The tawny, reddish golden, colored jackal stares up at him, with a cocky smile, stupid with his bravery. Those depthless golden eyes watch that medallion and surely had Marcelo had fingers at the moment they would have been twitching, the kleptomaniac inside him desperate for some action. Marcelo had always enjoyed pretty things, pretty jewelry to keep in his collection, pretty women, pretty food, pretty sites to visit. And the tawny jackal certainly couldn't miss this medallion when it was so clearly placed in front of him. Golden eyes shift though to the horse's face in case he was kept looking for too long. Marcelo is not so stupid to think that this horse could not stop him to death. Well, not to death, of course, but to the extent of his immortality, that much was certain.

Surely, if he had not been in his tawny jackal form, Marcelo would have pouted. It seemed as if Frost did not want to play along with him today. Marcelo had always been charming, since he was a small child, convincing his mother to take him to the market with her rather than work in the field. He had been able to convince the fruit stand vendors to give him an extra treat. This carried over into his adulthood it would seem. The honey eyed jackal content with the phrase that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. So he continues looking at him, as if unfazed with those depthless amber eyes.

Marcelo had always liked his secrets. And his secret of immortality was perhaps his best kept of all of them. Surely, surely, his gift of resilience, for the fellow could not die, could be seen as profitable, valuable, a solider for the war that you will never lose. But, Marcelo hardly knows Frost aside from their brief conversation now, and what he had heard on the outskirts. It can be seen in those amber eyes, he is surely holding onto much more than what he is telling with that particular question Frost had asked. That lip quirks and Marcelo can feel his own twitch in silent humor, revealing those white canines. He gives the jackal equivalent of something akin to a shrug. "I say enough," he says, that arrogant glint to his eyes a practical death sentence.

"I've been thieving since I was a lad," he says, that old language slipping through if but for a moment. Marcelo had remained steadfast in his determination to keep all his former life under wraps. The children in his family had all spoken multiple languages between their mother and father's heritage, but Marcelo, since arriving here has only spoken English. Still, there are familiar, old habits that sometimes slip through, like little grains of sand through cupped hands, desperate to hold on. "My mother was often swatting my behind when we returned from the market and I had hoards of goodies stashed away in my shorts," he said, recalling the many trips in his youth, an apple here, a sweet there. All to be found before the evening bath. "To date, she is the only one who has ever caught me long enough for reprimanding," he says. Of course, he has been caught, living over 500 years it was bound to happen, but more often than not, just the right amount of blackmail could get him out of any situation.

He chuckles in response. "Starting a war is always an option, though, I have found they lose their appeal quickly," he says, voice drawing off for a moment. War without being able to die. There was no risk, no adrenaline, nothing to lose, and most of the time, as a simple recruit, nothing to gain. They lose their charm and novelty all too quick. "Thieving on the other hand, I tend to always get what I want in the end," he says. Whether that be jewels, gold, money, or perhaps his favorite: dirty, dirty secrets that no one ever wanted anyone to find out about.

An image appears before him. A blonde man with eyes as golden as Marcelo's own. Marcelo pauses just long enough for Frost to provide him with more information. "A book?" He says, arching an invisible eyebrows within his jackal form. But he quickly moves past it, he had been asked to steal all sorts of things, a book was hardly amongst the strangers of things asked for. "What is his name?" He asks, waiting for Frost's response. Amber eyes once more fall to that necklace. "I'll need you to keep that close by," he says. Having not shared his other power quite yet. A power Marcelo had not experienced until quite recently. But that medallion, that would ensure Marcelo's safe return. "I will go to the city and fetch you this...book," he says with narrowed eyes before turning around and beginning to walk off where he may insure privacy for a moment. The jackal then halts for a moment, turning over his shoulder. "I have a feeling you are much more sly than you let on," he says with a smirk before disappearing into the shrubbery.

In an instant, he transferred to the eastern part of the city. Just thinking of the building caused him to arrive on the spot, hardly a sweat broken, his jackal body quick to find coverage nearby behind the staircase, amber eyes remaining alert. If anyone dark hunters came by they would be able to sense him, he would need to go around another way. He keeps his body close to the walls, the darkness covering him, only those eerie eyes glowing. Though at first glance, someone may just think him a common coyote, and this could be used to his advantage.

The dirty blonde jackal is looking for anything, a back entrance of some sorts perhaps, but then amber eyes spots it. As lucky would have it, there was an open window, directly next to a tree. Marcelo shifts from four legs to two, standing there in his underwear. Jumping up, he is able to reach a branch and do a pull up to bring himself upon the tree, he climbs, reaching a branch almost parallel to the open window. Too far for a human to jump, but shifting quickly once more, he returns to that jackal form to leap off the branch in through the open window. His paws causing him to be near silent as he lands. He races to the door, leaping upwards to hit the handle and open it, slipping into the hallway. Now, he needed a map.

Going to the main hallway was risky, but that is where it would most likely list everyone's offices.He rounds a corner, and keep close to the walls, hiding behind open doors and walls, but he sees it up ahead, the map. Those jackal eyes narrow in on the names, his animal vision sharp, made to catch prey, his prey being the book at the moment. 'Azrael Evero.' He spots the name in and the room number and quickly Marcelo makes his way to the office. Lucky, for him, most of the headquarters was empty now, at least on this floor. Surely, they were out hunting the night dwellers. When he comes to his office he spots the door open. Suspicious. Approaching the book shelf, Marcelo shifts back into his young human form, still luckily retaining his underwear. Hand skims over each book spine, looking for the one Frost requested, keeping in the back of his mind that the door may have been open for a reason.

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