The streets of Loguetown always smelled like rain and trouble.
Buggy tugged the edge of his cloak higher, eyes darting through the crowd.
The city was louder than before, but he could feel the weight behind it now, something sharp pressing against the back of his neck that wasn't quite wind or paranoia.
He'd been around long enough to know when he was being watched.
And this wasn't just anyone watching. No, this was that bastard.
He ducked into an alley, muttering under his breath, "Of course he's following me. Why wouldn't he? The one time I try to act normal, no explosions, no murders, and I still get hunted down."
He glanced up between the rooftops. The faintest plume of white smoke drifted past the tiles.
Buggy scowled. "Persistent, chain-smoking bastard…"
From above, a calm voice drifted through the haze. "Bloody Jester Buggy. Didn't take you for the subtle type."
Buggy froze mid-step, grinning tightly. "Didn't take you for the patient type, Smoker."
The rooftops stayed quiet after that, but Buggy didn't wait for round two. He slipped between two stalls, shoulder-checking a crate of apples that rolled satisfyingly into a marine patrol's boots.
"Sorry! Merchant business!" he yelled, snatching a random wooden paddle from a cart as he passed. A bag of gunpowder followed a second later, he didn't even need it, but you never knew when life might need a little more bang.
Crowds blurred by in a haze of colors and shouting. Every time he turned a corner, the air got thicker, heavier.
Smoker's… well, smoke.
'He's herding me,' Buggy realized, ducking low behind a wagon as a column of white mist rolled down the street like a living thing. 'Logia user and he's smart? … I hate him already.'
Somewhere above, a shadow leaped between rooftops, coat snapping in the wind.
Smoker's voice echoed down the alley. "Tashigi. Round up his associates. Red Nose first priority."
"Yes, Captain!" came the faint, eager reply.
Buggy groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. He's delegating now. Love that for me."
He cut right through a butcher's shop, ignored the screaming owner, and burst out the back door with a string of sausages now wrapped around his arm. It wasn't even for disguise; he just got slightly peckish while on the run.
The laughter died when the next street ended in a wall of gray.
Smoke. Dense, almost solid.
He stopped short, eyes narrowing. "And here I thought this town's air pollution couldn't get worse."
Then the smoke shifted.
A figure stepped out of it, tall, broad, white coat billowing, two cigars glowing like angry eyes in the haze.
"Bloody Jester Buggy," Smoker said flatly, resting his jitte, the sea-stone baton, across his shoulder. "You're under arrest."
Buggy tipped his hat up just enough to meet the Marine's glare. "Under arrest? Oh, don't tell me the Marines are running out of real pirates already."
Smoker didn't reply. The ground around him started to ripple, tendrils of smoke crawling outward like reaching hands.
Buggy raised both palms. "Alright, alright, before you do whatever that is, I just wanna say-"
The smoke surged.
Buggy split apart instantly, limbs scattering like thrown knives, his upper body hovering above the alley as the tendrils wrapped harmlessly around his separated legs.
"-I hate being interrupted!" he shouted, his floating head snapping around as his hands reached into his coat.
A flash of light, a small bang, Buggy threw something down.
A blue smoke bomb.
Both smokes mixed together into chaos, confusing even Smoker for a heartbeat.
When it cleared, the clown pirate was halfway up the wall, using his detached hands to haul himself over the edge.
Smoker didn't chase. He simply became smoke, swirling upward in a spiral that cut across the buildings like a storm.
Buggy cursed under his breath, sprinting across the tiled roofs. "Why does everyone with a Logia fruit think they own the world!?"
Below them, citizens screamed and scattered as bits of debris fell from their duel above.
Smoker appeared again in front of him, reforming out of mist. "You can't escape me, clown."
Buggy grinned, twirling the wooden paddle like a sword. "You'd be surprised how slippery I can be."
He swung it, then let go. The paddle's handle clicked against a hidden wire, and a small pouch tied near its end exploded into blinding light and noise.
The blast wasn't powerful, but it forced Smoker to shield his face for half a second. Buggy took full advantage, breaking apart mid-leap, his body scattering in every direction like living confetti.
Pieces of Buggy shot down side streets, through open windows, between gaps in the smoke, each moving independently.
Smoker reformed, growling under his breath. "Annoying."
He reached out again; this time his smoke moved faster, wrapping around one of Buggy's floating arms, gripping tight.
"Got you," he muttered.
The arm went limp for a moment.
Then, with a cheerful pop, the hand detached from the wrist and shot off like a rocket, middle finger extended as it vanished into another alley.
Smoker stared blankly. "…You've got to be kidding me."
"Didn't your parents ever tell you not to lay hands on strangers?!" Buggy's voice echoed mockingly from the rooftops.
The chase turned into chaos.
Smoker's smoke stretched across entire streets, tendrils slamming into walls, wrapping around chimneys, cutting off paths.
Buggy zipped and darted between them like a drunk mosquito, leaving behind streaks of laughter and explosions from his petty fireworks.
Each attack Buggy threw passed through Smoker harmlessly, throwing knives, cannon shots from a hand-mounted wrist bomb, even the paddle at one point. They just sliced through mist.
He even tried waving the paddle real quick to make a gust of wind, but that only managed to mildly annoy Smoker.
And unfortunately for Buggy, Smoker's strikes, when they landed, were solid, dense enough to hit like steel.
One near miss sent Buggy crashing through a signboard, scattering wooden splinters everywhere.
He reassembled midair, grinning wildly. "Alright, alright, I see how it is! You're the straight man in this act!"
Smoker's only reply was to swing his jitte downward. The air cracked as the weapon extended, nearly brushing Buggy's chest.
He felt the sea-stone in that instant, an invisible pull that made his limbs wobble and his body feel heavy.
"Ah, nope!" he yelped, disassembling again before it could touch him. His torso floated backward while his arms scrambled to pull him away.
'That's sea-stone alright… One touch and I'm done; I'd rather not think about what happens if it hits me while I'm missing parts…' he thought grimly. 'Just another day surviving the impossible.'
They rose higher, smoke and body parts weaving through the air like a twisted circus act.Below, the people of Loguetown stared up, cheering, screaming, or just getting the hell out of the way.
Smoker's voice boomed from within the haze. "You're making a scene."
Buggy laughed, arms spread wide. "I am the scene!"
He threw another handful of small bombs; they burst like fireworks in red and blue, scattering sparks across the rooftops.
Smoker batted them aside with his jitte, unamused. "You think this is a game? The lives of the people here aren't yours to play with!"
"Buddy, everything's a game," Buggy shot back. "And trust me, you'd rather it be me than the Celestial Dragons squabbling around town!"
Then, for the first time, Smoker smiled, cold, humorless. "I'm done playing around… White Out."
The world went white.
A dome of smoke erupted around Buggy, closing in from all sides. For a moment, he couldn't even tell which way was up. The walls thickened, compressing, almost solid, cutting off sight, sound, and air.
Buggy's eyes darted through the haze. "Ah, hell. This is new."
He tried to push outwards, but the smoke seemed to solidify even more wherever he touched.
'Not good. He's condensing it. Not fast, but steady. If I can't slip out-'
Then he spotted it, a thin spot near the top, where the smoke thinned just slightly. His hand shot toward it, pulling the rest of his body behind in fragments.
He burst through, scattering into the open air like a deck of flying cards.
For a heartbeat, he thought he'd escaped.
Then a shadow appeared above him.
Smoker was already there, reforming midair, one hand gripping the jitte, the other swinging forward.
The smoke tendrils lashed out again, this time in all directions, slamming into each of Buggy's scattered parts, forcing them back together by sheer pressure.
The fragments collided midair, snapping back into place until Buggy's full form reassembled with a painful thunk.
He barely had time to blink before Smoker's hand closed around his neck.
"Caught you," the Marine said quietly.
Buggy tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled sound as the sea-stone baton pressed against his chest.
It burned, not like fire, but like the air itself was being sucked out of him. His limbs went heavy, his laughter choked off mid-grin.
"Ghh-ha… haah…" he gasped, eyes flicking wildly. "Didn't think… you'd… enjoy the show this much…"
Smoker's grip tightened. "Curtain call, clown."
Buggy's head lolled, the manic light in his eyes dimming, then flickering back again, just barely. His grin returned, weaker but defiant.
"Not… yet…" he rasped.
The smoke thickened around them, swallowing both in white mist as the city below buzzed with alarm.
Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed, the signal of the Marines mobilizing, and through it, faintly, came the crack of distant cannon fire.
Buggy's men had started moving.