I don't own these characters, One Piece, or any of the great stuff that Oda Eiichiro comes up with. But the way the words go together – that is all mine.

I admit that our dear Akuma no Mi eating Captain usually has it more together than this, but considering the subject matter, I think this is an accurate portrayal of his level of information and lack thereof.

This was inspired after a marathon session of 'North and South' and A&Es 'Pride and Prejudice' and topped off with a viewing of 'Miss Congeniality.' But it was written down because torturing Smoker is way too much fun. And then somehow it got a plot and chapters. I didn't mean for that to happen, but what can you do?

I am telling you now that this is hardest thing I have ever written. Give me a good angsty, dark piece and I'm in my element, but ask me to write Smoker in character in a humor fic…

Chapter 1 – Invitation to Battle

Smoker reclined in his chair, staring at the ceiling and firmly ignoring the offending sheets of paper lying on his desk. He desired nothing more than to pick them up and, using the ends of his cigars, light them afire.

Once upon a time, a Marine was a Marine. He sailed the seas, kicking the crap out of anything stupid enough to cross his path. Then Headquarters decided that that was 'vigilantism' and begin imposing a hierarchy and rules and expecting 'certain conduct of its officers.'

Wimps.

He exhaled and contributed to the health hazard that was his office.

"Sir, you called for me?" Tashigi made it in the door without tripping over the threshold or herself.

"We're making a detour," he said, sour notes creeping into his voice. He gestured listlessly at his desk. "Orders."

Tashigi hid her surprise as she took up the papers. When did Smoker ever care about orders? They'd left Loguetown without orders. They were following the Straw Hat pirates without orders. Smoker didn't even really dress following regulation. So why was he bothered with these? He usually used the other orders he'd received as …

As she read the opening lines of the first letter, she realized that things may have finally caught up with him.

Tashigi picked up the other document, the invitation. The looping silver script was printed on weighty cream vellum paper. She read the first line and blanched. "Have you begun preparations, sir?"

"What are you talking about?" You can't prepare for hell, Smoker thought dourly. He should know – he'd had to take classes for it three times. A grasp of good etiquette and decorum was considered a necessary part of being an upper level Marine – and most officers, Hina for instance, breezed right through Officer's Conduct Training.

But Smoker wasn't most officers. He'd grown up in the city that spawned the Pirate King. In Loguetown, manners got you a pat on the head and a knife in the back.

He'd done his best to get his instructors understand.

Salad fork, main entrée fork; any fork was fine to stick in a man's eyeball as Smoker had demonstrated to his first instructor utilizing a marker and a small melon.

And dancing? Marines Don't Dance – that was an immutable law of the universe. Maybe a marine could tap his foot if he was really enjoying himself, but that was as crazy as it should get. A marine sure as hell should never be caught waltzing. It was a point he'd driven home with this second instructor – with his boot.

Smoker ground the end of his cigar between his teeth as he mulled over the final outrage. Who cared whether this color wine went with that piece of meat; a piece of meat that was covered in a sauce that no one but an expert in forensics could identify? After they'd gotten gotten the gravy boat off his head, his third instructor had heartily agreed.

Smoker had explained to the Commodore that if a Marine was going to parties and hob-nobbing with so called 'gentlemen', then he wasn't doing his job, which was catching pirates. But he had been required to retake the class for a fourth time and had been told that if he didn't pass, he wasn't going to become a captain.

Then he'd eaten the Devil Fruit and suddenly everyone had become more agreeable. He'd passed with the lowest grade possible, but he had passed and he never had to deal with it again.

Or so he had thought.

Tashigi turned to him, her mouth set in a grim line. "Smoker, sir, you may not realize this, but you are in grave danger."