| [Feb. 12th, 2010|07:22 pm] |
Don't talk was the first rule of interrogations. The only rule, really, beyond stay alive if you can, and don't break. But Kakashi needed information, needed information now, and dialogue was the only way to get it.
Which meant counter-interrogation. Which was a sure pathway to pain.
In this moment, he didn't much care.
The first attempt brought nothing but a rusty, throat-wrenching croak. He swallowed with a click, worked saliva into his dry mouth, and tried again. "Where's -- my teammate?"
Not Genma's name. The man with the cigarette didn't need any extra proof that Genma could be used as leverage, there was already more than enough.
A long silence stretched, framed by coiling tendrils of smoke and that tiny orange glow. Kakashi set his teeth and waited. As his vision adjusted he could see a little more, a mouth bisected by a long scar, the glint of dark eyes, at least two day's growth of beard. The man exhaled slowly.
"I have absolutely no idea," he said, with amiable good cheer, and Kakashi realized with sinking horror that he had no way to smell a lie. "Did you lose him somewhere? Irregardless, we're here to talk about you." A smile knifed in the dark. "Tell me, did you get along with your mother?"
That was so off-the-wall Kakashi just blinked. And breathed through his mouth as the stench of burning thickened, filling the whole world.
"Or your father?" the man prompted. "Any uncles, perhaps? I'm curious, what was your family tree like?"
"Uninteresting." Kakashi tilted his head back as far as he could stand. "How did you know my teammate was a man?"
"Lucky guess. Or statistical probability, take your pick. Did you have any siblings?"
"No." This information was all in the bingo book, why did this man care? He was trying to establish a response baseline, Kakashi guessed. An idea of how his subject reacted to neutral, pointless questions, so that the man would know if he hit on something touchy. "How long have you been an interrogator?"
"Eighteen years. I'll ask you to complete a questionnaire rating how you found the experience later. Do you write with your right hand?"
"Does that matter?"
"It might."
"I write with my feet," said Kakashi, and throttled a cough as more smoke blew into his face. "What's your name?"
"Takajin. Do you find names interesting?"
"Only when I want to check I've killed the right man."
"It's important to care," Takajin agreed. "That personal touch makes all the difference."
"Where's my teammate?"
"Don't you know? That must be very upsetting. I hope you weren't close."
Kakashi regretted not biting the man's fingers off when they'd been near his face. He kept his silence this time, testing every leather strap for a hint of give. They were all tight enough to press marks into skin, but not tight enough to cut off the blood supply. Exactly how he would have tied them.
Takajin watched him for a long moment, ember-lit and thoughtful, then leaned forward and put out his cigarette with careful deliberation on the chair between Kakashi's legs. Darkness plunged back in a wisp of smoke and warm metal. Kakashi bit down a startled inhale.
A hand ruffled his hair with cheerful affection. He jerked away, then snapped around to bite, but his masked teeth met nothing.
"We'll talk later," Takajin promised.
Then there was silence, and empty blackness. |
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