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
you could rattle the stars.
you could do anything,
if only you dared
God she was bored. So bored she was sure her brain was going to melt right out of her ears and pool on the floor below her. The woman hanging upside down over the bed, white hair touching the ground as the not so pleasant feeling of blood rushes to her head. Still, she continues to scroll through her phone, not really looking for anything in particular just hoping to pass the time. She was tired of reading books and she was tired of laying low, it had been weeks since she finished her last job, a job that she may or may not have earned a few lashing from Ivan since she blew up the whole fucking building. The rage of that night still woke her up at night, still managed to coat her tongue in fire and maybe, just maybe singed a few of the bed sheets. She was on her third set over the last two weeks. Releasing a groan, she allows gravity to take over as she slides off the bed, head tucking, as she falls ungracefully to the floor with a thump. Grunting, she lays there for a moment longer before pushing herself to a standing position, the woman clothed in a long t-shirt and boxer shorts as she trudges to the bathroom attached to her room, stripping the two articles of clothing off before heading towards the absurdly massive bathtub sunk into the floor. Cranking the water on, she slips into the already filling tub, the hot water caressing her skin as it sends a wave of goosebumps down her flesh. She shivers, the way you do when your body has a sudden temperature change, before dropping fully into the tub, head leaning back and eyes closing.
Vhalla isn't sure how long she soaked for, she only knew it had to have been awhile, considering the darkness that filtered through the high windows. Sighing, she pulls herself out of the water, her body dripping with water as she waltzes back into the room, the witch dripping water everywhere as she doesn't deign to wrap herself in a towel. Retrieving her fallen phone from the ground, she scrolls through it once more before realizing she desperately wanted a drink and her liquor cabinet was empty. Grunting in annoyance, a familiar name comes across her contacts, only for a loose plan to begin forming in her mind. A half smile tugs at her lips as she clicks on that very contact, drafting up a simple text, Cull & Pistol for drinks? Heading there in ten. She hits send, the swooshing sound filling the silence, only for Vhalla to scroll through and find a second name and sending the exact same text. Tossing her phone on the bed, she doesn't wait for a reply as she begins digging through her closet, pulling on underwear and clothes quickly. Stepping from the closet, she's clad in her typical leather pants, white shirt and a matching leather jacket slung over her shoulders. Pulling her hair from the jacket, she finger combs the white hair before pocketing her phone and stalking down the hallway.
She wastes no time in dragging on her boots, her hunting knife securely hidden away in those veritable ass kicking boots before she's out the door, down the stairs and exiting her nondescript warehouse in the west. It doesn't take her long to reach the bar, one of the few smoke filled bars she hadn't been kicked out of and banned in the western most part of the city. Pushing inside, she pauses for a moment, her blue eyes scanning the crowd for familiar faces. She supposed she was the first one here. Shrugging, she moves through the relatively small crowd and finds a seat at the bar, her stark white hair a beacon in the dim bar. The sound of clashing balls from the pool table drags her attention for a moment, Vhalla watching a woman absolutely obliterating her male challenger, the man clearly annoyed that he was losing so terribly. "What can I get you?" the bartender barks over the noise, Vhalla turns back in her seat to face him, "Two shots of vodka and a whiskey, neat," she says, the bartender merely grunting in acknowledgment before he's reaching for the bottles. She watches him quickly pour the vodka, the clear liquid swishing over the side of the shot glass and trickling down the side, "Don't waste it!" She squawks at him, the bartender cutting her a glare before going back to his duties. Sliding the two shots of vodka to her, more liquid sloshing over the side, she glares at him. Prick. She wastes no time in grabbing the first and then the second, tilting her head back as the alcohol makes a burning path down her throat, settling happily in her gut.
The whiskey appears in front of her as the man struts off, muttering about women and their demands. Rolling her eyes, she snags the crystal glass and turns around in her seat, to watch the pool game again, only to see the woman sink the last ball. Vhalla grins at the woman's triumphant look, the man clearly annoyed as he demands another game. The woman obliges happily as the witch settles into her seat, sipping on the amber liquid, only to watch the female absolutely destroy him again and again.
To the stars who listen- and the dreams that are answered