Information

Marcedes has a minion!

Kaleb the Druskar

Marcedes
Legacy Name: Marcedes

The

Nightmare Telenine
Owner: Katima

Age: 14 years, 9 months, 3 weeks

Born: May 23rd, 2011

Adopted: 14 years, 9 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: May 29th, 2011

Statistics

Level: 11
Strength: 28
Defense: 28
Speed: 20
Health: 25
HP: 25/25
Intelligence: 20
Books Read: 20
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Register Supervisor

Marcedes "Seven" Carver
Former dancer and all around bad-ass

Not everyone has a second chance at living. I guess that's why some call me Seven. I've been through more lifetimes than I care to admit. Now don't get me wrong, this aint some sob story about how I died once or anything like that. No, this is more of a story about reinvention and survival.

You see, I was born in 1987 to some pretty fucked up people. My momma wasn't the educated sort, she couldn't spell for shit and even misspelled my name on the papers, Mercedes- like the car, yanno, but the dumb bitch put an 'a' where an 'e' should have been. I can't say I remember much about her other than the 'snow' that was always on the coffee table and the continuous flow of strangers coming in our house. Things were always loud and fuzzy then and looking back I'm pretty sure momma was just some dumb hooker and my daddy some fool who didn't use a condom. But my story aint about them or the fucked up things I lived though, no, my story started around the time I was six when child services took me from my home.

I wish I could say it was a tear filled affair, where my momma wept as they took me away and I clung to her hand sayin' I didn't wanna go, but the nice lady offered me some food and gave me warmth and that was all I cared about as she carried me away into the back of the car. It was warm there as I watched other kids get escorted out, some of them younger, others older. None of us seemed to be crying that day, it was as if we finally managed to break free from something dark and see sunshine. It was nice.

Shortly after they took me away from that house, I was adopted. Our story made the L.A. news, and I got a lot of attention for some reason, it was like being Cinderella, but with famous parents and lights going off in your face as they took pictures. I was uncomfortable and longed for the blanket with some animal crackers the nice lady who rescued me gave me. Some people called this my 'rebirth' saying that I was fortunate to be adopted by such amazing people.

These same people tried to rename me and push me out into the spotlight. "You'll be famous," was the motto of my childhood as they kept me on a restricted diet to keep me thin and pushed me through private lessons on piano and dance.

Once I got used to the new foods, it wasn't so bad. I even grew to love my new parents, they loved me in their own way too, I'd like to think, despite how much they hated the way I clung to things. For some reason I refused to respell my name with an 'e'. I clung to the misspelling like a man clings to a festering limb, despite the need to be separated from it. My name was the last thing I had from that hazed life of smoke and strangers. It wasn't until the media picked up my name as a quirky celebrity name that my parents gave up on the idea of fixing it. When I was sixteen I broke into the modelling industry, I felt like a gawky scrawny thing, but magazines and fashion designers liked how tall and thin I was. They said because I was an African-American with blue eyes people would love me and for a time I believed them.

I finally gave in to the life they set out for me, and even met someone who I thought loved me for other reasons besides my fame. I can still remember her cherry lips on mine as we would sneak into the backroom between photo shoots, like we were holding the worlds greatest secret between us. I thought I was in love.

Things changed when I wanted to come out. It was 2006, people were becoming more progressive and looking for that kind of change, I thought I could be loved for something other than my looks. I was wrong. When I came out to my parents they disowned me and told me I was breaking God's Laws living like I was with another woman, and the woman I thought I loved left me. Eventually word got out around Hollywood and with the other models that I was sleeping with the scarlet haired beauty. I listened to taunts and jeers from a number of people calling me a dyke and saying I was going to hell for what I had done.

I finally lost it when my agent suggested I date an actor under a contract for tabloids. He said it'd clear all this lesbian business and possibly get my life back on track. I decked the dumb ass for trying to pretty up what was essentially whoring myself out for fame. In the end, I was like my poor dirty momma, there because I was pretty for others to look at and abuse, no one wanted to hear me talk or say my opinion. For a while it seemed I couldn't hold my temper, I lashed out several times until finally I hit some bitch in the dressing room and busted her nose. The girl would never work as a face model again and as a result I was dropped from a number of lists as a model. It was time for me to make a change.

In 2009 I moved to Oregon. Fewer people meant less paparazzi and a quieter life. It was time for me to figure out who I was and what I wanted from life. At some point I decided to start stripping, I can't remember why except I needed the money and Portland was full of the joints. That was when I met her. A music graduate with the ass that could make God hold his breath. She played for some local symphony and couldn't dance for shit, but men didn't seem to care so long as she shook her ass for them. One night I stopped some drunk fool from bugging her in the parking lot and she started to call me her Lucky Seven. We hit it off pretty well as I showed her to dance and she showed me how to control my temper. It turned out she was disowned for her love choices too and we eventually found a nice little boat house off the shore of Jantzen Beach. I was happy.

On March 3, 2013 was when shit broke out. People started attacking and eating each other. Some people said it was the Reckoning, others the Zombie apocalypse. I didn't care what it was, I knew we had to move and fast. The city was packed and people were going pretty crazy. By some miracle we managed to get to Government Island under the 205 Bridge and hole up at the farm.

The first few months were hard, not knowing what was going on, but being too afraid to venture out. The elderly couple who owned the farm were kind and reassuring though and we even managed to help them and the other laborers manage the small farmstead. On occasion we would get other survivors looking for refuge, though we were pretty stretched thin we managed. As winter loomed closer our food grew scarce and people started to get sick. Things were looking pretty grim. Eventually a group arrived that knew how to handle some weapons and talked of going out and getting supplies. We knew we needed to get medical supplies and canned foods at the least.

Since then we've managed to survive and build a strange sense of community. It's been three years since the outbreak with minimal infection within our own borders. There's even been radio talk with other survivors out there.

Tomorrow, some of us are venturing deeper into Portland than we have before. . . I just hope we make it back and with more supplies, things are starting to look pretty thin again.