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

*speaks with a brogue* Me name's Hope Callaway, ma'am. 'Tisn't an Irish name, I know, but me ma lost a number o' babes 'fore I was born, an' I was the only one to live, so she called me Hope. *laughs a bit, embarrassed* But ya weren't askin' for all that, were ye?

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

They call me Footsteps. I came over from County Clare when I was young an' ended up wanderin' all over the country, seein' the sights, meetin' the folks, driftin' from one job an' boardin' house to another. Left me footsteps echoin' everywhere I went, ye see?

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

Born November 14, 1882, so I just turned seventeen not so long ago.

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 lass--'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, mostly. 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 ev'ryone. If yer in need o' help or advice, ye 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 I should know about? 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.

I've been told I'm a born storyteller. Sometimes I write 'em down...things that happen to me, ye 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 s'pose 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.

Well, I don't smoke or drink or swear up a streak. *smiles brightly; her smile wilts; long silence* I do, uh...I have a bad habit o' walkin' out on people. Leavin' 'fore I can get too attached to a place. *chuckles bitterly* I always take souvenirs, though. Got a pillowcase full o' the most useless knickknacks ye can imagine. *quickly changes the subject* An' there's the ramblin' on an' on, which I already mentioned. I also spent some time in the Refuge--arrested for sleepin' on a park bench. *smiles wryly*

Who d'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 this house an' most o' the Duane Street boys; I'm good friends with Jack Kelly. An' I know a number o' kids from Five Points, the Battery, Midtown...plenty o' friends. *smiles* Not a soul in the way o' fam'ly, though.

Seein' anyone special, dear? *smiles slyly*

*shy smile* Not just at the moment, no.

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

*shrugs* I was born an' raised in County Clare, Ireland. We were poor as churchmice, but when I was still a bairn, I had an opportunity to come to America with some friends. Long story short, I took it, an' I've traveled from coast to coast since then, livin' an' workin' here an' there. Finally found me way to New York two years ago. A copper found me sleepin' on a park bench an' threw me in the Refuge. I was in there for a whole year, due to, uh...various circumstances... *coughs* But when I got out, I found me way here. *beams* An' with the western part o' Greenwich just burstin' with folks from County Clare--well, it's the closest thing to home since... *falters once more* Well, it's...it's almost home.