[center][h2]An Invitation to Conspire[/h2][/center]
When Onarr arrived at the fountain, it would've been hard for him to miss that there were a great many people near to it and he was not quite certain of who his contact would  be. No sooner had he started scanning the likely candidates, than a pretty girl of East Severan extraction, who he'd taken for a student, skipped up to him. "Onarr?" she enquired, face eager and voice chipper. "Is that you?"

Onarr's helmet bobbed up as he swerved around, looking for the source of the noise, until he found a pair of thin legs. He then looked up and then, jumped with a stammer. "Oh! I didn't quite notice you there. Yes, Onarr Yidlob at your service."  He then tilted his head curiously. Not many people knew of his name. Perhaps, she read one of his manuscripts? He stuck out his hand to shake hers. "I'm sorry if we met before but by perchance, what would your name be?"

"Minnah," she replied, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. Presently, she shook his hand. "Minnah Jangaro. And no," she continued, with a hint of a giggle, "we have not - perchance - met before, though it [i]is [/i]a pleasure to meet you." Her smile seemed to turn professional, then. "We do, however, share an acquaintance, and he's so very eager to speak with you." Minnah was perhaps a bit older than she had initially looked, Onarr may have noticed. Her hair was pulled back in afro-puffs and there was a sort of bounce to her every step. "If you would be so kind as to follow me?" she offered, letting the last past of the sentence dangle.

Onarr quickly figured out that Minnah was his contact and was led, with surprisingly little decorum, to a waiting rickshaw, which whisked him away to a small townhome which flew the flag of his country. From inside came the unmistakable aroma of hearty Joruban cuisine. Inside was President Yibozo. After a friendly and not especially formal greeting, he led Onarr to a small, private dining room, where the meal was presently being laid out on the table. A cook hustled over from the kitchen with the final dish, but the president rose to take it from her. "You've done quite enough, Hope. Let me take that for you," he offered.

"Thank you, sir."

He waved mock-dismissively. "No need to thank. You're the chef! Now go," he added, "shoo! Go eat the rest in the big room and let me conspire with this young man, hmm?" He winked in Onarr's direction and Hope scampered off to do exactly that with the other staff. "Now, let's eat. I'll fill your head full of unwanted politics once we're both on full stomachs, eh?"

It was little but the most perfunctory of smalltalk. The president was a polite eater, but a quick one. He did not react when Onarr removed his helmet. At one point, seeing the boy's appreciation of a dish, he leaned in and chuckled. "I shelled out good money for that. Glad to see it's appreciated. Eat every bite or Bwan Somiji's* gonna getcha, huh?" He proceeded to cut another slice of his meat pie and return to eating it.

When they were finished, their conversation started remarkably straightforwardly. Atundo Yibozo confided that he had been trying to arrange meetings with all of the Joruban Biros at the school. They would soon be influential people and it was important for him to get to know them on a person-to-person basis, just as it was meaningful to show them that their country would have their backs. If things came down to it, the president expressed a similar desire that they should stand up for their country and its interests and achievements. Joru was an experiment: a beacon to the rest of the world of what was possible without a class system, but it required its citizens to buy in and to be vigilant in order for it to succeed. He spoke of the tension and his desire to do anything within his power to avoid a war. He had been a soldier, once, after all, and then a revolutionary, and the Joruban people - and [i]all [/i]people, truly - had bled more than enough for the interests of the selfish and powerful. 

But he was making a move, in two days. He expected there to be some fallout. Already, he confided, with a startling casualness, there had been an attempt on his life at the plaza yesterday evening. Perhaps Onarr remembered something strange and unplaceable? In any event, the president claimed that he had put security measures in place, that he hoped he could rely on the 'Vigilant eyes of the Joruban youth of this city' and that he hoped to 'go traveling soon with a friend of mine'. Leaving the youth to digest that information, he hired another rickshaw and, after he and Onarr exchanged a handshake, he stood in the open doorway, thumbs hooked into his pockets, before turning and closing the door behind himself.

[hider=Bwan Somiji]*Bwan Somiji goes by a number of related names but, in all cases, is a monster from  East Severan folk tradition. He is depicted as a tall, gangling man with sharp teeth, a huge mouth, and pale greyish-white skin. He was once a banker, big and fat, with healhty-coloured skin, but his greed led him to call in his loans early and he snatched the new year's feast right off the plate of a Rezaindian Nun. She begged Ahn-Eshiran to curse him, but there was no response. Five times in total, this happened, to five different acolytes of Eshiran, while he himself was often wasteful of food. Thus, the god was finally moved to act, placing a blood magic spell on him that would destroy any food that Bwan Somiji ate after it had only lasted five seconds in his stomach. She also gave him eternal life by declining to ever bless him with the release of death, so that his suffering might serve as an example to others. He wanders the countryside now, attacking and eating children who refuse to eat good food in a fit of jealousy.[/hider]