West

The western part of the city is often home to the poorer residents. Here there is a grunginess that permeates the town from the graffiti on the once cleaned brick buildings to the broken and unmaintained architecture. Crime runs high within the western half of town, making it the home of supernatural gangs of illicit activities. Such activities are rarely reported, however, and most residents are distrustful of individual's of authorities, and often let the powerful supernatural beings sort things out amongst themselves. Be careful wandering the Western streets after the sun falls.

What You'll Find Here

Black Market
Cull & Pistol
Noah's Ark
Syn

I turn the ritz into a poor house


Posted on March 22, 2019 by Marcelo Rumeir
West




Dark eyes and a wicked smile, it is strange to think that once upon a time, Marcelo had just been a plain, mortal human because for the past five centuries, the the jackal has not aged a day and had been living his life as a were. He had been in and out of packs for so long and for quite some time he has been out, so perhaps it was time to jump back into one. Couldn't hurt, right? Well, that remains to be seen. Dark eyes look at the male, unaware that he too had not been born as a were, but was changed into one.

Marcelo reaches his own hand out to Henry, shaking it. "Same," he says in return. Even when Marcelo is being genuine, there always seems to be something...off about him. Something that makes another person want to punch him in the face. Which has certainly occurred a time or two...or twenty. It is Henry's next words that catch Marcelo's attention. Born into this life? Dark eyes peer at him curiously for a moment. It had been a long time since the jackal had met another were that had been changed rather than a were by birth. "I know what you mean," he says with a smirk, but he doesn't say anything more. These talks usually led to how he got bit and he usually received strange looks when he talked about an event that happened centuries ago.

"Getting plastered and meeting the alpha?" He questions with a raised eyebrow. "Now that sounds exactly like the thing I ought to do," he says with a wide grin. Marcelo, it seems, despite being over 5 centuries old has still not progressed past the maturity of a sixteen year old (maybe eighteen, I will give him the two years, I suppose.) "I would hope so," he says in response to Henry's comment. Really, by appearance, he was not. He then proceeded to follow Alexis into the Ark, making their way through the crowds of people that had begun to gather there, no doubt to either watch or participate in the fights.

Marcelo looks to Henry as he orders. "A whiskey man?" He questions with eyebrows raised. "A good choice," he says before thinking of his order. "Ron de Montril, if you have it," Marcelo says, scanning the shelves for the rum that reminded him desperately of home. "Neat," he adds when some how the bar has managed to carry this drink. Alexis states she is going to go and find Tetradore and Marcelo tips an imaginary hat in her direction. "Ill be waiting," he says before grabbing his drink. He swirls it in his glass before taking a drink. "So how did you come to find this pack, Henry, I am ever so curious."
Marcelo Lucas Rumeir
image by Vincent van Zalinge

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