Your Name: Kaleigh. Yeah, me again. Sorry. Er…you alright?
Age: J’ai vingt ans.
How did you find us?: You were in a dream I had once. With giant spiders and banjos and…Rwanda.
Name: Daisy Hartigan
Nickname/Alias: Daze
DOB: August 15, 1952; 56
Gender: Femme
Job: None at the moment
Animal: Barn owl
Power Level: Non-Alpha, subject to change
Mindset: Domissive
Rank: Fledgling
Human Appearance: 
Daze is still looking gorgeous, despite her age. Her Nordic ancestry is to thank for her blue, blue eyes, though her ginger hair is actually attributed to a box of colouring. She’s vain enough to touch the roots up every two weeks or so lest people find out she’s a brunette, and at the same time get her eyebrows done, and her nails, and maybe a facial as well. She’s only 1.6 meters tall, but that doesn’t matter so much when she wears her favourite heels. Her favourite clothing has lots of colours in it, usually some sort of green to make her hair look even redder, and it all has an exorbitant price tag to boot, thanks to her sweetheart.
Face Claim: Ann-Margret
Animal Appearance(s) 
She’s a pale thing when she’s an owl—a barn owl to be exact. Her eyes are very dark, which stand out against the pale cream of the feathers on her face. The only colour she has are on her back, wings and tail which vary from speckled grey to rust coloured. Here pale belly is also speckled, though the specks are a pretty uniform dark grey. She’s much too new to the whole experience to have a second form.
Strengths: - Sexy
- Persistent
- Passionate
- Good with a firearm
- Graceful
Weaknesses: - Stubborn as hell
- Detests zoanthropes and the fact that she is one
- Fear of zoanthropes
- Vain
- Love for Johanna
Personality: At the moment, she’s in full-on, “woman scorned” mode, which leads to a lot of private cries in a corner by herself in between plotting revenge. Usually though, she’s a happy, easily pleased woman who loves to spend a day at a shooting range or beneath a Triumph. She’s come to terms with the fact that she is a female, and that it’s okay to wear floofy things in bright colours. Despite this, she still loves a pair of jeans and getting filthy dirty, or even challenging authority over the littlest, most mundane things she can think of just for fun. But again, she’s really peeved with being a zoanthrope in the first place, let alone being betrayed by her lover, so a lot of that “cheerful” nature probably isn’t coming through all that clearly right now.
Likes: - To argue
- Angry sex
- Triumph motorcycles
- Firearms
- Revenge
- Bright colours
- Dancing
- Women
Dislikes: - Zoanthropes
- Being stabbed in the back
- The Helldeep Zoo
- Owls
- Zoanthropes
History: Only daughter of an army man, Daisy Hartigan spent the majority of her early life on the move. She was born in Cornwall, the second child of four, stayed just long enough to learn how to pick her head up and was soon destined to places like France, Germany, Canada, and Australia. Because of this, she grew up speaking pretty fluent French and German along with English. Being surrounded by males took its toll as well: instead of playing with the popular new Barbie dolls, or having tea parties with school mates, Daze grew up learning how to use firearms and playing football with her brothers. Granted, she was of a slighter, daintier build than her brothers, but she was the second oldest and therefore stronger and taller than her two younger brothers (until they out grew her during puberty, of course).
Her own teenage years were nothing particularly special, aside from the fact that she never really seemed to be interested in boys the way her friends were. She never understood why they went batshit over guys with greased up hair or bulging muscles. It didn’t make sense to her until the age of sixteen when she met a boy with a motorcycle. His name is no longer important, but she could recall every lovely detail about that Triumph Bonneville. In truth, she was probably more infatuated with the bike than the boy, but she still marks that as her first encounter with “true love”. Her second encounter didn’t come until much later, thanks to her being generally poor, disgusted with the uselessness of her gender, and making her way as a “dancer”. It was degrading, humiliating, but she couldn’t get out because what else were women supposed to do? God knew they didn’t get taken seriously at any of the jobs Daze would’ve liked to do, and short of dressing like a man… She was able to get out of that rut thanks to a woman named Phyllis.
She was an older woman, Phyllis, with a fire in her belly that never went out. Sometimes it was actually heartburn, but usually, it was a flare and passion that carried into every aspect of her life. She took Daze by the hand and taught her about love and sex, not necessarily in that order. Most importantly though, she taught Daze that having boobs was not the be all, end all of worth. Did Daisy not know how to hit a target roughly the size of a man’s gonads from a hundred yards away? Could she not disassemble and reassemble the carburettor in a pre-war Speed Twin without extra pieces left over at the end? Hell yeah, she could, and she could damn well look good doing it too, because if nothing else, women could multitask like nobody’s business. In fact, the more she learned from Phyllis, the more enamoured of women she became in both the literal and metaphorical senses. However, she never managed to keep a steady girlfriend; none of them seemed to share her free-spirited nature or her attitude towards casual sex.
At least, not until Johanna. Johanna had been looking for a quick fling to fit roughly into her schedule and Daze was not too proud to fill the gap. She’d never done a woman aspiring for political power before, after all. Johanna was quick, brusque, and endearingly awkward about the “cuddling” afterwards with her unsubtle coughing and sudden bout of overactive bladder. Not to mention the fact that her hands were rough with a lack of moisturiser and that felt
unreal when Jo rubbed—
Daze became a permanent fixture in Jo’s life in late 2000 when they agreed that the sex was too wonderful to completely split. In return, Daze would respect Johanna’s political ambitions and not be "all freaking clingy”, while Jo would maybe, every once in awhile stay in bed long enough after the deed for a sleep or maybe another round if she was up for it. This was essentially the lap of luxury and her chance to be as girly as she liked for the first time in her life. She began wearing lovely patterned dresses to functions and stilettos that showed off her calves (all on her lover’s credit card, of course). It was a brilliant relationship, and for everything that she took from Jo, she made sure to return in whatever way she could: sex, attending rallies or functions, doing home repair jobs, or helping Jo write her next speech. Things were great as far as Daze was concerned, and Jo didn’t complain too much when they were alone for supper.
Then that God damn owl went and f**king bit her. Jo had taken her to see an exhibition at the newly refurbished Helldeep Zoo and it had a few of the Barnyard animals on display. She had teasingly asked, “What’s an owl doing in a petting zoo? Nobody’s going to be able to pet it,” when the little b*****d went and bit her between her thumb and index finger. At first, she hadn’t understood the collective gasp of fear, nor the stony look on Jo’s face. Come to find out, that
wasn’t an owl. Daze had heard of zoanthropes, thanks to Jo and the meetings she’d attended discussing such menaces. She never actually suspected they’d be stupid enough to let people close enough to
pet the damn things. Any sympathy she expected from Jo was a complete wash: Jo coldly told her that yes, she was expected to be in the zoo, she
would accept her fate and be treated to similar perks that zoanthrope ZI members were, and she WOULD stop crying.
Daze was carted off into the warehouse that same day drenched in tears and more than frustrated with her lot in life. The really annoying thing was that she was still pretty sure she loved Johanna Stuart. What a b*tch.
