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.
What You'll Find Here
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.
What You'll Find Here
Edge of the Circle
Cull & Pistol
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.
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.
I am what she made me her words are spiderwebs inside my head
It was quiet. Away from the bar. Away from the cats. Away from the other vampires. This was a distinctly rare night. A night off. One of the very few Darcy was ever afforded. More by his own choice then any denial on the part of Risque to give it. Not that Darcy was fool enough to request it all the same. With that pandemic spreading through the mortal races the city and its nightlife had been reduced to a veritable standstill. Syn, while legally allowed to open, was hardly permitted to have anywhere near the numbers it had once supported in that vibrant club. The bar was reduced to a pathetic few stragglers and spineless vampires too nervous to hunt for themselves and who paid a premium for the blood Syn served. They were hardly worth glambling agianst. Hardly worth Darcy's time. Risques own loathing of disease had seen the Vampiric Queen remain within her own office- refusing near all of those appointments and declaring that evening one for her nails. Darcy, for tonight alone, permitted to do as he pleased. The Southern Vampire had retreated into the depths of Syn and the garage that rested beneath it. That workshop within long having been Darcy's territory alone. The vampire, tonight, having set to working on one of several motorcycles he had taken to repairing. He could fix those machines near instantly with his own affinity and yet there was something almost.....calming in repairing those machines by hand. With the lack of patrons to gamble with Darcy found his mind near craved a distraction. The puzzle of that engine was a curb tohis boredom, an offset to his ever-present hunger, something to keep himself busy and soothe the violent intent that so constantly seemed to gnaw at his patience. Darcy was in a distinctly rare....peaceable mood. The man having been uninterrupted for several hours now.
Those usual, smart outfits Risque required of him (and often selected herself), had been discarded in favour of an old pair of denim jeans and and a grey singlet, its edges stained with grease from the engine he'd pulled apart only moments ago to clean. It's pieces laying strewn on the fabric beside him. Darcy knelt beside that bike, the wrench in his hand working to tighten several pieces in place. The vampire glanced briefly upward and toward the tv that rested above the workbench on the far wall. Those Formula One races had been suspended in the wake of that fucking virus. The sports channel, tonight, playing the 'Ten Best Races Of All Time' instead of that live event. Hmmm. Maybe it wasn't entirely so bad. Some of those races from yesteryear had been impressive enough. Even if Formula One was hardly his favoured sport. It would do, for now. Darcy's gaze shifted back to the machine in front of him, the vampire studisouly studying those pieces before that near nagging...dryness to his throat prompted him to fish his phone from his back pocket. His fingers tapped briefly at the screen. His screen savour, nothing less then Risque herself, faded into the background as he hit that number. The phone picking up a moment later as Ian, the bartender, answered the call. What is it, Darcy?
"Im 'ungry send me somethin' down. It better not be fuckin' col dis time, Ian."
Darcy hung up that phone before the other vampire could offer him any kind of response. The Southern man expecting nothing short of total obedience from those vampires beneath him. His attention returned to that bike. Darcy had only just begun to consider what new parts were needed when the door at the far end of the garage opened. How he hardly needed to turn to know exactly who that was. Tetradore's scent was near...potent. That very odour prompted his metaphorical heckles to rise in irritation. Why was that fucking cat even here tonight? Risque had no need to summon him. She had no intention of any business this evening. Then again, it was hardly unusual for his lover to summon her beloved pet for no reason at all. Tetradore had been forced to wait for hours on end at that bar, more then once, only for Risque to, seemingly, forget the man entirely. Yet how well Darcy knew his mate. She did nothing without a reason. Tetradore's punishment tonight, it seemed, to be summoned to that bar and made to wait the entire night for what, Darcy suspected, was nothing at all and yet that uncertainty would gnaw at Tetradore all the same. Even if the little wretch pretended it didn't. Of everyone in that bar though- did Ian truly have to send him.
A low and yet audible growl rose within the depths of Darcy's throat and yet the vampire hardly rose from his position beside the bike. He could smell the blood-filled glass in Tetradore's hand and yet the little shit was liable to pour it onto the fucking ground if the mood struck him. Darcy's head merely nodded toward that work bench. The silver-coloured chain around his own neck, that mark of Risque's continued ownership over him, jingled slightly with that action. Darcy's mismatched gaze continued to eye Tetradore darkly, as if daring the man to spill even a drop of that blood before placing it on the bench.
"Put dat down den piss off."
Darcy's attention shifted back to that bike. Tetradore all but forgotten for several moments before the realization that Kitty King was still standing there prompted his attention once more. Tetradore was watching the television. Why did everything that fucking man did try his patience? It was like he had been born to aggravate him as much as fucking possible. His mere existence was...rage inducing.
That single word was uttered sharply, Darcy's hand held out expectantly. The Vampire clearly expected Tetradore to obey that command. Either the Panther was ignoring him, or he'd suddenly gotten deaf. How convenient.
That shout was very near a snarl. That, in the least, finally seeming to gain the other man's attention.
"If yar gunna fuckin' stand dare like a moron yar can' work. Screwdriver. Yar was fuckin' faster at dis when yar was ten, Tetty-Bear. Yar was useful back den. After yar stopped bein' a whiny little shit."
That a terrified ten year old so newly torn from his family had perhaps had every reason to be 'whiny' had hardly occurred to Darcy. The vampires hand held out expectantly once more.