Staring at the head of white hair across the table, bristling with Kanzashi, Izuna grits his teeth, feeling the tension from his clenched jaw radiate up into his temples. "Funny meeting you here," his voice is snide, "at the daimyo's table no less."

"The Senju may not be noble," Tobirama seems unconcerned by his ire, face as tranquil and still as water in a well, "but we still have things to offer, I among them."

Izuna seizes a piece of meat from his plate, biting down viciously on it. Be it as a bribe or tribute, Tobirama's body is not for the daimyo to claim.

Izuna staked his claim a long time ago, and he won't give it up to anyone.