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
Apparently, she liked cheese fries.
On top of that she was strange, not in the casual sort of strange but in the mind sound of warning alarms strange. Tipson survived by trusting no one. Sure, he'd be friends with almost everyone but accepted that any of those friends could turn on him if they got the right offer. Tipson had no problem with that logic considering it meant he owed other people no more than he expected from them. Not knowing the concept of taking an edge off, not knowing you pay for cigarettes and well, the list went on.
"I admit, cheese fries are bound to taste better than a cigarette." Knowing she was strange was no reason to rush off after all. Tipson wasn't surprised at the negative on the cigarettes and put the box back away. "Sure I paid for them. Look at it this way, what is money really good for?"
Tipson pulled a folded-up dollar from a pocket. "See? We spend it to get other things but what's it use other than handing out?" Tipson stepped away a few strides, pressing the dollar up against a street sign, starting to fold it in half, "it's not even actually paper that's useful for writing on. The fabric would just soak ink and a boring design kills any potential there." Unfolding it Tipson took two top edges and folded them down so they each touched the crease left on the earlier fold, giving the money a pointed tip.
"Now, a cigarette has a use. I can entertain my hands with something to do," Tipson kept playing with the dollar bill, folding sides, getting precise creases in it as he spoke. "I can smoke it, gives you a good feeling. I've seen kids try to see who can make bigger puffs of smoke so I guess you can use it for contests also." Stepping back towards her Tipson showed his attempt at a paper airplane, "Money then again," Tipson tried to let the five dollar bill fly but the bill didn't get far before it fell almost straight down. "So, once you get money, toss it for more valuable things which is almost anything."
Tipson bent down, picking up the bill, running a hand over it to try and make it less crumpled. Tipson imagined he didn't want to know about trees and squirrels, at least not at the moment. That conversation sounded like a path that might kill a bit of fun. "My means of having good times would be generally more found in drinks and parties than squirrels. And if you don't want to wear clothes I expect there would be some men around very happy to have you undress." Tipson put the bill back away, "but, yes, thank you for wearing something I suppose."
Tipson moved to walk around her unless stopped. "Oh, you don't need to be in my way to ask questions. I love to talk, most people would love for me to shut up more than likely. You can stand beside me and ask your questions just fine. So, where do you want to go for those cheese fries you appear to like? They can take the bill I got all crumbly." Really, Tipson didn't care much about money. He'd stolen enough things that in his mind more money was always available or just unnecessary when he didn't need to pay in the first place for most things. Everyone needs a hobby. Stealing was his.