Roy is a whore. (My first and last piece of FMA. You guys and your goodfic scare me, what can I say.)
by Mina Lightstar
Roy Mustang has a little black book. In this little black book he keeps a directory of phone numbers and addresses. Organized alphabetically for easy browsing, written in rough, squared lettering, are names. He has names from A to Z, from Aislynn to Zoe, because Roy does not discriminate and all names deserve equal opportunity in his eyes.
He keeps this little black book in the top drawer of his little night-stand in the tent he shares with Maes Hughes. He doesn't usually carry it with him because he is a soldier and soldiers only dally when they are on leave. He doesn't much feel like losing or damaging it in a fight, either; so much hard work would go down the drain.
When he does have time, though, well, sometimes he has "A weeks," sometimes he has "B weeks." It's all a matter of how he feels at the time. Last week he went through the first five letters of the alphabet, one each day.
Roy is thorough, if nothing else.
Right now, he is filling in a blank section in F. He always keeps several blank pages for each letter; he never knows when a worthy catch will come along. Fiona H., he writes. He works alphabetically by given name because girls' given names are so much prettier than their surnames. Roy writes Fiona's phone number and contemplate calling her the next time he has a few hours entirely to himself.
"Updating the harem?" his tent-mate muses.
Roy scowls. "I enjoy it when you're quiet."
"I can't stay quiet for long," Maes says, and even though Roy is not facing him, he knows the words are accompanied with a wave of Maes's hand.
"Oh, I know," Roy mutters, pen scratching away as he fills up Fiona H's box. He hopes he will get a chance to have a night with her before holiday leave.
He hopes Maes will not feel the urge to go on and on about his wedding plans during holiday leave.
No such luck. "One month!" Maes Hughes crows suddenly. "I'll be a married man in one month."
"How many congratulations do you want from me, Hughes?" Roy demands, pretending to be irritated. Gracia this, Gracia that. Hughes's Gracia is nothing but a wonder, but there is only so much a man can take in twenty-four hours.
"I don't want congratulations," Maes says, coming around and poking Roy in the back with his index finger. "I want you to stay away from G when we head back for my wedding."
Roy snorts, but lets Maes think he's been clever and goes back to leafing through the pages, trying to decide who he is going to call tomorrow. As if he would ever move in on his best friend's lady; he has plenty to pick from.