One would not call Colonel Mustang a pack rat, nor hardly a collector. Though he did enjoy the occasional nick-nack, he much rather preferred a house and office he didn't have to spend hours dusting, for that was what bobbles tended to do: sit and collect dust.
He kept those things from the women he dated on an upper shelf of one of the bookcases in his office, along with some other little things he'd collected. The ones from the women usually lasted a week or two, and after that, Fridays, he would take down all the trinkets from the shelf, dust under them, then put his select ones back in their places.
It wasn't often that he actually looked at them, but when he dusted, he turned them over and over in his hands, taking in each piece of the tourist trap-esque detail. Smooth porcelain, soft pewter and beautifully grained wood made up most of what stood proudly on that top shelf, though he had a few high-quality plastic figures. He enjoyed them immensely, though his stoic demeanor toward the top shelf remained.
Alphonse was always the one to present him with each souvenier whenever the brothers returned from a mission and, traditional report and bantering completed, Edward had stalked from the office, fuming. Roy had always thanked him and put the gift near the lamp on the corner of his desk, then later set it on the top shelf, clearing space between older figures.
It just so happened, one day, that Edward stayed his temper long enough to slap his hand down on Roy's desk, leaning heavily.
"There weren't any shops around," he grumbled.
Roy raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"There's no excuse for you," Ed returned, plopping a small figure on the desk. "But I made this anyway."
And he was gone, red coat nearly catching in the door as he shut it.
Roy looked after him a moment, then back down at what the blonde has left on his desk. It was... interesting, to say the least. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. The little red cape fluttered, and he smirked, staring back at that face with its oh, so mocking eyes and tongue sticking out. The braid even flopped about as he set it back on the desk.
"Luein," the base read, and scratched on the plate was a small phrase. "From Ed + Al."
He looked at it for a moment longer, then smirked and placed it next to the lamp in the corner of his desk. He rather liked it there. Liked it much more than he had the figure of Nicholas Flamel, even if it did have a miniature Philosopher's Stone, Scroll and glow-in-the-dark hands.
