Brandished golden locks are a mess after he has just released his head from being encased within a towel. it was clear that he had just been drying off after his shower. The bronzed haired boy wraps the towel around his waist as he looks at himself in the bathroom mirror with earthen eyes. Yep, still handsome as ever. He smirks at himself, before grabbing his toothbrush and brushing his teeth. He messes his dirty blonde locks, letting them air dry wherever they would come to rest atop his head. Towel still around his waist, he exits the bathroom and moves into his bedroom, those steps continuing to his closet. A pair of maroon skinny jeans, a nicer grey shirt than he would normally wear on an average night are put onto his body, the towel then being hung up inside the bathroom.

Marcelo was content with living alone, having not yet joined a pack. Still, despite everything, Marcelo may have been born a human, but he was still a were, and had been one for over five centuries. A were, ultimately, needed a pack. Perhaps, that is why Marcelo supplemented his time with so many other social interactions, the constant partying, the hitting on girls, and his bed winding up with someone in it more often than not. But, Marcelo could not deny the call to a pack that reached out to him. The last pack he had found had been old fashioned, remaining shifted for most of their lives, hardly shifting into their human form. The jackal could not say he had been close with any of them, but, that pack had given him a chance to clear his head after everything that had happened. But, since then, Marcelo has had a difficult time finding a pack. The whole not aging thing, tended to make them weary. Magic meant for vampires, faes, and dark hunters alone. Not weres.

He finishes dressing, feet slipping into his pair of black vans before he heads out the door, locking it behind him. A few girls in the apartment building glare at him as he walks by, clearly, they haven't gotten over the whole 'never called them back,' thing, but eh, Marcelo had better things to do. But, it does make him think of that fae woman he had met, with the silver eyes and blonde hair. He reaches for his cell phone almost instinctively, but realizes he never got her number, doubting if she even had a cell phone. If she did, she probably gave it to the talking crow or something. A smile hits his face as he shakes his head in silent laughter. She had been an interesting one, that was for certain, but they had a fun night together, and really, the eternally young jackal, that was all he was after. What is the point of living forever if it wasn't going to be fun?

He ignores their stares as he walks outside, the warm spring night igniting his senses. There was a bar in the west side of town that he heard about that had some good drinks and some good dancing, and really that was all he wanted. That was what he needed. It is not as a long of a walk as he thoughts and he stops as the entrance of the bar as the man asks for his ID. Clearly, Marcelo looked far from 21 years old, in fact, he was cut short of that by about four years or so, appearance wise. Still, he managed to get an ID from someone who needed to make some cash, and the bouncer waves him in anyways.

Alcohol, sweat, lust. All the typical and wonderful smells of the bar. He smirks, immediately waving at a pretty little thing that looked in his direction. But, first things were first: booze, then ladies. He strolls up to the bar, handing a some cash. "Surprise me," he says with a shrug and a smile. The bartender smile back at him, grabbing the money before bringing him back two oddly colored shots which Marcelo quickly downs, loving the feeling of the alcohol rushing through him. Body turns away from the bar and those dark eyes peer around at the bar, taking in the scene. He spots a group of girls drinking all together, and the scent of fae easily overpowers him. But, what was this? The scent of...cat? A were amongst faes? Well, this he would have to see.

He moves off from his area, those were senses trying to pin point exactly which female was the kitty cat he was looking for. And he thinks he may know, the girl with the dark hair who was dressed like she was ready to dance. A were and she could groove, oh boy, it was going to be a fun night indeed. "You look like you are ready to dance," he says with a grin as he reaches her. "And I would be happy to oblige," he says, reaching out his hand towards her. "I'll be honest," he says. "I am not so good with dances of today, but I have been known to do some amazing salsa and swing."It was true, Marcelo hardly knew how to bump and grind as the youths so often did today. Call him old fashion if you will. His smirk turns a little wry at this point. "And I have to know if felines are as graceful as they say."