Asuma barked a laugh that made Arakaki's eyebrows arch. "Oh, he's just a peach. What rock did you find him under?"

"Sub-basement one," Arakaki said, with a slight edge. "I'm sure he likes you already, too."

"Sub-base--" Asuma broke off. "One of Shida's clowns? On a retrieval? Buddha's flaming crotch, Arakaki, you're getting as cracked as my old man. D'you just not like your agents?"

Arakaki's stare was flat and dead, lizard-like. "Use your head, Asuma, and try to think of some reason other than torture that I might have selected that particular agent for this particular mission."

"I'm gonna to start with 'covering your ass' and work my way from there," Asuma drawled, before his brain could intervene. "You really wanna try getting yourself laid, boss-man. Then maybe you'd see it coming when your agents go AWOL for each other."

He yanked his chakra close, twisted the seals, and translocated out of there. He'd pay for it later, probably with a month's worth of missions in Swamp Country, but hell, it was worth it. No one else would say it.

Ibiki wasn't at the east gate, but there were fresh footprints leading towards the forest, obvious as an insult. Asuma rolled his eyes and followed, sparking up a fresh cigarette.

He'd barely gotten two drags when Morino 'I'm such a perfect agent' Ibiki's broad back hove into view. The man shouldn't have been subtle, what with the ridiculous height, shiny-slick ponytail, and magpie armour -- but he blended somehow. Melted into shadows, even in the daylight. Even at a dead-run.

Asuma wolf-whistled at him. "Wait up, fancypants. I've got some questions with your name on 'em."