First I'll be needin' yer full name, honey. It's for my confidential records. Lord knows none o' the girls actually uses 'em.

My name's Hope Callaway, ma'am.

So what do people actually call ya? An' why?

Folks call me Footsteps, since I came over from Ireland and ended up wanderin' all over this country, seein' the sights, meetin' the folks, driftin' from one job and boardin' house to another. Left me footsteps echoin' everywhere I went, y'know?

Age an' birthday? Just estimate if ya ain't sure, hon.

I'm seventeen, born November 25, 1882.

Now you's gonna give me a physical description. Height, build, hair, eyes, the clothes ya wears--everythin' down to the last freckle, ya hear? *gives you a sober look* If one o' my goils goes missin'...well, it pays to be prepared, I always say.

I'm powerful tall for a girl--'bout 5'10", I'd say--an' me build's pretty average, thin but not real thin. I've got pale skin, long brown hair that's dreadfully wavy, an' brown eyes. There's some that says I've got a pretty face, but I won't be commentin' on that. *blushes* Anyway, I usually wear a white blouse like this an' a long skirt--blue, green, or brown. An' there's a scatterin' o' freckles on me arms.

I know you'll be sellin' papes, but are ya doin' any odder kinda work? If so, I gotta know about it. *gives you a sharp look* Yes, even that.

*turns a bit pale* I...I ain't doin' that, ma'am, I assure ya. Now an' then, I might sell a story or a poem to some silly little newspaper, or a play to some third-rate theater. *shrugs modestly*

What's yer personality like, dearie? Sweet, grumpy, shy, outgoin', overly fond o' the boys? *smiles* It's all perfectly fine here in Greenwich Village.

Well, I've got a tendency to ramble, tellin' long stories o' me life or of old Ireland, so please stop me if I ever start to wear yer ears out. An' I've got the wanderlust for sure--hard for me to stay in one place too long. *looks uneasy for a moment* Beyond that, I try to treat others the way I want to be treated. I ain't sayin' I'm a saint or that it's always easy, but that's how I was raised. Reachin' out to the sick, an' the poor, an' the poor in spirit, an' all that. Nobody's perfect, an' some folks might seem downright evil, but...I try to find the best in everyone. If ya need help or advice, you can always count on me. An' if there's real evil bein' done somewhere an' I can do somethin' to fight it, I will.

Now, most o' the Village is real keen on the arts. Got any special talents? If ya sing, dance, act, draw, paint, write, or sweep a stage, I guarantee the goils'll find ya some extra work. *winks* You can tell me about any non-artistic talents while you's at it.

Well, I...I've been told I'm a born storyteller. Sometimes I write 'em down...things that happen to me, y'know, or even things I make up outta me own head, little scenes an' snippets o' poetry an' the like. *drags a massive stack of journals with her everywhere; it's now hidden under her bunk* I guess if someone wanted to take a look at one o' me stories, or have me write a play for 'em or somethin'...well, I'd be agreeable to that. *blushes again*

Any ghosts hauntin' ya that I should know about? I don't mean the kind that supposedly haunts the attic--I mean the bad things that follow ya from yer past, or the bad habits ya just can't seem to shake.

I don't smoke or drink or swear up a streak, if that's what ya mean. *long silence* I do, uh...I have a bad habit o' walkin' out on people. Leavin' before I can get too attached to a place. *chuckles bitterly* I always take souvenirs, though. Got a big canvas bag o' the most useless knickknacks you can imagine. *quickly changes the subject* An' there's the ramblin', which I already mentioned. I also spent some time in the Refuge--arrested for sleepin' on a park bench. *smiles wryly*

Who ya know in the area, hon? Friend or foe, I wanna hear about it. An' have ya got any fam'ly left?

I know all the girls in me house an' most o' the Duane Street boys; I'm good friends with Jack Kelly. An' I know a good number o' Bowery newsies, Midtown, Upper Manhattan...plenty o' friends. *smiles* Not a soul in the way o' fam'ly, though.

Seein' anyone special, dear? *smiles slyly*

*blushes dark red and lowers her eyes, almost whispering* Not...not at the moment.

Now, last of all, baby, I need to know why you's here. Where'd ya come from, an' what kinda life did ya have before?

Well, I'm an only child--Mam had a lot o' stillborns an' miscarriages, an' I was the only baby to survive. That's why they named me Hope. I was born in Galway, Ireland, an' lived there till I was five, but then me da came to America lookin' for work. Had some trouble findin' it, though...well, keepin' it, really...he had a habit o' comin' in drunk, startin' fights, that kinda thing, so he'd get fired an' move on, takin' Mam an' me with him. We traveled from coast to coast, livin' here an' there, till one night in Boston when... *bows her head* Da had too much to drink an' died of it. I was ten. *pauses* Mam died in childbirth a couple months later...another stillborn. *crosses herself; stays silent a while* I had the nickname an' the wanderlust by then, so I took to travelin' on me own. Finally found me way to New York two years ago. A cop found me sleepin' on a park bench an' threw me in the Refuge. I was in there for a whole year, due to...various circumstances... *coughs* But when I got out, I found me way to Greenwich Village. Trill was just gettin' set to leave--an' for whatever reason, she passed me the leadership.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Profile By: Flare Higgins

E-mail Address: FlareHiggins@yahoo.com

AIM or Other Screen Name(s): Flare_Higgins (AIM)

Character Song: Almost Home by Mary Chapin Carpenter