he knew she had picked up on something like that? Well, he supposed he wasn't the only observant one. Didn't mean the thought wasn't slightly disturbing considering how little time overall they had spent together before tonight. He chuckled quietly at the retort, maybe quietly grudgingly admitting that maybe she wasn't the worst company to have around. He shrugged vaguely at the dark laugh, eyes scanning the room slowly.
He set his full glass on a passing waiter's tray as they made their way across the room, his infamous eyeroll making a reappearance to her little quip. He shouldn't even dignify that with a response... No, no he was going to resist rising to that bait. For once. He could resist for one goddamn time. Bite your tongue, Spencer. She's simply trying to get a rise out of you. Just focus on the task of moving forward and pretending you aren't leaping from frying pan into fire at the beck of this woman. When she suddenly drug him off, it caught him off guard. He almost jerked his arm free in alarm before finding himself tucked away in a little alcove with her, the most private area they'd been in all night. He frowned, brow furrowing as she spoke, realising what she wasn't saying.
They would have to get physical, even more so than they had been all night. He twitched his hand as she took it, as though debating whether to brush her off or let her. It was.... Uncomfortable. He listened to her, his brow furrowing a little more as she continued to speak, struggling to hold his composure and not simply leave. Though, why shouldn't he leave? He had done his part. He had made the products and he had delivered them. He had completed his portion. So WHY was he still here? Why was he letting her pull him deeper and deeper into this mess? Here's why: it was a fucking moot point. No matter how he looked at it, no matter how he examined or the angles he examined this from, he was already damned. His identity - if not his actual name, his appearance - was already known. It would be a simple matter for someone accustomed to tracking people to quickly identify who he actually was, especially if they had any sort of connections. He pushed himself even further into this mess by talking, by claiming her. He would be no more damned if he went up those stairs then if he left and made her finish the job alone. Further, if he did stay, he could at least make sure matters were handled and loose ends that could lead back to him silenced.
Also, though this was more an afterthought, she still owed him the second half of his payment.
Spencer stared at her for a long moment before looking away, dragging his hands over his face into his hair, brow furrowed deeply as he thought. His jaw was clenched tightly, probably hard enough to make the tendon stand out, and he was fairly certain his jugular was probably pumping hard enough to be visible. In other words he was stressed. Immensely so. They had ventured so far out of his comfort zone, out of any zone he had ever viewed himself, and just when he felt like he might be nearing the finish line of this whole thing, she was made to ask even more of him. One hand fell to his hip, shoving his jacket out of the way as it did, the other holding the back of his neck as he continued to not look at her, staring at some empty area of nothing. He was thankful the lights had dimmed at least, providing some miniscule break. At this point, he wanted nothing more than to be at home, drowning himself in a bottle of vodka. Or, at the very least, he wished he could have a cigarette. While not necessarily a habit, there was a certain relief the motion of smoking brought him. Maybe it was just the fact he could remove himself from a matter that was distressing him for at least a few minutes. Now, now it wasn't possible.
"At this point, I have doubts we'd be able to leave through the front door even if we stayed down here." He shrugged, a bit of resignation showing in his body language. Finally, he returned to meet and hold her gaze, seeming to search for something from her. "Miss Solarn," his voice was low, private between the two of them as he dropped their pretenses for a moment, "If we go any further, if you want me to stay here at your side to act as your defence against him, if you do not want me to simply walk out the door and leave you to handle this alone... I need something from you. I need to know that I can trust you and that you will not abandon or betray me. By dragging me into this, you have placed a very large target on me; they will not think to focus on the woman on my arm if they believe I am the one calling the shots. So, can I trust you?"
As the question left his lips, he held his right hand between them, holding it there for her to take. It was an old habit. Younger, it had been drilled into him that the look in a person's eyes and the firmness of their handshake could tell all he needed to know about a deal. Maybe he had learned that wasn't necessarily true, he'd had many firm handshakes that lead to later betrayals, but tonight he needed something. Something tangible. His eyes never left hers, holding her there, searching for the smallest flicker of hesitation, betrayal, lies. He was not going to walk any further into this unless he was sure, unless he could trust that the dagger in his back would not come from her. If he couldn't, he was would bring this charade to a very deadly conclusion. After all, he still had his poisons in his pocket and if she thought his work impressive, truthfully, she hadn't begun to see the extent of it.
"Convince me I can trust you... And I'll see this through."