The Fifth Annual Writer Games: The Fall

District Eight Male: Tucker Steppe [Enchantresses]

Name: Tucker Steppe

Age: 15

District: Eight; Textiles

Sex: Male

Physical Appearance: Rose paints his cheeks when he laughs or cries or runs. His pale skin flushes and burns far too easily, making his numerous freckles as prominent as a stitch in a quilt or a star in the sky. He got the swathe of them from his father, Aunt Twyla says. The mop of brown hair and the bushy eyebrows came from him, too. But the heart-shaped face and blue-green eyes and curious quirk to his mouth all came from his mother. He's a testimony to the love they once shared.

Personality: Ruby paints his pockets with yarn and stamps and snatches of cloth. He likes to collect pretty things, see. Sometimes it's a common find like a bit of fabric or a knot of wire or the head of a pin. Other times, it's a rarity like a bird's bright feather or a carefully pressed flower. (They don't get many flowers in District Eight. He's heard there are flowers to spare in the other Districts, and he wants to find them and collect them, too. He yearns for a world filled with color.) Giving away such pretty things is half the fun of finding them in Tucker's opinion, and oftentimes his little sister and his friends and strangers on the street suddenly find themselves in possession of a small handwritten note or a precious blade of grass. Tucker's a bit of an introverted soul, but he likes to make friends wherever he goes. And he finds silences quite awkward when he's in the company of others, often occupying them with incessant (but genuine) questions or incessant (and mindless) chatter. The weary smile drawn out of a new companion is just one more pretty thing to add to his collection.

Background: Crimson paints his past--ink and blood and fabrics long-ago lost. He was young when the thirteen districts rebelled, and the world crumpled into twelve. He can barely remember the sound of sirens and sparks and screams. He can't remember them at all, really. Really, he can't. But he dreams of them sometimes, and he's heard the stories--whispered by schoolmates in between classes, relayed by elders who still tremble with suppressed rage, woven into bedtime stories told by his mother and his aunt. Tucker lost his father in the attacks. He lost a lot of things in the attacks.

But Tucker's never been one to dwell on the past, really. Really, he's not. And even if he was, the best form of revenge is a smile, is getting on with one's life and savoring the small miracles that appear each and every day. One such miracle is his little sister Lacie, who looks up to him and often picks up on his odd little turns of phrase. He lives with her and his mother and his aunt and he loves them all desperately. Tucker is very proud to help support this family he adores, and he doesn't even mind the callouses that ring his fingertips as a result. He works in the factories after school, making stark white uniforms for the Peacekeepers. On weekends, he helps out at his aunt's tailoring shop, making small repairs and occasionally even sewing a few new pieces himself. Just simple things, like skirts for Lacie or her dolls. They're poor, yes, but they get by. And they have each other to return to at the end of the day. So in the center of a city wreaked by despair, Tucker lives in a home filled with love.

He's happy here, really. Really, he is.

Family: Evander Steppe (Deceased); Vermilion "Vera" Steppe (38); Lacie Steppe (12); Twyla Steppe (33)

Reaped or Volunteered?: Reaped

Weapon of Choice: He's more of a healer than a fighter, if truth be told. But in a pinch, he might go for a slingshot or throwing knives.

Token: A little ball of worn yellow yarn. He likes to weave it between his fingers sometimes, just to have something to do.

Other: Scarlet will paint his future.