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
There was a graceful perfection to her even as she reclined within that chair. Her syvlete form a picture of composure and control as Darcy's hands near obediently begun to shuffle those cards with a practiced ease. She had ensnared him in her game. A gamble that so threatened to give him nothing but a loss no matter its outcome. Her victory in this would surely see her deny him that ultimate prize he had been gifted those months ago, yet her loss would surely inspire her displeasure in the extreme. To simply let her win, to insult her ability to achieve her own victory would be a grave error in turn. Those odds were not in his favour. Not for any outcome save, perhaps, from walking away from that game altogether and yet to do so would do nothing but display his own weakness, his own lack of spine and oh how well he knew his beloved loathed such traits within a man. He had little choice but to gamble with her, to threaten to appease and displease her all at once and yet oh how his cunning mind relished these mental gymnastics. That animalistic, predatory, dominant part of himself relished these games. Had she not raised him to be this very thing? Was he anything but a creature of her own making and carved by her own manicured hand? The rest of the room had become fixated upon the vampiric pair at its center. Several beings seemed to hold their breaths as those cards were dealt. The vast majority of those onlookers hardly bothered to pretend to look away as they watched on with trepidation. Darcy could taste their fear within the air. Like a delicate tendril upon his tongue. It was hardly for his life they feared. Not when he had forced them time and again to submit to his own rule and iron fist. No. They feared Risque's wrath. They feared her temper and the delicate balance of their own lives that hung within those cards should the Queen of the Damned take but any disdain from the outcome that hung within fate's grip alone.
Darcy flipped those dealt cards with ease, offering them both a view of the numbers they had to work with. His own draw was better. Risque's was hardly impossible to win from, a chance still existed and yet her odds were more perilous. Risque seemed to linger upn her decision for barely a moment before her hand rapped neatly at the table. That soft sound seemed somehow louder within that room of baited breath and racing hearts. The tension thick enough to slice with a knife and yet how Darcy relished it all at once. The predator within himself practically...purring at those racing hearts around them and yet he forced his own mind to fixate upon that task at hand and his mates demand for another card. She had no choice but to ask for it. To simply stand would afford him victory and yet he was near certain he already knew what that card was likely to be. Darcy's own hand reached forward, yet the Southern Cowboy so hardly moved to flip those cards. Rather, his hand came to rest atop the deck, his mismatched gaze lifting to meet his lover's own in a moment of boldness he had never truly dared before. His lips parted, that southern drawl near imploring her to abandon that game. She would not win. How certain his words were. Like a promise.
Risque's own gaze narrowed sharply upon him. That very look alone so often enough to prompt him to avert his own gaze in submission. His tongue brushed at his lips. That alone, perhaps, the only gesture of...discontent he was so willing to offer as his gaze remained upon her own. That uttered warning left to hang within the air. That game- had become his own. Darcy, here and now, was content to dare her to continue. She had demanded to play him, had she not? To offer her anything less than the game she demanded would be an insult. This was the game as he played it. As he had done for centuries. The game that had made him....famous in the Southern states he had hailed from. And what was a game of Blackjack without a...bluff? His sudden insistence that he might well have been lying seemed to prompt but another moment of hesitation in his lover as she considered those words. Darcy, for near the first time in their tumultuous relationship, dared to goad Risque as she had goaded him so many times before. The Southern cowboy, for the first time, so daring to slide but a mere tow over that line he had surely pressed upon but never crossed.
Risque lent further forward then. Her accented words seemed to hum in the heavy silence. That faint music that played having become nearly forgotten as it faded into the background. Daring words, she said before her gaze met his own once more with unflinching assurance and insistent command. Hit. That very room seemed to lean forward as Darcy reached to do as commanded and flip over that final drawn card. A nine. That number, as he had anticipated, was too high. Risque had lost. The very room seemed to freeze in place. No single soul dared to move as if each being feared but a single movement might unleash their Queens disdain upon them. Darcy's mismatched gaze hardly wavered from the hypnotic blue of his lovers' own as that southern drawl left him once more. He never lied to her. Surely she knew that by now. That Southern Cowboy, for the first time, so content to turn those mental gymnastics upon his lover with those softly uttered words and lack of submission within his gaze. He had only done as she asked, hadn't he? Or was this, perhaps, the vaguest of challenges to her authority? Would he ever be so daring as that? Perhaps it was merely a test in turn. Darcy, here and now, so content to remain silent as his gaze watched his lover intently. The vampiric cowboy readying himself to dodge her blow should she react with violent intent. He had not survived so long at her side, after all, by underestimating her. Her mood was...precarious. Especially now. Perhaps he had been...too bold.
Risque's words were uttered loud enough for that room at large to hear and yet- they held no emotion. They gave nothing away. Her features, in turn, offered him no indication of her intention. That silence persisted for several moments more before a sharp, singular command left her lips. Come with me. Those words left not room for question or doubt. Darcy very near resigned to his fate as the room around them stirred nervously. How certain they were that they looked upon a dead man walking. Perhaps his gamble had not paid off, not this time. He was sure to end up upon her silvered wall. A punishment he had avoided for centuries now. Her words were like a leash, tightening around the silver-coloured chain at his throat. Risque turned to stride from that room as Darcy pushed back from the table in turn- the Southern Cowboy left to follow in her wake as obediently followed. Darcy, here and now, hardly risking to displease her further then perhaps he had already done. How sure he was to remember this lesson she was surely bound to teach. Risque led that way to her office then, Darcy near bracing himself for that wall and yet- she moved past it. Risque instead gliding with feline grace toward another door at the back of the room, one that led down and into her personal garage. That wariness within the cowboy growing all the more. How quickly those tables had turned. Darcy, this time, held upon that precarious edge of a game he could not command.
Risque paused outside that garage. The sound of their footsteps echoing up that stairway still. Darcy, this time, averting his gaze from her own obediently. They were, after all, no longer within his domain. This place was so entirely Risque's own. Yet why...had she brought him to the garage of all places? His name uttered into that sudden silence like the crack of a whip, his gaze, this time, lifting obediently to her own though she hardly offered him a look in return. Darcy offered little more than silence before Risque abruptly pivoted in place. His Mistress so declaring she loathed losing.
His response was near instinctive. A ready agreement to her declaration. It was, after all, nothing but true. She was loath to lose and how well he knew it. Yet surely, to have let her win would have been an equal folly? A fool's play. That whole game had been a fools match! One he had been destined to lose in some fashion from the very beginning and yet he had dared to challenge her still. To play her as she demanded to be played. How conflicting those thoughts were within his mind. Her words came again then. Her question was distinct and yet rhetorical. How unwise it would be to answer. Darcy navigated that singular trap with ease as he merely remained silent. Risque answering that question a moment later. What did she hate more than losing? A liar. A momentary.....confusion danced like a shadow upon his own features. Her words caught him by surprise. How readily he worked to hide that wariness that clung to him and yet how certain he was she saw it all the same. His own mind turned, quickly seeking to find footing on that ever unbalanced ground she offered. Perhaps she did not seek to punish his daring even if that singular moment had been near the most profound they had ever shared. That balance of power having wavered for but even a breath. It had been...addictive. He had enjoyed it and yet how certain he had been that he would be made to pay for it.
Risque moved like a blur. Darcy's own vampiric reflexes, fast as they were, were incapable of competing with the sheer speed and strength of his far older mate. Age, after all, so afforded vampires their power- and Risque was centuries older then himself. Darcy offered nearly no chance to avoid that strike as it came. His figure was thrown backwards and into the nearest mirror, the glass shattering behind him as the very garage wall groaned in protest from the force of the impact. Her form pressed agianst his own. Her slender figure held all the strength of iron within each muscle as she pinned him forcibly. How he loathed to be pinned down. His own dominance near rioting agianst it as each muscle within hiis figure tensed in readiness for retaliation- a sensation he forced downward. A sheer battle of strength on strength was not a battle he would win. That tense-ness, that fight, was near obediently.....dropped from his figure. Darcy so physically yielded to her own dominance here and now. Even despite that wariness that lingered upon him still. His body physically held down, forced to take whatever she deemed to give and yet......how he relished in her closeness all at once. That dominant side to himself so quickly giving way to something else entirely. Those emotions within him a conflicted, entangled web he could so hardly control. The scent of her, the feel of her agianst him was...captivating. How he desired to reach for her. Her words were near intimate, sultry, a whisper that offered so much. A torment he fell for each and every time. How he hardly feared her in any sense. Darcy so craved her attention even if he hardly knew just what they might bring. The southern vampire, in that moment, was near oblivious to that twisted, depravity of his own mind- that blend of dominance and yield and lust twisting into one as he had been so very conditioned to be.
Close your eyes.
Surprise once more found his features.. This was...unexpected. This was a game he did not know. One she had not played before. Yet- how certain he was that disobeying her would hardly be received well. Her hips pressed further agianst him as her hand reached for his own- as if she had already guessed at his very thoughts. Her hand forcibly held his own back agianst the wall, preventing him from reaching for her.Touch, it seemed, was at her discretion alone. Her other hand had disappeared from view though what she reached for he hardly knew. His figure so tensed but slightly once more beneath her femanien frame as he finally did as command. His eyes closing. Robbing him of even that affinity- along with his sight. Though whether such a thing was blind trust or wilful obedience so remained to be seen.
"As yar wish."
Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet
Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth