Now, the jackal preferred to think of himself as persistent rather than stubborn. The word stubborn had such a negative connotation to it, the word reminded him of his family's donkey as the boys and their father would comment upon what a stubborn beast the animal was. While persistent, now that was a word implying a tenacity, a sense of never giving up, an attitude of perseverance. Yes, Marcelo was a much greater fan to persistence rather stubborn, though in the end, they are the same, but the jackal likes to be picky about his words, especially those that which describe himself.
Although many would seem to call him foolish.
Even as a child, Marcelo had always been rather determined and relentless in whatever he had his mind set to. Unfortunately, the things Marcelo often set his mind too were not good hearted and kind, he was never set on one day owning the farm, nor being able to plant the best crops, nor was he determined to be the strongest or the wisest. But what he was determined to have was a horse for, yes his family, but he had seen the other boys in the village racing their steeds across the empty fields and a strong desire had filled the boy to know what it felt like to sit atop a strong beast such as an equine. Dark eyes had laid upon a gorgeous an inky black mare. She was a fine creature and Marcelo knew that he had to have her, that she would be his. But, being as poor as his family was, they would never be able to afford such a horse, it left only one option for the boy not yet a were. Already, at such a young age, the boy had become quite a thief, but this would be his biggest steal yet.
It had been the middle of the night. In a time before electricity, when candlelight was a family's only option, a village such as Marcelo's experienced true darkness, only the moon and stars to ignite the earth with its dull glow. Chocolate hues had opened as he slept beside all his siblings on the floor and he had wriggled downwards in an attempt not to wake any of them. But then, as he makes his way to the door, the boy stopped for just a moment and peeked over his shoulder to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring at him. The eyes belong to that of his little sister. Slowly he raises a single finger to his lips, in the sign of 'shhh,' and the boy smiles as the little girl does the same before he slips out of his family's tiny home.
The air before dawn was crisp and cool, tinged with the sweet scent of autumn rain that had only just fallen hours ago, drenching the parched soils of the valley as if to announce the arrival of fall. The trees were alive with bright reds, cheerful yellows, radiant oranges, and deep browns and now the floor of the land was beginning to become splashed and splattered with those same colors as the changing leaves detached from their anchor and tumbled gently down to rest among friends at the base of the large trees, turning brown and broken, preparing to slip away into a deep sleep when the icy embraces of winter would come as mother nature intended. Autumn had most certainly been in the air, time to harvest and time for the annual horse race to begin. Every year his village hosted a horse race, for money and glory, typically, the jockeys astride the horses were the son's of villagers, the only ones small enough to be such jockeys. Marcelo's family had never participated, until now.
Leaves dance upon the wind around him as a breeze rolls through, twirling this way and that, but those mocha eyes were not distracted by the beauty of fall, instead they were focused on the goal ahead. He wonders what time of night it must be and how long he would have until the sun crowned over the horizon, spilling its rays across the land. He would need to move quickly.
It is important to remember, that when Marcelo feels the need to tell the end of this storyâ€"he always gets what he wants.
His smile never wavers. Marcelo is oblivious to any discomfort he may be causing her, well, even if he weren't, he finds a strange enjoyment in making others uncomfortable. A pleasant pastime. Earthen eyes do not waver from her own, despite the no doubt beauty of her body. Those same eaten depths crinkle a bit more into a smile at her shock. There it is, that was the reaction he was looking for. "Did I catch you off guard? I tend to do that," he says as the cheeky grin plays across his mouth.
The money that he throws around was not so easily earned, of course, with his advanced age it tends to add up over the years. Marcelo had never bought fancy houses, having to move around with such consistency, he never saw the point, nor the enjoyment of such things. If he could, he would go back and live in his hovel of a home, nestled between all his siblings as they slept on the dirty, bug infested floor. But money was a necessity, for food, shelter...fun and so he sells the items he's stolen, or helps with some favors of the wealthier population int he world.
Those dark eyes narrow at her slightly, despite the twitch in his lips that gives away that it is not in anger that he performs such an action. "Well, I don't know your name, Bud Light," he says, daringly, challenging the girl, trying to get any reaction from her that he can. "Besides, I'm a fan of nicknames." He teases, mocha eyes practically shining like a brand new penny as he amuses himself for he clearly was not amusing the girl, that much was for certain.
To her question, he has no response, he merely shrugs, mocha eyes closing for just a moment, before reopening and finding her own. "Curiosity, why someone would come into a swanky bar and then order the cheapest thing on the menu," he says, ever the observant jackal he was. How could he not be? Jackals did not survive by being careless in their observations. Elbows prop up on the table, his action signaling that he wasn't going any where. "Feel free to depart," he says almost nonchalantly. It wasn't like he was trying to get her into bed or anything, he meant what he said, dark eyes sparkling with amusement. As the waitress brings the bottle of champagne, he hands her a nice tip before catching the girl's words. A grin spreads across the deviant's features, twisted and arrogant. "Great, more for me," he says and leans in slightly before a resounding 'pop' denotes that the champagne had indeed been opened. Dark eyes glint almost dangerous, because really he ought not to say what he was about say next. "You're kinda, hostile, aren't ya?"
Marcelo Lucas Rumeirimage by Vincent van Zalinge