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 April 09, 2020 by Marcelo Rumeir
West


Hair like brandished gold, beside him sits his sister with those same brandished gold locks. But where his eyes are earthen and dark, hers are blue and bright. They sit on a hillside and watch the sun come up. "Will you leave home, brother?" She had asked him. "I think so, I would like to explore the world, it's bigger than they say, you know?" He says. "Will you fall in love one day, brother?" She asks, peering up at him from those layers and layers of golden hair. "No," he says confidently. "Women are far too much work."

Indeed, he was coming to find, they were.

Why he would go such great lengths to insure that no one would hurt Iliana is uncharacteristic of Marcelo for those who have known him the last few centuries, but to his family, perhaps, they would find the behavior nothing more than typical. Marcelo protected those he cared about, it just so happened that in his life lately, there weren't all that many that he actually seemed to care for. Why care when they will only slip away from him? Buried beneath time and soil as he lives on. He didn't need that, he didn't need them. But something tells him that he needs Iliana.

So he stands inside the vampire club, looking for the one in charge like a hungry jackal who had the taste of blood upon his lips.

He peers around with dark eyes, watching and waiting for him to come, there had been faint traces of his scent left upon Iliana's skin, but so far, his nose was unable to pick it up. Oh he couldn't wait for it though. He was practically salivating at the thought of launching himself onto the vampire with jaws opening wide and ripping apart his head as he would devour him to make sure that he never came back and never rested another hand upon the moonlight girl that Marcelo has taken under his care and protection.

She finds him.
They always do.
Women, so predictable.

Any other time, literally ANY other time, Marcelo would have shown some sort of excitement upon seeing Risque, that sexy body was just begging to be hit on by a young (I use the term lightly) male like himself. But, this was not any other time, this was an entirely different moment all together. He does not flinch, does not grin, does not laugh, there is just the subtle twitch of his nose as those heightened were senses reach out to assess her as he spins around to her words.

There is a tiger near him, feline. Marcelo wants to desperately shift, but instinct tell him, for now, it would be safer to remain in his human form. "More like a watchdog," he says, brown eyes narrowing towards her. "I wanted you to notice," he argues back. What was she talking about? "Well, maybe not so much you exactly," he says with another twitch of his nose, confirming he cannot trace the scent of the vampire back to her.

He remains sitting, a vulnerable position, but Marcelo, for the time being, believes she will not attack him just yet. Call it canine to expose your belly to the predator with promise to walk safely. The same could not be said when he would find the vampire he was so desperate to hunt. "I am looking for a vampire, I know they congregate here," he says in an almost accusatory tone. "He's the one who has decided to take an interest in my fae," he says, emphasizing 'my,' because as far as he was concerned, Iliana was as free as a summer breeze, as ocean waves, but he would watch that freedom and make sure it stayed just so. "If he is your vampire you best keep him away otherwise I will return only his head to you, bagged and bloodied," he speaks with a feral growl rising in his throat. Marcelo not one to be around the bush in these situations it would seem. "Is he here? Do you know who I speak of?" He asks, that old way of speaking finding its way to his tongue. "Tell me where he is." He ought not to command her, but he does all the same.

It wont be his funeral.
But that doesn't mean it isn't a death sentence all the same.




M A R C E L O
{ it is far better to live like a lion for a day than live like a jackal for a hundred years }

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