Jaha Dimka fastened a red, black, and green head wrap into place, tucking the escaping stray curls underneath. No one would ever see her without her head being covered, be it by hat, scarf, or artificial hairpiece. She fitted an octopus-shaped headband, which matched her chakram necklace, over her hair before binding it. Metallic-green eye shadow framed a black kohl-rimmed eye, highlighted against her bronze complexion. Leaning back in her chair, she listened for a response from her cultural attaché. Thin lines framed the fierce set of her jaw.

“Mm-hmm,” he said to acknowledge her statement. A slight huffiness to his tone, an intimated impatience since he waited on the other side of the fashioned screen.

As was her habit, Jaha was the first to arrive at the embassy. Because she leapt immediately into her work, she hadn’t changed into anything formal. In short, she hadn’t done her hair. And her cultural attaché would just have to wait until she was ready. Jaha numbered among the oldest of Muungano’s members. People often asked when she planned on retiring, which she took as her cue to inform them that she was living with intentionality and there was no retiring from that except by death. Back in the day, when the community being formed was still called First World, legendary cofounder Astra Black had been her mentor.

She drew her robes, which were the Legba colors of griots—black with red sleeves—tighter around her with a green sash. A collar with a near-metallic sheen extended up high along her neck. Once she was satisfied, Jaha dropped the nanotech curtain. The array dissolved into an umber puddle, which skirted over to her to wrap itself about her, the nanomesh forming along her like a second skin.

Ishant Sangsuwangul stood revealed on the other side, a smirk of bemused indifference plastered on his face. Without a word, he walked over to the workstation adjacent to her. He’d kept his back to her. He hadn’t bothered to give her a greeting, no “I see you” nor a hand clasp. Though young, he sported a premature streak of white in his hair. With his short, lithe figure, he wore a tight-fitting shirt and, if possible, tighter-fitting pants, which was all the fashion rage on Original Earth. His outfit casually displayed his thin muscles. It annoyed Jaha’s fashion sensibilities, but the elder wouldn’t begrudge the young their poor fashion choices as long as they retained some semblance of cultural decorum.