He continues to keep that downright brilliant grin on his face. Even the fiercest of hurricanes could most likely never remove it. Earthen eyes glance to her club sandwich for a moment, his sensitive nose able to catch ever scent of the meat that hovered underneath its bready exterior. This would not be the first woman that Marcelo ever approached, he was male after all, and even if he approached someone on the basis of having a good time out the bedroom, he couldn't deny the fact that she is certainly not the first to see that roguish smile touch his lips. His confidence far too high and showing no indication of faltering. What is so strange about the jackal is that his narcissism is entirely baseless, he is not spectacularly accomplished, or beautiful (though Marcelo may fight you on that one). The only thing he can rightfully claim as is own is his inherent charm, and even that seems insincere and venomous when used by him. A double edged sword, Marcelo himself not even sure if he means the words that fall from his lips. The only saving grace that one can tell Marcelo is saying the truth being that he has lived far too long and met far too many too actually care if he actually hurts anyone's feelings.

This is why, in the end, he does not think that the blonde girl will reject him, but instead she will quietly judge him as they all always do, but Marcelo will ignore her scorn with the grace of a conductor, as he observes his divine symphony. He is a monster in his own way, but, a beautiful immortal monster. So no harm done.

He feels the silence, lingers in it. One of those rare moments that Marcelo allows someone else something they want, if only because he likes it too. He is the type that would buy his girlfriend an xbox so that he could sit on her couch and play it while she sat sullenly next to him. He has no care for the feelings of others, only himself, because so far these 'others' haven't given him much cause. They are simply a means to an end, though he doesn't know where that end will be, if there will even ever be an end to this life of his. The jackal does not see himself drifting into the arms of death any time soon, that was for certain.

With her question and the breaking of the silence comes that cheshire grin to his face, tugging at the corners of his mouth. That velveteen voice slipping through his lips. "Why not you? That's a better question," he says with a smirk and a shrug of his shoulders. Marcelo, all charm and humor. The boy with that golden brown hair honestly couldn't come up with a solid reason for asking her. She was here, he was here, why not have an adventure? Marcelo lived in the present, when you're Immortal you have to. The dark eyed were thought it too painful to think of the past and all those he has left behind, and it is difficult to think of the future when all he sees out in front of him is eternity.

She looks back at him, and he can tell by the look in her eyes that he was going to like what she had to say. A coy smile flops onto his lips as he listened to her words, dark gaze never leaving her own. He listens to her condition and with a small laugh he extends his hand towards Emmy. "You got yourself a deal," he says. "And to start of with not being a dick, my name is Marcelo." That is about the time the waitress comes back around no doubt to collect Emmy's bill. Marcelo takes the money out of the woman's hand and gives it back to her. A downright impish grin and mischievous glint in his eyes is evident on his face. "I thought I was supposed to be paying?" He says, raising an eyebrow, dark eyes growing curious and wondering if she will protest. As the waitress walks away Marcelo rises from his seat in the booth and extends his hand towards the blonde, once more that dark chocolate gaze trained on her. "Shall we?" A rather simple question to begin the evening. Those dark eyes glint in the light of the bar. "I have the perfect mode of transportation. You aren't worried about helmet hair are you?" Oh, Marcelo, what are you cooking up, you jackal?