East

The east side of the city is the very heart of Sacrosanct - it's unique skyline is a clash between modern sky rises and small Victorian-inspired storefronts. In the heart of downtown, the sleek colored glass buildings reign supreme though their old-world roots can be seen in the most peculiar places from the lamp post styled electric street light to the stone sidewalks. The old world architecture slowly returns the further from downtown you travel, however. It's here that magic thrives, it hums in every stone and can be felt in every breath. Often, newcomers to the city may become overwhelmed by such sensations but, eventually, it becomes an ever-present feeling that's hardly noticed.

What You'll Find Here

City Creek Center
Dark Hunter Department
Inner Sanctum
Red on the Water
Starlight Tower

hand me a towel, I'm dirty dancing: taliah


Posted on April 10, 2019 by Marcelo Rumeir
East




There are pretty things adorning Marcelo's tiny apartment. So many things that he has kept for himself. He feels comfortable with his treasures, reassured. They are a secret only he knows, a kleptomaniac as well as a compulsive liar, but they cannot ever truly be his because he stole them. The boy smirks, dark eyes roving over his home. The smile on his face is a slow thing that creeps across the edges of his lips and looks almost sinister in the right light. There was a certain amount greed to his earthen eyes, but it is buried beneath secrets.

Dressed in a long sleeve gray shirt and dark skinny jeans, his feet are laced up in black vans. Brown eyes look at himself in the mirror, blink once or twice before messing that bronze tinted hair into the perfect state of messiness. There. Now he was downright roguishly handsome. Wouldn't you say? Marcelo has an idea of what he wanted to do today. Having no job (except the makeshift theft jobs he picks up) and an immortal life span, lends itself to Marcelo spending a good portion of his day wandering around, maybe committing petty theft crime here or there, and then partying the night away in the evening. But, the bronze haired jackal has gotten to know Sacrosanct quite well in his time here.

Marcelo, the boy with locks like brandished gold, is such a paradox, narcissistic and kind when he wants to be, it just should not be possible. Perhaps that is why when he sees a father and son walking towards him, at first he thinks nothing of it. It is only when that little boy, Marcelo sees him suddenly almost taking a tumble right in front of the jackal boy. Marcelo, quick as he can reaches out his hand and catches the little boy to keep him from hitting the concrete. The father jumps, and reaches out his hands, but the bronzed haired were has already caught his son. "Thank you, good catch," the father says, trying to laugh it off, but the predator knows the smell of a moment of fear, of panic. "No problem," Marcelo says with a wolfish grin. And in that brief moment where the pair just begins to walk away, Marcelo reaches into the man's back pocket with the lightest of fingers and easily lifts that wallet, tucking it into his own pants' pocket.

The boy with hair so akin to brandished gold and chocolate colored eyes smirks then. But just as easily as he had stolen from that man, he reaches in and pulls out one of those twenty dollar bills and dark eyes meet the homeless man slumped against the way, that twenty dollars slipping easily into his bowl without a second thought from the were, hardly looking for a thank you, gone before the old man can usher forth such words. The tawny haired jackal then realizes he is on the street of where he was headed.

Just as he reaches the door, a beautiful looking girl meets him at the opposite side of the door. Quickly, that grin jumps to his face, dark, in an utterly charming sort of way as he reaches the door and holds it open. "There you go," he says, those dark eyes glinting behind equally dark lashes on that sun kissed face. Such a shameless flirt. She giggles behind a delicate hand before telling him thank you and walking out.

This is when the smells of pastries attack his senses. Oh boy, that did smell good. Marcelo, for all he was worth, had a sweet tooth, and he had been eyeing this bakery for quite some time. He tilts his head and slaps on the charmingest smile he can find before he approaches the counter, trying to find someone to take his order. "Hello," he calls out. "Can I get a lemon pound cake from anyone around here?"
Marcelo Lucas Rumeir
image by Vincent van Zalinge

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