Smoker was wandering about town late that night. He was bored, restless, and the pirates they'd fought thus far hadn't even been strong enough to be worth the amount of minimal amount of effort that they even did bother to put in. It's a cool night on an Autumn island, and Smoker just lets the scent of the crisp fall air mix with the cigars and ocean shore tang. That's when he spots an orange hat on a certain a tattoo'ed idiot.

"Portgas," he growled roughly and folded his arms menacingly to give off a serious aura.