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
still just a rat in a cage
Posted on February 04, 2020 by Marcelo Rumeir
 She adds more blood to his shirt and Marcelo cannot help but snicker. Well, now that was a face, that much was certain. Marcelo tended to rub people the wrong way, and it seemed perhaps with Nadya that this would be no different. "Did I freak you out?" He challenges her, and because he never knows when to shut up he adds: "I know I scared you for a second there." He follows her in the direction she offered, towards her car. He casts brown eyes down at his shirt and he supposes it would be rather suspicious if he were to be seen with blood down his front and god forbid if the bodies were discovered at the same time. Of course, this would not be the first time Marcelo has been caught doing something less than legal. Marcelo watching Nadya's facial expressions in the same way one might watch a coiled snake, with a strange fascination, but caution. Of course, Marcelo would also be the type to quickly pick up a stick and decide to poke the poor reptile. He hardly cared for her fangs, though he was ever curious about exactly what type of venom Nadya might provide him. He does his best to clean up the blood on him with the towel, though it does little to help what has already begun to dry, fading from that bright crimson to a sickening brown black color. Quickly he gets into the car, navigating around the two car seats taking up the majority of the room. As the car moved down the road, Marcelo can sense the change in Nadya, so sensitive to emotions as most weres were. "Couldnt help but notice that scene back there made you rather...tense," he acknowledges. Why she was so worried Marcelo didn't know. Of course, Nadya had a life established here, while it would be all too easy for Marcelo to simply pack up and move, or so he tells himself. "Twins, what fun," he says almost sarcastically. Marcelo had no children and would never have children, and spent very little time around them to begin with. Perhaps that is one of the mysteries of life still unknown to the jackal. Marcelo listens to her talk as he leans back in the backseat enjoying the ride, entirely content to see where they ended up. No sooner has she pulled up the urb side with the declaration that they had made it to their destination. Marcelo moves out from the back seat following Nadya opening the door and follows her into the dance studio. "Nice place," he says. "Big fan of dancing," he says with a wink. It was, the truth. Marcelo has followed dancing through the ages, from twirling his little sister in the fields of their village, to the Volta in the age of Shakespeare with a special lady, to gigues, to swing, the tango, and the sock hops of the '50s. Although dance constantly changed, as long as Marcelo could move his body and his feet, it remained a constant through the centuries, and a way to connect with anyone. Much like he has done with nadya. Deny all she wants, she was stuck with him now. She orders him to take off his shirt, which he does with that oh so charming smirk of his, letting it rise up and over his head, revealing that young, strong body that hasn't aged a day over sixteen. He wipes the blood off of him, until his chest is clean before slipping the shirt on over his head. "All the guys down at the club will be jealous," he says looking down at the shirt before his brown eyes return to Nadya. She was curious, it would only be natural, it wasn't every day you met an immortal were. Marcelo, as far as he knew, was the only one. There was the proof in the way they all withered away to dust. "Are you asking how old I am, Nadya?" He asks her with raised eyebrows. "Because that really isn't polite," he scoffs, flicking his chin up with some sort of indignation. "Well, I haven't quite lived for forever now have I?" He inquires towards her. "No, I was born mortal- human, I wasn't even born a were," he admits with a shrug. "They happened at relatively the same time." It is then his hand finds a pair of ballet slippers and he carefully runs a finger over them. Josie would have loved ballet, the way she could twirl in the fields and run with such a lightness, a freedom to her. But, unfortunately, ballet was created a few hundred years after his baby sister was already in the ground, her bones brittle and skin broken. "Have you heard of the Fountain of Youth, Nadya?" He asks her, looking towards her carefully with a dark gaze, and there is something in his voice, something that sounds, for the first time, old, ancient, like Marcelo may have just allowed Nadya to glimpse a Marcelo of years past.
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