Name: Davida Sharpe
Nickname/s: Davy
Species: Shapeshifter - Lion
Clan Position: Clan Leader, Dominant
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Hometown: Kansas City, Missouri, USA
Current Residence: Talis Flats - leadership has its privileges; she doesn't share
Studying: In her third undergrad year of Fine Art
Employment: Supplements a generous allowance from home by selling the occasional painting.
Family: David Sharpe, father; Brandi Sharpe, step-mother; Stephanie Price, mother
Friends: Kelly Temme and Michelle 'Chelle' Vincent, her freshman year roomies
Relationship: Not at Present
Player: Amy
Contact Email: davysharpe@yahoo.com
Model: Claire Danes
Credit: Celebs Central.net
Background
Davida Price Sharpe was born in Kansas City, Missouri, USA to Stephanie Anne Price and David Michael Sharpe, the end product of a short-lived love affair. Both of her parents were dominants. At the time, her father was just a lower level VP in the clan’s hugely successful development firm. But considering that he was barely out of his teens at that time, it was obvious that there were greater things to come, assuming he lived long enough to achieve them. Stephanie Price, on the other hand, was just passing through.
Stephanie was a runaway, fierce and feral. Her home life had become increasingly explosive as she grew closer to adulthood until that day when it became unlivable, quite literally, and she ran. It was her first escape.
KC was her fourth home. Seduced by the safety provided by a large and functional clan, Stephanie stayed for two and a half years. In that time, she produced a child by the clan’s heir apparent, finished high school, and killed three lions. Then it was time to run again. She took Davy with her. It would be more than a decade before David Sharpe would see his daughter again.
For Stephanie and Davy, the following twelve years followed in the same pattern although the time between moves seemed to grow shorter as Davy grew older. Stephanie had never learned self control, had never had it modeled to her. Her daughter was growing up with that same disadvantage. Davy was wild, unpredictable, persistent in her grudges and prejudices, and heartbreakingly angry.
Then something changed. Her mother never explained why she made the decision she did. Davy was twelve, and they were running again. It was a summer run, Davy’s favorite kind. They’d drive with the radio blaring and the windows down; in any other family, it might have been a vacation road-trip. That day, Davy fell asleep in her mother’s car as it sped along a Midwestern highway. She awoke when her duffle bag landed in her lap.
Davy would always remember it as the day her mother broke up with her. Outside the car window stood an office building, metal and glass, too bright in the glare of the afternoon sun. Apparently, it was Davy’s father’s office building. David Sharpe, she was told, was somewhere inside that shiny box making important decisions and doing important things.
Davy got out of the car. She heard it pull away behind her, but didn’t look back to wave. Stephanie wouldn’t have waved back anyway. The girl stared up at that big, beautiful building and felt nothing but fury. But she shoved it down, buried it under her smile and threw her duffle bag over her shoulder. She’d played this game before, the one where she belonged wherever ‘here’ happened to be. At the front desk, Davy charmed the shocked receptionist with her sweet manners and her bad grammar, announced herself as if visits to her father’s office were a weekly event. Further up and in, she met David Michael Sharpe, and her life changed forever.
To say that things were rocky in the beginning would be understating the matter so grossly that you might as well just say that Davy was instantly changed from the moment she met her father and that they both lived happily ever after. The lie is almost as big. No, life with David and his wife Brandi (bottle blonde submissive with long, fake eyelashes and an almost pathological need for everything to be okay) was hell for a while.
To begin with, Davy tried to fight with her father for the first time that night… No big surprise there, really. It had been one heck of a trying day. She was screaming, screaming, screaming at her father trying to get a reaction. But he was calm, so infuriatingly calm. Eventually, she would come to respect her father’s seemingly perfect control of his emotions; but in that moment, all she wanted was for him to care enough to yell back. And then she was attacking him – human in shape still, mostly, but there were claws and teeth and she wasn’t screaming anymore…
After that, Davy learned to control her tendencies toward physical aggression quickly, but her temper and rebellious behavior was another matter entirely. For more than two years, Davy went out of her way on a daily basis to do something ‘unacceptable’. She’d have a tantrum, start a brawl at school, sneak out at night, or turn up at an important dinner for company clients dressed like a hooker or covered in her own blood like some horror movie victim. She wasn’t entirely aware of what she was trying to do. She didn’t hate her father or Brandi, but Davy couldn’t help pushing buttons. She lived in expectation of the day when they would kick her out and she’d go back to running again. It took years of David and Brandi’s patient but stern parenting to earn Davy’s trust. It took even longer for her to earn theirs in return.
And so Davy grew up and grew sane, eventually. She graduated from a prestigious (in KC terms) private all-girl school with grades better than respectable. She was senior class president and played on three varsity teams. She was popular and well-liked, voted most memorable in the yearbook. But if asked a year later to name any of the other girls in her team photographs or the kid who sat next to her in AP physics, Davy wouldn’t have been able to give an answer. She just didn’t care. School was something she did for David. Painting was what she did for herself.
After graduating, Davy really had no intention of ever setting foot inside a school building again. But after a couple of months of mooching off of her dad and step-mother, she realized that it had finally come time to run again. No, not run. She would never have to run from her home. But it was time to go. ‘Settled’ and ‘comfortable’ were two words still ill at ease in Davy’s vocabulary. There was more world to see out there, and more she needed to learn.
Her explorations lead her to Reading, a place that she decided she could tolerate a while. It wasn’t the most picturesque place she’d been, but it felt right somehow. Her father found the strings that needed pulling; Davy took the required exams; and she was accepted. And though Davy hadn’t arrived with any intention of leading the local lion clan, when it was time to make the choice - her strong opinions and stubborn pride always getting in the way of an easier life… When she had to choose: run or fight to stay, she found she wanted to stay. The place, the people, Davy had become attached. Weird.
Physical Appearance
Davy stands at 5’9” with chin length blonde hair and intense blue eyes. Her smile is wide; her stride, long and light as though she might break into a sprint at any given moment. The closet is a mishmash of thrift store finds, gym-wear, a few pairs of well-worn and paint smeared jeans, a handful of concert t-shirts, and a collection of tank tops. She prefers to go barefoot or wear flip-flops, weather permitting. But since it so often doesn’t permit, she also owns a couple pairs of generic-brand converse wannabes as well as a genuinely decent pair of running shoes. She could dress better, more stylishly, but in her opinion that would be a complete waste of time.
Her real self, her lion self, sheds the trappings of her human life entirely. The ferocity and aggression that she masks so well while playing human ripples just beneath her honey-brown lion’s hide. She’s all economy of movement. Control. Tension tightens her muscles, intense interest sharpens the gaze, but she is control.
Personality
‘Human Davy’ is all about appearances, although it appears she doesn’t care about how she looks at all. She is the free spirit. School days, she takes her lunch vegan-style at Smoothie Delights, dresses in whatever she pulls out of her closet whether it matches or not, and studies just enough to keep her grades average. At her apartment, where her door is almost always open - propped in place by last year’s stack of textbooks, she’s the happy carnivore. Her flat is the first in the building, the one with the plaque reading ‘Property Manager’. The storage closet next door houses her chest freezer full of goodies. The fridge is mostly for refreshments of the liquid variety.
Davy comes across as open, happy, confident. She loves to hear differing opinions so long as the topic is a human one. She’s less accommodating where clan matters are concerned, but it all depends on how the idea is presented. Confrontation will be met with cool rejection or worse as the situation warrants.
She’s a firm believer in the importance of self control, though she wishes her own were better. Intense emotion is a frightening thing, whether love, hate, anger, or pain. Davy believes that if she were to let loose, allow the full brunt of her feelings hit her, she would lose everything. At best, she’d be running again. But then again, sometimes to run is all she wants… more often than she’d ever care to admit, really. At any rate, her fears build a barrier between her friends and that last layer of trust. And she knows it. She sees herself as a fake, through and through. Only her canvasses know the truth.
Talents & Weaknesses
Davy is a trained fighter, although not a terribly disciplined one.. Her real strength is her near complete lack of fighting ethics. She’ll do anything to win. She fights sneaky and dirty. She’s a cheater and a liar and downright evil so long as her life hangs in the balance. However, Davy will seldom win a fight that’s only for fun or just for show. If her heart’s not in it, she won’t care enough to win it. She rarely accepts a fight that’s not an outright challenge.
Her dominant features are teeth, claws, and, oddly, roar. For the last, little outward physical change is visible, although her rib cage does expand to allow for the necessary lung capacity. Most of the changes are internal.
As a leader, she’s not really half bad although slightly paranoid. She’s good at listening most of the time. She offers respect to those who treat her with the same and would rather win an opponent’s affection than take his life. She cooperates well with other non-humans although she only shows them her human mask and therefore allows herself to be underestimated. Whether that’s a strength or a weakness -only time will tell.
She loves to run. She’s a natural athlete. And there’s paint in her blood, probably literally. It’s not a talent, really, more like a coping mechanism. Davy has always drawn – pencil in hand on absolutely any scrap of paper she could find. Paint didn’t come into the picture until she lived with her dad, though. The supplies just appeared in her room one day, her father’s suggestion as to what she could do with all that anger besides completely ruin his life. She prefers oils but acrylics are cheaper. And then there’s always oil crayons, charcoal, markers… The medium is nowhere near as important as the release.
Davy has several weaknesses, but the greatest will always be the road. Part of her will always be looking for something better. Part of her believes that she’ll never really belong. Anywhere. So, she’s always waiting for running day. There’s a duffel packed in the back of her closet even now.
She’s also extremely attached to her human trappings, her human life. As leader of a clan where the faces are always changing, it can be a major weakness. Davy doesn’t expect or accept the little shows of submission that some lions like to give, often even in public, to prove their obedience. There is a faction that claims that she’s not lion enough. She knows it and is watching. Currently, she’s waiting to see if it gets past the talking stage. Besides, more immediate dangers now walk the streets of Reading.
