Mariku could not live without coffee. Which is why he stood in a long line in a friggin' Starbucks. Because Bakura was a bitch. And because Bakura drank the last bit of coffee himself. And so Mariku hadn't even gotten a drop of coffee.
Mariku was naturally in a very bad mood.
The line was much too long for the impatient man's liking, as well. Some midget punk stood in front of him whilst whistling a cheerful tune. Mariku scowled at the punk and resisted the urge to whack him about the head, sighed, shoved his hands in his pockets, and waited.
Eventually, of course, he got to the front and ordered his damn coffee. He inhaled the aroma slowly at first, and almost gagged at the too-sweet, over-steeped, and scalding-hot smell. What dipshit put sugar in an order for black coffee? Mariku scrunched up his nose, but gulped down a mouthful anyways.
Despite the fact that his mind was screaming at him to, "spit it out, spit it out right now," Mariku felt himself relax and his mood brighten.
Now all that he had to do now was to murder the bastard who had put fucking sugar in his coffee. A smile slowly opened up on his face, much like a flower blooming. Mariku stood up and made his way to the counter, still smiling, and as he walked, he stuck his hand into his back pocket, his long fingers curling around the heel of the gun.
By the time Mariku left the coffee shop, he was in a much better mood. And splattered with blood. But the most important thing was that his mood was better.