South

The southern part of the city has a chic family-oriented sort of charm to it. Here, small locally owned shops run rampant, neighbors often know each other by name, and the monthly socials are an event not to be missed. In the South, children can often be seen safely playing in the park or on sidewalks and in the weekends, families often take to the beach to enjoy the warm waters surrounding the city.

What You'll Find Here

Ascension Center of Equitation
Hyde Park
Point Defiance Zoo and Aquarium
The Outskirts
The University of Sacrosanct

shake it like a bad girl up in harlem


Posted on December 19, 2018 by Marcelo Rumeir
South




Marcelo was not born a were. No, the chocolate eyed boy had been born your normal, run of the mill human male. Instead he had been turned, by a were that had been taken upon the ship from Africa. Marcelo ship, the ship he was a bucket boy on, had made a pit stop at the continent to find a map, a map to the fountain of youth. There in Africa, Marcelo's chocolate hued eyes had seen many sights he had never seen before. Mahogany gaze taking in new landscapes, new people, new wildlife. His crew had decided to take a bit more than the map along with them, for no one would believe what they had seen on this continent, including taking with them some of the wildlife. They had been stored below deck and the bucket boy was charged with checking on them and feeding the beast. When he had travelled down below, chocolate eyes had looked to the jackal's cage and found it empty, and those same brown eyes saw a man standing there instead. Brown eyes had widened in shock, for the man had no clothes on. He had informed the earthen eyed Marcelo, that he and his crew mates had taken him away from his tribe and that they would pay dearly. And then the man transformed into the jackal that the men had taken from the savannah and leaping upon Marcelo he bit the boy, many times, slashing through his skin, crunching upon his bones until someone finally heard the boy's cries for help and they stayed the beast. But not before that curse inflicted the boy like some kind of disease, milk chocolate eyes flashing amber for the briefest of moments.

He exists to be hated, the boy with hair like brandished gold, separated from the world by the fictitious notion that he is here to save it just by being alive, so narcissistic he cannot see anyone past his image of himself. Being the runt of his siblings, Marcelo had to make up for it with a large as life personality and a devilish grin, a sadistic smirk that so often finds his face, and mischievous gleam in those dark eyes of his.

He is full of such boyish charm even in his jackal form. It was almost as if you could spot that smirk that curled onto his face even when he wasn't human. The tawny jackal watches with fierce amber eyes as the rabbit disappears, but still it does not damper his mood. Instead, the tawny thief turns to face the one that had interrupted his hunt and instead of growling or attacking her, of course, he flirts, getting a snort in response from the coyote. Marcelo, in turn, begins to wag his tail at the female. It had been far too long since he had a coyote playmate, golden eyes bright with a sense of humor towards the female. "Well," he begins with a playful growl. "Guess I will have to Daiquiri and dine you," he says, air pushing through his teeth in some sort of jackal laughter. Just then those golden eyes flicker to where the rabbit had escaped to. "Well, it might just have to be daiquiris, since I lost the dining portion for the evening," he says, reaching out to bump her with his nose, his own tail still wagging slightly.

"What am I?" He repeats her question, golden eyes widening for a moment in mock surprise, with a growl of laughter in his throat. The golden eyed jackal was sure that he was not a common sight among Sacrosanct. HIs coat of cream and tawny was certainly similar to a coyote, but then there is just something soâ€"off about him. The canine version of a smile grows slowly on his lips. "I'm a jackal," he says raising his head a little higher. "How could you not know? We are practically cousins," he says with a canine snicker.

An ear perks atop his head as she makes mention of the prey he was after and he offers something akin to a shrug. "I'm an opportunist," he says and it was true, jackals were known for going after the weak or those already killed by someone else. "But I am interested in knowing what you perhaps had in mind little coyote."
Marcelo Lucas Rumeir
image by Vincent van Zalinge

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