Hui-Bawa scratched at the tie around his neck. He felt like an idiot. No matter how often he put on the suit, it felt constricting, nothing like the loose clothes of the Hui-Eehi. Perhaps the man who sold him the suit was right, and he should have paid for something more expensive. A shake of the head threw the notion away. He was spending the people's money on himself as it is, and that sat heavy in his stomach. He can deal with a scratchy outfit for a couple more days. Hui-Bawa tried to ignore his discomfort by focusing on his goal. He's here for a reason, and it would do him well to remember it. 

"Curses," he muttered to himself, standing on his toes to look over the crowd. Some of the pale people around him gasped, or shuffled away nervously. He tried to pay little attention to them. He was here to meet someone he's never seen in person, and his only clue as to who she is are vague descriptions of her appearance. White skin, red hair, facial spots? That could be a solid tenth of the people in this room alone. Who knows if the wealthy here are having some sort of red-hair party in any of the hundreds of chambers that litter this palace like flies on a body?

The entire party was a testament to wealth. Some people had land. Some people had money. These people embodied it. Robes the size of automobiles adorned every body, inlaid with more precious metal than ten thousand of his countrymen would have seen in their lives put together. Some chose to wear masks, embedded with so many jewels Hui-Bawa began to wonder how it does not slip off their faces. A vision flashed through his head, of him tearing the masks off, and throwing them to the ground, where the jewels would shatter on the ground, as easy as glass did. 

For now, though, syndicalism would have to be put on hold. He had to remind himself that he was no philosopher, and it was not his place to take the wealth of these foreigners from them. Right now, the people that need him most are at home, and helping them meant meeting with one Genevieve Anders.

There, in the corner of his eye, he spied a face that seemed almost perfect. It matched all the few descriptions he had. "Lady Genevieve!" he shouted, his voice booming across the room. Quite a few heads turned towards the dark-skinned stick racing across the room to accost some poor girl on the other side of the room. "I've been looking for you!"

"I'm terribly sorry, you must have the wrong person," she said.

"Ah, I see. You've never seen my face before. I am Hui-Bawa Du-Butha Hui-Hooseng, the one who has been in communication with you for these past moons. Surely, Lady Genevieve, you must remember that."

" . . . My name is Johanna. I am a part of the court. Pleased to meet you too," she said, smiling wanly. Hui-Bawa clasped a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. Oops.

"Terribly sorry, I have wasted your time," he said, walking away before he could make a fool of himself any longer. Well, this party has certainly been off to a wonderful start for him.