Sacrosanct had not been Marcelo's first big city that had attracted his attention. In fact, it wasn't his second, third, fourth, or fifth either. And so on and so forth. The first place he had gone after leaving home had been to Paris. For so long he had heard tales of the city, how large it was, the amount of written work being done there. So off he had gone, determined to make his way in the world see sights hi family, the poor peasants that they were, had only ever dreamed of seeing with their very own eyes.

When he had arrived, it had been an entirely different world to the boy's eyes. He was used to tiny hovel houses, fields upon fields of farmlands. But instead there was the hustle of the city, everyone running from place to place. Those dark chocolate eyes could not grow wide enough to compensate for all that there was to see in such a vast city. As he stood standing there, people ran into him without a care, telling him to shove off and get out of the way. Despite himself, Marcelo had not been able to help the grin that had spread across his face. This was truly amazing, who knew people could be so rude! No longer did he have to worry about offending others, or minding his manners, Marcelo, though he missed his family, he could do so much here, whatever he wanted in fact!

He spent weeks knowing what it was like to be a bachelor. Women fancied his dark eyes, bronzed hair, and devilishly handsome smile. Marcelo could not pretend to ignore the attention he was receiving, nor would he pretend that he didn't enjoy it. And the alcohol was a never ending flow. While Paris was not short of foreigners, it seemed people were curious of Marcelo's stories, and the deal was (for he so loved making deals) a drink for a story. Though they often became so eager that they would continue to fetch the jackal beverage upon beverage until he was woozy with intoxication. Alcohol had been a luxury back home in the village, a luxury his family had been unable to afford. So never had he known the hoppy, bitter taste of beer, or the rich quality of wine, the bubbly sensation of champagne, or the bite of imported vodka. And well, he liked it. Truly, he was living the life of luxury.

The scent of cheeseburger intermingles with Marcelo's own scent of the fish he had just been delving into, filling the belly of the jackal. A pink tongue is revealed as he opens his mouth slightly, almost able to taste the hamburger patty on his tastebuds as they flitter through the air. Paws lit from the ground as he shuffles boldly closer to the pair, the tigress and the wild dog. Dark ears flicker back and forth waiting to catch any words from his fellow animal shifters. Marcelo catches the almost humorous dark eyes of the dog with his own golden coated orbs. The dog's words (or really anytime anyone says the word party) causes the jackal's tail to swing back and forth in a rhythmic motion for a moment. "As long as you don't arrive on time, I prefer to be fashionably late," he jokes with a playful growl echoing through his throat, glancing both to the tiger and to the wild dog. It had been along time since he had been among other weres.

But it would seem they would not stay in were form for long, for the female begins to shift before the jackal's golden eyes.

Dark hair appears on the rather petite female body, her eyes continuing to stay that startling violet color. And it would seem if she were not the only one reverting back to their human form, as the wild African dog beside Marcelo too turns from four legs into two, paws to hands and feet, nose shortened, spine turning vertical rather than the horizontal spine of a canine. The jackal, not one to be left out, though certainly never one to follow the crowd, he too decides perhaps it may be time to show off that gorgeous male body of his. Eyes shift from that beautiful golden color into dark and alluring. Pink tongue rolling from his mouth finds its way back as a lopsided grin covers his face A young boy takes the place of a young jackal, but still behind those dark chocolate eyes glows a childish humor and a glint of impish delight.

The were jackal stands before the others taking the sight of the pair in, wondering if perhaps he had stumbled upon a small pack, or mates, having no clue who either were. Though, from the scent of them, they seemed to be unrelated to each other, each harboring their own, individual smell, jus as Marcelo as his own as well. The tigress throws out her hand and Marcelo meets it with youthful excitement. His eyes sparkle more with maliciousness than mischief as he breaks away from the tigress, looks to the wild dog man. Thankfully, Marcelo had managed to keep his clothes this time around, well half of them anyway. His pants and shoes were intact, but his shirt must have been ripped to shreds in the shift for Marcelo stands bare chested before the pair. HIs own mocha eyes do not rove over the girl's body, but instead fall to the dude who was still remaining were. That dark sadistic charm all over that doggish grin of his, though the cunning attitude of the fox settles behind his eyes. The dog brings back a stick, and while Marcelo may look similar to dog in were form, he had never been one for fetch, much preferring to sleep and eat. But he still cannot resist, and so he reaches for the stick before attempting to launch it across the area. Marcelo may be a were, and he may be over five centuries old, but a boy loves to play with a dog, no matter the circumstances. "Come on, doggo, I want to play. Ever heard of tug o war? What about you, tiger?" A smirk. "How about a game?"