Jedao

Jedao only somewhat resembles himself. All the footage of him as Heptarch, even the live feeds for the Heptarchs in conference, is edited into a composite of all his doubles, and none of them look quite the same either. Instead of being surgically indistinguishable, they switch variations around from time to time. He rarely attends his official duties in person at all. He gets copied on everything, and his doubles know to cede to his secretaries or to communiqués when necessary.

Instead of forgeries, the Shuos seat under Jedao is a shell game.

When he was twenty-two and terrified out of his mind, it was a way to let people who had a clue what they were doing handle the day-to-day management. Now that he knows exactly what he's doing, it means he can move around with more impunity than most of his predecessors. Jedao could have sent a dozen agents for this. But for a piece this important, he likes to see who he's dealing with in person.

The garish neon-speckled dimness of the bar conveniently obscures everyone's shadows. He isn't even a Shuos here, let alone the Shuos, and Vidona Sinjir doesn't have to be a ray. Something he's needed more and more, lately.

Jedao slides into the seat next to him to puncture that inadequate sanctuary slightly, stealing a sip from Sinjir's drink and making a face.

"Hard day?"