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
The guy really did remind Tipson of some predator that was resting yet keenly observant. He wasn't one for making a lot of noise but he certainly was paying attention to whatever Tipson said and the young man had a feeling the guy was always paying at least a little attention to Tipson. Thankfully the guy was also watching the road.
Tipson's gaze slid back up to the roof of the car, watching it with a bored expression. Tipson kept his own face relaxed even as his mind worked through everything. At least keeping still his ribs were just a painfilled ache vs stabbing pains from moving at the same time. Still, somehow Tipson had never broken a bone before. It had been rather sickening hearing that crack sound.
Tipson had a motorcycle, sure, it was junky but he hardly ever used it anyway. He'd bought a junky old thing as it was less likely anyone would want to steal it. That said he tended to walk or take the bus more often than not. Being in someone else's car where his only options were sitting there or taking potentially major damage in jumping out was actually disconcerting even if it didn't make sense the guy would have plans to hurt him.
Still, the man said he wasn't being heroic and yet this also wasn't a practical thing in Tipson's mind. There was no reason for the guy to do this. He didn't even seem like he was trying to make friends nor asking a lot of questions for real information. Both the poor and the rich use people and that seems the key reason often for association. Well, not like Tipson would have a lot of time to figure the sword-wielding fellow out, they were already pulling up at the clinic. There were of course naïve people who played friends without anything to gain but he just had a hard time seeing Bo as one of those people.
Tipson steps out of the car, looking as Bjorn is putting the sword back on him again, "You just where that everyone huh?" He croaks out, it would be dry amusement but really it's harder to tell with how scratched the voice is.
Tipson followed Bjorn around to the side musing over this guy 'knowing people' enough to get around some parts of the normal procedure. How often did he come here? Tipson shrugged, "I'm not fidgety but," he had a hold flamboyant response to say but his throat demanded he at least keeps the words short, "no paperwork." Not that he couldn't deal with the paperwork but what human ever put on the planet ever enjoyed paperwork?
Tipson followed him in and reluctantly kept quieter. Was there any injury worst for Tipson than one that made talking difficult? When a doctor invited him into one of their rooms he went in, the door closing behind him. There was an indignant "ow!" a few seconds later, "Ow! Hey!" heard through the door at one point but otherwise no louder sounds. Tipson walked out later, a little paper with his prescription medicine written down.
Tipson smirked at Bo still being there as he left the room. Sure, the guy had talked about giving him that box after the doctor's office but Tipson wasn't used to anyone waiting for him other than business transactions. Even if it shouldn't surprise him the guy was there it was weird, and had the back of Tipson's neck crawling with again wondering what the man really wanted?
"Looks like I live," the casualness in the voice suggested it was just that dry humor, Tipson hadn't expected to die, "guess that means I get the box now?" Tipson shoved the prescription paper in a back pocket.