Now THAT was a party. Marcelo had arrived back at his hotel in the early morning hours, stumbling in like a fool, collapsing into bed with his clothes on and even his shoes still on his feet, mind you. His blue jeans are stained with some drinks he had managed to sloppily spill on himself, his black t shirt is wrinkled beyond belief and his pair of white converse have now turned to a dirty, dishwater grey due to the incomprehensibly disgusting dance floor he had spent a few hours on. Dancing on his own, dancing with girls who approached him, only to move away after a time. Last night had been a night for Marcelo, he had not been interested in taking anyone home with him, despite the tempting offers. Of course, that did not mean he hadn't made out with a few of those pretty faces, but the kisses had been fleeting, a few moments and just as they moved closer, he would pull away. Besides, he was doing them a favor, they would not have enjoyed the experience of trying to tame the were jackal, so in the long run, he was doing them a favor.

How generous.

Marcelo had downed he does not even know how many shots last night. Drinking whatever was handed to him, as if he were to never to be able to drink again. A creature of habit certainly, that much alcohol was just a part of his nightly routine, just as laying in bed hungover was how he enjoyed to start his mornings, or rather late mornings, and sometimes early afternoons. The boy could sleep, that much was for certain. As earthen eyes open, memories of last night creep back to him (well most of them, some will be lost to the forever black hole that is inebriation.) And, in turn, a wild grin leaps onto his face. He had been partying quite often with the college kids, finding it hilarious watching people getting drunk for the first time and then crying about how they miss home, that he had forgotten how great it is to party at a rich's guy's house, the arty put on the rich's guy's asshole son, who invited the rest of his senior class, buying, alcohol blow and weed on their parents' dime. How could Marcelo have forgotten how great rich high schoolers were? And there seemed to be a lot of rich families here in Sacrosanct, which meant all the more entertainment for Marcelo.

The were boy finally stirs from atop his bed, that he had not even bothered to get into, having passed out on top of the blankets. He wakes up, still sleepy with alcohol. Immediately he rises, and strips off his clothes to enter the shower within his room's bathroom. Washing his hair, his body, washing off the festivities of the night before. A grin on his face the entire time. Damn, that had been a good party, it really had been. When he emerges from the shower, he finds a suitable pair of clothes for the day as he rummages through his backpack, pulling out a plain, but clean white shirt, black skinny jeans, and not having yet stolen another pair of shoes he ties the dishwater grey converse onto his feet. He shakes the wetness from his dirty blonde hair, as a dog may shake water from his coat before he deems his look appropriate for the day. Now, he wanted some tea, fresh tea.

The boy with bronze hair and dark eyes moves from his hotel room, but a pout forms upon his lips as he realizes the weather has turned rainy, as if to reflect his uncover mood. In human form, Marcelo was not a fan of the liquid, even if his inner jackal relished in running through mud ridden puddles. As he steps outside, the water splashes around his dirtied converse as he moves to the coffee shop he knew to be in the eastern side of town. Chocolate eyes lower themselves as to not allow water to accumulate within them. He should have brought a raincoat, but in the end, Marcelo is Marcelo and he never changes, and despite the initial irritation, the dark eyed boy then raises his head, enjoying the way the water felt as it plummeted downwards and sunk into the fabric of his clothes. The deviant had certainly always been a strange one.

Inner Sanctum, an intriguing little coffee shop that Marcelo had passed a few days back on one of his many expeditions around the city. He makes his way steadily over to the cafe before slipping inside its doors, a rush of dry air meeting his face along with the smell of coffee beans, tea leaves, and steamed milk. The place was quiet for the most part, perhaps many had decided to stay due to the rainy weather, but there were a few here today, some getting coffees to go and others joining another someone for no doubt dull and boring conversations and tirades. The boy shakes his hair of brandished gold, ridding it of the water that had accumulated during his walk in the rain before he steps over to the counter. He looks at the barista with those rich chocolate eyes of his, "Black tea, milk, but do not put any sugar in it, alright?" He says his order confidently. Perhaps, had he not been caught in a hangover, Marcelo would have said something along the lines of him being sweet enough, but alas, the light throbbing of his head is enough to quiet the boy...for now.

Marcelo waits beside the pick up area to grab his tea, dark eyes closed for a moment as he anticipates the caffeine that he so desperately needed within his bloodstream at the moment. The were can feel irritation building within his body, until finally his order is slid across the table towards him. A wink of one of his earthen eyes, a 'thanks,' before the boy finds a place to sit down to enjoy his beverage, not keen to venture out in the rainy world again until this hangover has passed him. The moment the drink touches his lips, Marcelo can feel a sense of relief. Damn that was good. Of course, any hangover or feelings of nausea came with the territory of attending parties and having so wicked fun when he went out, so in the end, anything that comes the morning after is we'll worth the fun of the night before. Dark eyes gaze around the coffee shop. Headache easing, tea in hand (and made quite well may he had), Marcelo only needed one other thingâ€"

Entertainment.