| Steve |
|
|
| Portrayed by |
Robert Sean Leonard |
| Full name |
Steve Rickson |
| Birthday |
March 2, 1913 |
| Species |
Werewolf |
| Age |
94 (38) |
| Height |
6' |
| Eyes |
Black-Brown |
| Hair |
Brown |
| Power |
None |
| Parents |
Dead |
| Siblings |
Dead |
| Occupation |
Accountant |
Biography
Steve Rickson is not Steve Rickson's name. He was born as Stephen Katzman in Oklahoma, one son of four more boys and one girl, in the year 1913. His father was a white collar clerk, his mother a homemaker and occasional tutor, reasonably academic practices despite the rural setting in which they resided. The variety of personalities the Katzman family bred was somewhat eclectic, from the commanding, domineering presence of the eldest son through to the energetic charisma of the token daughter through to the quiet intelligence of yet another boy.
Fourth eldest in the pack, Stephen took on a little bit of everything - certainly smart, certainly friendly, and with a certain stability that ensured his siblings and peers occasionally listened to him. He did well in his studies, avoided sports, and, less noticeably, grew up to be fiercely observant. Probably, he could be called the most shrewd of the clan, though never in particularly mean ways.
He was 17 when the roaring twenties (a mythological concept to Stephen in hindsight only, living in a somewhat insular rural town on the Oklahoma Panhandle) ended and the Dust Bowl began. My but the early half of the 20th century was exciting. It was towards the latter years of this particular ecological disaster that fierce dust storms ravaged his town and destroyed basically everything his family had ever worked for, as much as they had tried to brace themselves for it. The Great Depression that came on the heels of this era guaranteed that is was for nothing.
He and his family traveled alongside men and women of all walks of life, many of which were farmers who'd lost their fortunes in the dust clouds. He was among the migrants that made their historical trek across the country - however, unlike many, his family did not move for California. They moved for New York, if only because they had family there that could support them. Or could try to support them.
In the big city, their family managed to slowly build themselves back up thanks to the assistance of their relatives, an uncle and his family on Stephen's father's side. Most of the Katzman children were old enough to work, sometimes on the assembly line. The eldest boy joined the Navy. The girl became a seamstress. Stephen missed school.
And when World War II came rattling around, he was drafted. Be it dust storms, sibling disputes over a coat of dubious ownership, or even the opportunity for a proper education slipping from his grasp, nothing really stacked up to the idea of being forced to join the Army. Stephen was 26 at the time, working in a small accounting firm as a clerk, and even the dubious idea that he might simply continue being a pen pusher only with a uniform and patriotism didn't stop him from taking an impulsive step.
Stephen saw to it that he was classed as a homosexual. He got a doctor to write it down for him and everything. Having had a distinct lack of constant female companionship in the past didn't actually have much to do it other than it being a most convenient coincidence, as far as Stephen was and is aware, anyway. Despite his own confidence in his actions and general self-esteem, and the fact that he really only took this route to be clever~, Stephen did what he could to hide the details of this from his family, which wasn't terribly difficult, having long since moved out from the overcrowded townhouse into his own city apartment.
From there, he managed to maintain, for a time. He grew accustomed to bigger city living, ever adaptable, and held down his accounting career through to the fifties. He married twice, got divorced twice, with a sprinkling of affairs in between and sometimes during. But as ever, and he should know, things can change, and change as fast and sudden as an unexpected dust storm.
He was bitten by a werewolf in 1951, and he was 38 at the time. There's more to the story than that, but as far as impromptu sirings go, it could be more exciting. In that it was entirely accidental with no bearing on choosing, no bearing on whether or not he deserved it, for better or for worse. It had been the biggest stray dog Steve had ever seen, and what it was doing down in a New York City subway, he wouldn't have had any idea. It moved faster than he'd ever known a living creature to move, and clamped a jaw down on his arm that was so strong he, to this day, is in awe that he didn't lose the limb from the elbow down. A witness and good Samaritan had nailed the creature with a good kick to the belly, sending it scrabbling madly back down the tunnels.
He transformed within a few hours. What ensued would be the petty destruction of his apartment and getting locked in the bathroom possibly by accident. Rather than crash down the door with one ram of his overlarge wolfy head, he'd instead fallen asleep in the bathtub, and woken up there back in his human shape, with his head pounding as if he were enduring the mother of all hangovers, and shivering from the cold, considering his clothing was in tatters strewn throughout his living room.
For the next two weeks, Steve worked hard at convincing himself that that night had basically been some hopeless fever dream, and the wild dog's bite had maybe carried with it some sort of disease that made him go temporarily insane. That this was a reassurance in comparison to the truth is saying something, but it didn't completely fly with him. Otherwise, he would have gone to hospital. Otherwise, he wouldn't have poked around libraries about legends of werewolves and magical transformations. Otherwise, he wouldn't have driven to the foresty parts of upstate New York come the full moon. Just in case.
How could one describe the next eighteen years? Desperately lonely, perhaps. For a long time, Steve managed to maintain his career and interactions with his family for as long as he could bear it. He'd drive up, every month, to somewhere reasonably secluded, and endure the full moon transformations out of sight of anyone. That he wasn't aging started to become a burden that weighted down his secret keeping, and he withdrew more and more from his family and friends out of necessity.
So perhaps it isn't a big shock that he went to the Woodstock Festival, which did not actually occur in Woodstock, but a town named Bethel, and ran for a day more than it was meant to. A seemingly thirty-eight-year-old accountant from Oklahoma was not actually the strangest sight that could be there, if only thanks to the massive crush of people he could mingle with. And he ran into a werewolf for the first time.
Rick was not what Steve expected this encounter to be, but then, neither was he. They spent a lot of time talking, sharing their experiences, finding out that they had much in common in terms of general bewilderment as to their own predicament. There was also copious amounts of drinking and smoking, which may have helped lubricate conversation. The drugs, though, were not quite enough to mask the fact they weren't the only immortals in town, but both 'wolves more or less tried to shrug it off. Late into the festival, the small vampire clan launched a preemptive strike against the pair of werewolves, possibly assuming they were there to protect hippies from ones such as they.
Fighting was not the first thought they had. Fleeing was. Taking refuge in a hippie van, Steve climbed into the drivers seat and screeched them on out of there, only belatedly realising there was a stoner remaining within the vehicle. OH WELL. Both 'wolves were far too terrified to care at that point, and fear mixed with much marijuana wound them up taking the advice of their unintentional hostage by robbing a liquor store and taking the first plane to Bruges.
Which was in Belgium, and also beautiful. It was Steve's first foray off-shores, which could have led to adventure and
mayhem, but instead led to him picking up accounting consultant work there for the next seven years. Rick remained his
companion, however, despite the fact that the older human and younger werewolf both was not particularly thrilled with
Bruges. Eventually, Steve was convinced to travel with him, if only because he didn't quite want to leave the other
werewolf's side as well as convincing himself that maybe they would be able to find others like them if they shifted around.
Argentina, Brazil, Vegas, Alaska. Encounters with the immortal were few and fair apart, some that did not want anything to
do with them, some that they wanted nothing to do with in return. It was more or less a time of learning, anyway - Steve
taught Rick his own trade, and whatever could be learned off someone like Rick, Steve learned that too.
Forks was Steve's idea. Small towns were more his preference, and there were rumours of all kinds of immortal activity down
that way. He plied Rick with enough logic and alcohol and agreement that they could go to Mexico afterwards and that yes he could pick their aliases, and off they went to the rainy little town. Steve would pick up a job with a bank, bringing Rick
onboard as well for a need of the dual incomes, and then the plan is to— formulate a plan and go from there.
Timeline and Current Plots
November, 2006
- 22nd - On The Subject of Indian: Newcomers to Forks discuss the possibility of checking out the local supernatural haunts, as well as dinner.
Personality
Steve is friendly and amicable with most people he encounters, an easy talker, if occasionally aloof. This isn't exactly a facade - he is more or less genuine, but it certainly conceals more than it tells. At the core, he is a little arrogant in that he feels like he knows what's ~best~ for people around him, as well as being manipulative and shrewd. He's a good observer and a good listener, and is good at applying the information he gleans as to the nature of the other person to benefit both them and himself, ideally.
He is reasonably pragmatic, as well as being one for self-preservation. He will turn and run before fight, but knows when fighting is the better option, occasionally. Though Steve is good at making acquaintances, making friends is a little harder, and in the past forty years, only Rick has managed to worm his way into his heart out of some sort of bizarre wolf bond and need for comradely companionship. Standoffishness doesn't stop him from developing easy attractions towards the female sex, however, to the detriment of either the woman in question or himself when ultimately they find out dating a werewolf is a shitty idea. It is an oft repeated mistake, despite himself, but while it lasts, he's very caring - almost stiflingly so.
Relationships
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Additional Photos
Playlist
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