The night has settled and the stars are out, shining in the sky like holes pin-pricked in a big, black curtain. Along with the darkness comes the cold autumn winds, sweeping past and around the tall buildings and rustling the trees in the park, blowing the last few leaves off and onto the ankle-deep, orangey bed of the others that have fallen. Under the canopy of trees in the park, the wind whistles, softly wooshing as it heaves the leaves under the feet of those walking in the early night.

Smoke Man is one of those people, wearing a big jacket with the hood thrown over his head, keeping as warm as he can in his tatty, thin clothes beneath. He's walking briskly, slightly kicking up a flurry of reds and yellows as he walks down the cobbled path, adding to the rustling. There are not too many people walking along the same path as him, and most of them are runners or cyclists taking advantage of the cool evenings the autumn always have to offer, which is never too cold, but just right for that last kick of exercise before the much more brutal winter nights come, or even the snow.

Right now, however, Smoke is not here to exercise. He's here strictly on business. What he is here for exactly he doesn't quite know, but he knows it's, at the very least, to do with his boss Shane . had sent a messenger to tell Smoke to 'follow the yellow brick road' in order to meet him. Smoke had thought about it, and could only think of one brick 'road' in the city, and while these bricks are red, Smoke just assumed that because of the leaves scattered on the floor, then the road would resemble yellow enough for it to be a fair guess.

And so, Smoke is wading through the leaves, bearing a wind so cold it's giving him goosebumps even under both layers of clothing, and that wind also knocks the hood off his head every now and again, leaving his cheeks ripe to be assaulted by the wind.

Turning a slight corner, Smoke sees a small cliff-like rise to one side of the path. Up against it is a bench, slightly to the side of the stone. There appears to be someone running around it, loudly making clicking noises, at the same time slapping the bench with the arm that is not extended in the air with the middle finger out. People who are going past usually slow and stare, until they are scared off by Shane shouting BAH!

Smoke quickens his speed, walking under the shadow cast by the rise and standing there, waiting until Shane stops. He notices that the rise has protected him from the strong gusts of wind, so he puts his hood down.

Shane rounds the bench and sees Smoke. He smiles and smashes his hand down onto the bench, cracking his ring finger somewhat, maybe even breaking it. He nods and sits, relaxing as he would on a park bench. Hesitantly, Smoke joins him.

So you were able to work out my riddle, then?

Eh, work it out, lucky guess, same thing.

Ha! Right answer!

So why did you want to see me then?

Shane relocates his finger, and seems to suddenly become like he usually is; direct and concise, knowing what he's doing and when he's doing, ever cunning, ever plotting, and ever deadly.

Do you remember exactly why we became 'partners', Smoke? I was mad at Dean and Liz for what they did to me, and while you wanted to know who decided the fate of your shitty little apartment, you had come to me specifically after what Dean had done to you. Common enemies and what-not.

I'm fully aware as to why I've been assaulting staff members, thank you.

Shane glances at Smoke. He pushes himself forward and stands, walking onto the path with his hands behind his back, ignorant of the chilling winds around him.

There is no such thing as Shane wasting his breath. I know you know since because of our agreement, you're not lying here with a newspaper over your sorry ass for a quilt to sleep in the night, you're spending your evenings in the best arena money can buy, and you're sitting there, listening to me talk to you as if you were something even remotely resembling a useful turd.

...How can a turd be useful?

It's small enough to be able to pick up and throw at people, and gross enough for them to run away from you, but that's not important right now. Dean hasn't surfaced recently, even though I was convinced he would show in the battle royal. That's not a good sign for either of us.

Woah, woah, woah; either of us!? I'm not sure if you understood me but it's not like I want the guy dead. Sure he's a complete twat but whether he's in the match or not does not mean shit to me personally.

Shane sharply turns and advances on Smoke.

Oh it means shit to you. It means enough for it to cost your privileges, and it means enough to stop you from finding any kind of resolution. It means enough for me to fire you, Smoke. You sell your soul to the devil, expect the devil to use it to his advantage. Because he's the goddamn devil.

Shane sighs. He looks off to one side and sees a young female jogger coming toward the bench. He walks over to where it looks like she'll jog past, waits until she can see him clearly, and then lifts up his eyepatch. The woman screams, turns, and runs away at full-pelt.

Bitch! Is that how you treat me after I show you my love!? I ought to throw you in with the crocodiles you selfish whore!

Shane sits back down next to Smoke, being sure to lower his eyepatch before Smoke can take a peek.

You've left a path of destruction a mile-wide, Smoke, and I've been five steps behind you covering it up with cement to make sure nobody finds it. You can't find your answer without me. You should know that as soon as I stop paving, you're going to get yourself in a heap of trouble. I myself know you haven't found what you've been looking for, so don't you dare turn your back on me.

Smoke sighs and rubs his face with both hands. Relaxing his forearms on his legs, he turns to Shane and smirks.

Now why would I do that?

Shane smiles as well.

Damn right.

He pats Smoke on the back, but does not rest it, pulling it back almost immediately. He doesn't look at Smoke while he speaks.

Power is a funny thing, Smoke. It can make a man. It can break a man.

The boss smiles.

But I think it's made you. Do me a favour and win that battle royal.

Smoke stands, ready to leave Shane, who looks as if he's lost in his train of thought, and not planning to reach a station anytime soon, as he's just looking up into the night-sky.

I didn't even need permission to do that.

Smoke turns and puts in his headphones. He presses play as he walks, flinging up his hood, and smiling as the first song plays.