The tang of orange juice and vodka mixed with one another hits his tongue in just the sort of rush that he needs in this moment. Well, to be honest, Marcelo is always looking to get drunk, doesn't matter if it is in this moment, or another moment ten minutes from now. Any time he spends with a drink in his hand is just the perfect time for him. He lets the taste roll over his tongue, taking his time with the first few sips before his glass is now only three quarters of the way full, before he decides to chug the rest of it. The mixed drink goes down easy, but the were is certainly not satisfied with only one drink, he was never satisfied with only one drink.
Despite the fact that Marcelo is about five hundred years old, he still has not aged passed the maturity of a teenage boy. His age of physical appearance may be only sixteen, but Marcelo has failed to become any more mature than would an eighteen or nineteen year old possess.He is selfish, impulsive, and a bit wild. Which is the exact reason as to why he has spent the last five centuries of his immortal life testing the limits of immortality, drinking, partying, the whole nine yards. He will live forever (if all goes to according to plan) and he will spend every minute of it living life to its absolute fullest capacity. Partying is the only thing Marcelo finds that he is unable to half ass no matter how hard he tries (he doesn't try very hard, remember, lazy, Marcelo is all about being lazy.) It is all about priorities people.
He has always been the funny one in the family, although Marcelo really had not had a choice. The were boy was born the third son of peasants in Spain. His father had been sailer, but wound up getting a parcel of land from shipping after he met Marcelo's mother. But the first son, he is the one who will inherit the farm, the second son, the spare, he would get the farm should anything happen to his older brother, but more than likely, the second eldest boy would be recruited for war, and where does that leave Marcelo? No where. His eldest brother had been strong and large, he would be able to handle the care of the farm once his father passed, the second son, he was wise from the day he was born, hoping to join the Spanish navy when he was old enough. So strong and smart were both taken, resulting in Marcelo choosing to be the funny brother, and thus his personality had been shaped from there on.
He never minded it though, both of his older brothers had been so focused on what their future careers would be, it left little time for play (though there was rarely any play for children in the 16th century.) Marcelo learned how to work the land, but he preferred spending time with his mother, aiding her and his little sister in the kitchen while the youngest brother within the family was still too small to perform any tasks. Marcelo grew closest then to the females with his family, though he never minded, it kept his beautiful mother happy, and his timid little sister content. While Marcelo enjoyed a good wrestling match or two with his brothers, he muted preferred the company his sister and mother provided, especially when they would go into town. It was first within the town that Marcelo's little problem came into the light.
His sensitive hearing catches the sound of someone approaching the bar and by the sounds of it, it seemed as if it were female, unless it was a very light footed man, which the were jackal doubted. He leans forward casually in the booth he was currently sitting in as a blonde haired girl struts through the door, and immediately plummets to the ground. A huff of laughter slowly slips and fall across his lips, through it is quiet. He turns away from her so she would not see him staring, though the grin on his face remains as dazzling as ever as he shakes his head lightly. What were the chances a beautiful girl would literally stumble into the bar he was in? Really, the opportunity to socialize was too good to pass up.
A wolfish smile comes to his features as he watches her move passed him hurriedly take a seat at the back of the bar, her eyes scanning the menu. That acute hearing picks up her order, the hesitancy, the curiosity within him coming out. Those mahogany eyes lock upon her, waiting and watching. A little growl of determination seems to appear in his throat before he slides out his booth and makes his way towards, his walk an easy stroll with a slight swagger to it. The confidence that can only belong to a teenage boy with nothing to lose.
"A bud light, really?" He comes seemingly from no where as he approaches behind the girl, a coy grin covering his face as earthen eyes seem to nearly sparkle with an impish delight. Marcelo eyes her up and down for a moment, though it may have been in a slightly more patronizing way than in a 'I want to have sex with you way.' (Though of course, Marcelo would never say no to such an opportunity.) He takes a seat down next to her, entirely uninvited of course, as is the nature of the jackal boy, as a hand comes up to his chin in mock reflection, still staring at the girl in a studious manner. "I would have pegged you for a white wine kind of girl if I do say so myself," he says, while his lyrics are not smooth like molasses, there is a sort of grit within them that notes that while he is being sweet now, he may just reach out and bite at any moment. Use caution when petting such a creature. "Or maybe champagne?" He question, raising a dark eyebrow. "I am gonna go with champagne," he says with a nod mostly to himself. A hand raises into the air to get the bartender's attention. "Excuse me," he says before the bartender comes over. He hands her some cash, though discreetly in an attempt to hide how much money he actually was putting forth. Having lived so long and stolen so many things, things forgotten to history then suddenly appear after a wiry, dirty blonde boy strolls into town, Marcelo has built up a rather nice sum of cash and valuables, and favors owned from other individuals. He uses it all he can, funding his semi lavish lifestyle, and of course trying to create the best of experiences that make an immortal life worth living. "Two glasses of the best champagne you have. Actually, you know what, leave the bottle," he says as an after thought, sliding more cash her way.
As the bartender fetches the order, Marcelo turns to the girl, his attitude eternally the same, as if he had not just made a very expensive purchase. "So, Bud light, what brings you over to this part of town," he says as he purposely messes up those locks of brandished gold. He waits for her answer before turning to the bartender as she brings over the bottle and two glasses, the cork still intact. Those deep earthen eyes turn to the girl, his smile not as large, a but more coy, and just a little bit daring."You want to do the honors?" He asks, gesturing towards the bottle. The trip on the way in, the cheap drink, the hesitancy about her, Marcelo could see there was something in the girl, and he was bound and ready to pull whatever it may be, right out of her.
Marcelo Lucas Rumeirimage by Vincent van Zalinge