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
my monsters are realthey're trained how to kill, these monsters can fight
they'll never say die, there's no goin' back
if I get trapped I'll never heal
The telling beep of Risque's bedroom door drew the emerald hue of the Alpha's eyes upwards as his Mistress stepped into her quarters. Hardly a syllable left her lips as she placed the objects within her hand down upon her table and likewise, Tetradore too kept his silence. He was aware of the glance of her blue eyes cast in his direction - their gazes met for but a brief moment before his entire existence was once again ignored. This was an act he was all too used to, patience nothing but a requirement when it came to his Mistress. To rush her in any means would be nothing but folly, lest she decided to dedicate too much of her attention towards him when he truly wanted none of it at all. Rather, the vibrancy of his irises followed her throughout the room, the Alpha simply watching in silent observation as she studiously contemplated her choice of beverage for her evening. How many bottles she had to choose from - none truly appealing to the Were-King in turn. He thought strikingly little of the wine bottle she'd plucked from the depths of her cabinet, nor the crystalline glass she'd taken with it.
The soft sound of the cork popping off filled the room before Risque moved to stand before a full-length mirror. Truly, Tetradore hardly understood what of her appearance there was to adjust - she wore so strikingly little. The lacey gown was sheer enough to expose what lay underneath, the strappy bondage like undergarments enough to make most men stare with lustful desires - most. Tetradore was so strikingly used to seeing the entirety of his Mistress' physique from an astoundingly young age. He knew what she felt like in every definition of the word and he wanted very little to do with any of it. A soft breath left his lips as he waited, his fingers intertwined within one another as he leaned his elbows upon his knees. He was well aware of the silver talons that adorned her fingers, the woman almost seemingly meticulous in placing each one on within his view. That hardly boded well for him, that soft humming upon her lips hardly fooled the feline. There was a dangerous tenseness within the air that surrounded her, one his instincts caught onto much like the other felines in the room that hid from their finicky Mistress.
Finally, nearly a half-hour later, she reached for her wine bottle, pouring herself a glass before the resonating sound of her silver-tipped nails upon the crystal drew Tetradore's emerald eyes upwards from his idle tracing of the lines in the wood underfoot. He watched as she rotated her wrist, the liquid within her wine glass shifting with the movement before it was brought to her lips to savor. That poised moment was fleeting, however, before finally the weight of her gaze turned towards him. He watched as she approached him, the sound of her heels clicking against the wooden floors sounded...unusually loud in the quietness that surrounded them. In but moments, she stood before him, the callousness of her gaze eying him expectantly. He knew what she wanted from him, that greeting one he so rarely provided her in its entirety. The frigidness in the depths of her irises so quickly turned near disapproving as the Alpha remained still within his seat. He was well aware of the way her attention seemed to linger upon him and yet, Tetradore refused to even so much as flinch beneath the weight of her gaze.
There was a sharpness to her soprano lyrics, despite the two singular words she uttered. His tongue skirted across his bottom lip, that alone the only display of his lingering anxiety as he glanced up at her. She continued to chide him with an almost demanding tone, though how many times had she asked him that very question - had he forgotten his 'training'. No, he certainly had not, he merely refused to give into it. It was the mention of his hoodie, however, that drew Tetradore's gaze downwards, the corner of his lips tilted down in a slight frown and yet, this was hardly a battle he wished to fight. It would not end well for him, like so many of late hadn't either. "Mistress." He muttered softly, the bright emerald of his gaze briefly turned downward and away from her in a hint of submissiveness. That half-assed greeting was the most common she received from him, even if Tetradore hated even that glimpse of obedience. Still, he wanted to give her little reason to focus her mood upon him. He reached for the bottom of his hoodie, peeling the comfortable fleece material off of his frame only to deposit it in a gentle heap beside him on the lounge. His gaze remained focused upon her shoes, Tetradore knew better than to look up at her now, the Alpha simply...waiting...for whatever might come next.