This is for D. M. Evans, on the occasion of her birthday.
Roy Mustang doesn't gamble. Maes Hughes used to say it was all that kept him from being a rake straight out of the Age of Wits, a dapper buck breaking faro banks and maidens' hearts while sipping claret. Roy always retorted that he couldn't stomach claret, either, but his friend made the comparison anyway whenever Roy declined a round of blackjack or craps. He wishes Maes could see him now, pushing everything he's earned to the center of the table, calling the bet of a man whose poker face no cardsharp can match.
Because Roy Mustang doesn't gamble ... with money.