DATE:  Friday, March 20, 1998
Place:  The High Note

---- Recall start ----

The High Note
Contents:
Nigel

Nigel's desc:
Nigel is a sandy-haired man in his early thirties with a gold-rimmed pair of 
   spectacles and a scrawny build. His exposed skin is brown from a great deal 
   of time spent outside, and his calloused hands and dirty nails would seem 
   to indicate a person who earns his living through physical labor, but while 
   some blue collar workers have cel phones and pagers on their belts, not so 
   many have an emerald ring on their finger and a $2000 watch that measures 
   barometric pressure. His usual expression can be described charitably as 
   pensive, or (less kindly) as befuddled. Judging from his clothes, Nigel 
   dresses in the dark. He wears a canary-yellow pullover on top of a 
   lime-green t-shirt (with the words 'Suicide Squid' visible above his 
   neckline), maroon jeans with frayed cuffs and patches on both knees, and 
   thick Polarwear socks (one blue, one green) under a battered old pair of 
   Reeboks which were white sometime in the past.

Nigel is waiting to be seated, holding a white rose and staring at a large 
   potted fern with an expression of dismay.
Nigel gives the hostess a mild smile as she arrives with a menu to show him to 
   his seat. "The roots are awfully constricted in that small pot, you know. 
   Have you considered upgrading, possibly doing something with vines?" He 
   lets himself get led to a secluded table close to the kitchen door.
Nigel settles into the rich, warm leather of the cozy booth in the dark north 
   corner.
JJ Malone comes in fashionably late, by about 10 minutes, and scans the room 
   as if simply scoping it out. If he notices Nigel and the rose, he gives no 
   sign. He heads for the bar to order a drink of some sort, then begins 
   meandering over to the eccentric's table, sliding into it without asking. 
   "Good evening, Mr. McAllister."
Nigel quickly puts down a plastic baggie full of dirt he had been squinting 
   at. "Well. Good evening! May I get you a...well, you already have one, 
   don't you? Um... have you eaten?"
JJ Malone's eyebrows lift from behind the rims of his sunglasses with mild 
   surprise at what he studies, but seems to take it in stride. "I ate before 
   I came," he comments mildly. "But if you'd like to, please, do so."
Nigel glances at the menu. "Have you noticed that you can get cheesesticks 
   anywhere these days? Except for Chinese restaurants. I bet if they were 
   more into cheese over there, they'd have them, too. And yet, once you've 
   had one, you've had them all, now, haven't you? At best you get a more 
   expensive condiment, salsa instead of ketchup. I'll just have an ale, thank 
   you" he tells the waitress.
JJ Malone says with just a touch of irritation, "No, I've never noticed. So, 
   Mr. McAllister. You're here. Now what?"
Nigel tucks the baggie back into the pocket of his pullover. "Well. Yes. Now I 
   see in what ways I can help you, and the local community, in return for 
   some advice. I've been sent to work here, for the next year or two at 
   least, and I'd hate to step on any toes, or intrude in territory unwisely."
JJ Malone grunts softly, pausing as the waitress delivers Nigel's ale, then 
   picking up without seeming to miss a beat. "What are you doing here?" he 
   asks, in the tone of trying to extract a job, not questioning his presence.
Nigel steeples his fingers and looks into the flame of the little candle on 
   the table. In a voice pitched not to carry very far, he explains, "It's a 
   Challenge. I'm not sure how much you know of my Camp, the City 
   Farmers...the short version of our raison d'etre is that we think the 
   cities need vegetation, and wild things more generally. The terms of my 
   task are to come here and create, somehow, a belt of greenery from one end 
   of the city to the other 'so that a squirrel can run from end to end 
   without touching Weaverwork'." He rolls his eyes and smiles a little. "My 
   peers, well, they don't envy me."
JJ Malone makes a small moue at the named camp, but it's not especially 
   negative. "It's not precisely a task I think could be finished almost any 
   place. Why here, though?"
Nigel rubs his chin. "Two reasons. First, based on reports we in Boston have 
   had, St. Claire is almost unique among U.S. cities in that there's a major 
   contingent of us in the area, and almost no known" his voice softens 
   further "Kindred presence. It's remarkable how much of an obstacle that can 
   present to trying to create environmentally-friendly building projects, or 
   a political power base, or almost anything...here, things are wide-open in 
   a truly remarkable way, if the reports from Alchem are still up-to-date and 
   accurate. Besides that, well...this was the name that was picked out of the 
   hat."
JJ Malone can't seem to decide between being amused and offended at his last 
   admission, and settles on option #3 of lighting a fresh cigarette from a 
   pack taken out of the pocket of his overcoat. Once it's going, he blows out 
   a plume of smoke. "Mr. Carr fill you in at all on what's going on here?"
Nigel shakes his head. "He said it wasn't a wise idea to attempt getting water 
   samples from the river, but he was vague...what *is* going on?"
JJ Malone shrugs his shoulders. "Just that there's not much of our family 
   here, is what I meant. And what there is of it sometimes leaves something 
   to be desired."
Nigel says "Hrm. Well...how are we on relatives? Allies? How are things on the 
   flipside?"
"A plethora of other relatives. Mostly out in the woods, though," the ahroun 
   says around a draft of his cigarette. "Allies...well, they're out there, 
   but I ain't the one to make use of 'em."
Nigel nods slowly. "In your opinion, how's the City?", he asks, in the tone of 
   LLouie the Grocer inquiring after the health of Don Corleone.
"Fucked up," JJ says succintly, but without rancor. "We haven't had a strong 
   presence since Mr. Cambridge left in August. Frankly, we suck. Everyone 
   else here thinks *they* know the city, and hold turf here. The Gnawers have 
   their fingers unhealthily in everything. I live day to day, waiting for the 
   shoe to drop again."
Nigel looks vaguely offended at what he's hearing. "The other tr...other 
   groups *want* to live in the city? Aren't they afraid of the 'awful scary 
   weavertaint'? How do their spirits cope??"
JJ Malone shrugs his shoulders again diffidently. "Beats the hell out of me. 
   More reason for me to question them, though. Untouchables, I can 
   understand. That was my old pack. But Edge? Dawn's Fire?" He shakes his 
   head. "Not really. Not entirely. It rankles, actually. I think they're here 
   because they think they can do things better than we can."
Nigel shakes his head. "On a street, tooth-to-tooth level, maybe...if their 
   opponents don't know too much about the environment. But Christ, what 
   happens when the Ventrue start foreclosing on their apartments and....oh, 
   that's right, no Vents." He massages his forehead. "DO we have any contacts 
   at city hall?"
"Nope," JJ says definitively. "And, there are some nightgoers around. They've 
   only been quiet the last few months."
Nigel takes a long drink. "Hell's bells. One good city re-zoning, and we could 
   all be commuting in from Spokane, if the wrong people know the right 
   things." He blinks at his foam. "You do realize, you have yet to tell me 
   anything positive. Is there anything?"
JJ Malone grins. "Oh, sure. I'm Don."
Nigel smiles and raises a glass in salute. "I'll drink to that."
JJ Malone laughs shortly, almost a bark, putting a sarcastic spin on his 
   words. "Probably one of the worst candidates for it? A mule ahroun? 
   Frankly, you have your work cut out for you, Mr. McAlister."
Nigel gives his companion an assessing glance. "You are my blood, and care 
   about this City, know this City, in a way none of our relatives can. That's 
   why I'll follow you into fire; that's why we're going to succeed. If you're 
   willing, I think we could accomplish a lot together, Mr. Malone."
JJ Malone shakes his head, saying with quiet bitterness and anger, "Damn 
   fools, every one of you." Without waiting, he says brusquely, "You have an 
   admission ready?"
Nigel looks blank for a moment, and then reaches inside his pullover and pulls 
   out an envelope. "You take American Express? Is twenty thousand about 
   right? I thought about mutual funds or a car, but I didn't know the address 
   of social security number, and the auto dealerships aren't keen on giving 
   out gift certificates, and then there's the insurance to worry about..."
JJ Malone's face around the sunglasses takes on momentary startlement at the 
   offer, but then says bluntly, "Cash. And, maybe more." He lets out a loud 
   exhale through slightly pursed lips, not quite a whistle. "Keep it for now. 
   If you're going to use money as admission, then I think something should be 
   done with it, not just handing it over."
Nigel tucks it away, and glances around to reassure himself that no one 
   noticed. "As you say. May I ask if you know anyone who would make a good 
   researcher?"
JJ Malone hesitates visibly, then scowls. "Maybe," he admits grudgingly, 
   immediately taking a long inhalation on his cigarette, until it's gone. 
   Still torqued, he pulls out a second, chain lighting it on the dying embers.
Nigel looks at his glass, considering. "I would need, you see, as the first 
   step in my project, to see who owns the properties in the city where the 
   possible routes for the gardens would go. A lot of City Hall drudgery...but 
   there might be some interesting side benefits. For example, would you be 
   interested at all in owning the leases on the buildings where some of these 
   packs lair?"
JJ Malone looks a little more alert at that, natural canniness and opportunism 
   rearing it's head. "Possibly. There'd be advantages in that."
Nigel nods. "It'd be for their benefit, of course. It'd be a pre-emptive 
   strike, to prevent nightgoers or other problematic types from causing 
   problems in the future. Naturally."
JJ Malone's mouth twitches. "Among other things," he muses, leaning back in 
   his seat. He snaps himself out of his reverie, to say, "There are two that 
   I can think of. One, though, has a decision to make regarding his status. 
   As of Tuesday, actually," he comments. "The other is a relative unknown. 
   One of our more distant relatives, working in town. I only found out about 
   him last week, but he could be useful. And," he adds casually, "might be 
   better to have him firmly in our camp than loose."
Nigel takes out rolling papers and yet another baggie, this one containing 
   smaller baggies inside it. He takes out the ones labelled 'tobacco', 
   'rosemary' and 'St. Johns Wort' and begins mixing and rolling a smoke. "It 
   can definitely wait until Tuesday, if you'd prefer holding off until the 
   first person decides their status. Soil samples, surveying the local 
   life...definitely wait until Tuesday, oh yes."
JJ Malone watches the rolling with mild interest, but says, "I'll want to talk 
   to Jayson. But, otherwise, you're invited to our meeting Tuesday night, 
   here."
Nigel smiles. "Thank you, Don."
JJ Malone shakes his head. "Please, don't. Just Malone. Or, J.J. if you prefer 
   less formal, or Shades. Save the title for someone who *deserves* it." The 
   faint, self-deprecating bitterness has returned to his tone.
Nigel looks thoughtful. "'Shades'. Have you ever read Terry....no, that's not 
   really relevant. Oh! If you need to get in touch with me before then, I've 
   checked in at the Knights Rest Inn. Phenomenal oak trees out front, 
   especially for this climate...not native, I don't think, but so old. Odd 
   thing..."
A small chuckle escapes the ahroun unwittingly, a rare lapse. "You have a 
   pager or phone number?"
Nigel inhales sweet smoke and plucks a card from his wallet. "Both listed 
   there, along with e-mail address. And that's Dawn," he adds, pointing at 
   the odd-looking tree on the center of the card. "She's a Metasequoia."
JJ Malone nods. "Nice," he says simply. "Dawn." He drinks down his drink, then 
   slides the glass across the table. "Anyway. Nice to meet you, Mr. 
   McAllister. I'll talk to you Tuesday, if not before."
Nigel bobs his head. "Excellent. Be well between now and then, Mr., um, 
   Shades."
JJ Malone shakes his head. "Just Malone. Or J.J. Or Shades." With that, he 
   disappears into the crowds of the club. Or, would if he was anything but 
   what he was. A small null carpet spreads out in front of him as he passes 
   through the throngs unmolested.

---- Recall end ----