West

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

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

Black Market

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.

Bartender Raylin Chike

Noah's Ark

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

Co-owner Tobias Cain
Bar Manager Mira Ramos
Bartender Henry Tudor
Waitress Carolina Bedford

Syn

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

Manager Darcy Blackjack
Cats Aiden Tetradore
Cats Harlequin Westward

The alcoholic is the last true hopeless romantic.


Posted on September 10, 2015 by Eleanor
West


This is where Hollywood cues the delusion,
that everything looked this blue through Sinatra's eyes.



The image was alive in her mind. Splattered there in vivid color, it stayed as she slowly got to work. Eleanor imagined painting the scene from ceiling to floor, but alas, her petite size and lack of supporting material, (be it supernatural or just a ladder,) caused her to settle for a more modest size. She started with lazily streaks to develop the body of the elephant. Electric purple. It's sagging mass began to take shape and definition with silver lines and black smears from her fingers. She dressed it in a tribal garb of sorts, with orange-colored jewels dotting its head and neck. The mammal had a vicious, hardened look to its eye, so unlike the actual creatures' demeanor that it was off putting if one stared at it for too long. Atop its bald head Eleanor placed a lopsided crown. The elephant was straining, its muscles tense down to the tip of its coiled trunk. The next piece in the mural was a naked woman. She was slender and seductive, with heavy, symmetrical breasts and a little, dainty waist. Her expression, though detail not nearly as fine as the elephant's, made it seem as if she had not a care in the world. Pink hair draped gently over her bare shoulders. The purple animal gripped her at her waist, actually snapping in her two. Where the concrete wall meets the damp asphalt, Eleanor painted shards of green blood. She let it slide down the woman's legs, and linger at the elephant's toes.

She had been working for hours by the time Tetradore appeared, sore from contorting her body in odd stances on the asphalt and against the wall, and a bit light headed from the smell of the paint. It was the first time in quite some time the fae felt completely engulfed in her work. There were no expectations here. No push to sell. No whispers to follow trends or alter her work for the likes of a potential buyer. This night, this wall, was hers. The aches in her knees and neck were well earned. The array of smeared color under her fingernails and dried and flaking from her knuckles were worn with pride. This was hers.

When he speaks, she disappears. Her fairy cloak hides her, but Eleanor remains where she is, laying on the asphalt, a thin paint brush clutched in one hand as she added layers of depth to the pool of green blood. She waits just a second before returning to her work, not immediately acknowledging the voice behind her. She can tell its familiar. But that doesn't mean it's not dangerous. She eventually sits up, her torso standing tall over her knees that remain planted on the ground. She twists her body to make him out behind her and unveils the invisibility, revealing her porcelain face, clad in black lipstick and darker eye make up, with a smear or two of misplaced paint. She sees him, her stare lingers up and down before a hint of a smirk cracks through her plump, little lips.

This man, who she's still not sure she knows his name, was the only man she can recall turning down a sexual experience with her. It was a strange feeling, knowing he'd walked out, leaving her alone on the mattress in her empty apartment. But she didn't hate him for it, as a lesser version of herself might have at one time. They seem to keep finding one another though. In the bar. Or here. "Hey."



Eleanor | Fairy | Vinyl

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