Kakashi bit his first reply in half. The world was cold and sharp and clear, humming with adrenaline -- and this was just a new slice of bullshit diplomacy. Something that broken necks wouldn't help in the slightest, even if his bones shook with the need. Genma could barely stand, and Kakashi couldn't move fast enough. They wouldn't even make it past the door.

And Konoha wouldn't thank them for breaking the treaty, either.

He barely glanced at the collection of scarred steel and scorched cloth, refusing to let his hands curl into fists or too-visible teeth sink into his naked lower lip. Want was weakness; visible want would just give Iwa another hold over them.

"How long a stay?" he rasped instead, inhaling subtley on the return-breath. Scent-testing.

"I'm afraid I'm not privy to that information," said the man dressed like a religious leader. He smelled like cool control and arrogant conceit, but not violence -- or the intent to order violence. His chakra was organized for a civillian, almost a smooth tangle, but a civillian nonetheless.

Kakashi recognized his face. And, after a second's thought, the name that went along with it.

"Maruyama Kiyoshi," he said, and felt a distant flicker of satisfaction when the man twitched a barest fraction. It wasn't a blade into flesh, but it was the best he was going to get. "It's unusual for a council-member to be so ill-informed."

"Even the most most well-informed among us, Hatake-san, find it a challenge to forsee the future." Maruyama bowed, an exacting little gesture that felt like a return sword-slice.

Kakashi quenched a snarl. Let me lend you an eye, then. He could bluff on a poor hand, but not on a hand lacking cards entirely. And not when Genma's life rested amongst the chips.

Not when the man dressed in commander-blacks watched them both steadily, chakra coiled like a waiting viper.

"How about something more simple?" Kakashi suggested tightly. "Food and water, medical supplies, basic ammeneties. And contact with Konoha's representative, presuming he hasn't met with his own unpleasantness."

One elegant hand gestured backwards, towards the bedding bundles by the door. "I'm sure you will find some of the comforts you seek here," Maruyama said. "Are you in need of a medic's attention?"

Kakashi felt Genma's flinch. A jagged ripple of chakra, a spike in scent, a sudden lack of breathing. He tucked a hand behind him, flashing a quick, hidden handsign. Breathe. I won't let them touch you.

Half-choked, Genma inhaled.

"I'm in need of a faith-gesture," Kakashi answered. "You'll forgive me if I'm not feeling especially engendered towards blind trust right now. You do have a Konoha representative, don't you? Assuming a treaty is still on the books. I know we're keeping one of your men in good quarters at home."

"Murasaki-san has been told you're here," Maruyama said, as if that closed the matter. And if that was true, it might. A foreign diplomat solely in charge of negotiating delicate relations held a lot of sway -- Konoha itself held a lot of sway. Now there was a chance they'd been doubly informed.

Not for a moment did Kakashi let himself relax. Maruyama's scent was like opaque glass; emotions swirled beneath, but Kakashi couldn't get any kind of clear view of them. Part of him wondered if the religious diplomat was a sociopath, or just one of the most exquisitely controlled men Kakashi had ever met. The rest of him didn't have the room to care. Food, water, amenities, get them out of here before Genma loses it...

Before I lose it.

"Give him my regards when you see him," Kakashi said, and cut a bladed smile. "And the Tsuchikage. I hope one day we can show him the same kind of hospitality you've graced us with."

Utterly still-faced, Maruyama bowed again. The man in commander blacks gave Kakashi a long, slow look that roiled with something else underneath, but said nothing. Kakashi watched as they left, feeling like a guard dog spliced through a willing target -- but better they focus on him than Genma. That had been the entire point of this insanity.

The door fell back into place with the heavy clunk of locks.