Angry Ikari

Diary

Ikari snapped his finger clean on a rice ball at the local shrine, sharing a meal with Goro like civilized men trying to remember what civilized meant, and the vein in his temple rose like a dragon woken from a nap. "Anger is the wind that blows out the lamp of the mind," he growled, quoting some dead monk he half-remembers from dojo days, then flipped the table because the wind, apparently, still had plans. He declared seppuku on the spot, dramatic as ever, demanding Goro hand over a blade instead of another beer, insisting honor demanded blood for a busted pinky. Goro, wisely, handed him a joint instead, and Ikari sat there fuming and smoking, furious that the rage wouldn't just leave him be long enough to die with dignity. In the end he settled for glaring at his swollen finger like it owed him money, one more small war lost to a man who used to win the big ones, discipline slipping through his fingers same as everything else he swears he'll fix tomorrow.