There were good things about having Mustang around, least of which was when one forgot their matches.
Roy Mustang had his own addiction, and it was very simple: Roy Mustang was addicted to lieutenants.
There were whispers behind him, words exchanged in a frantic flurry of hisses and low notes.
Zinnsoldat, they named it, the Tin Soldier, in reference to their former service and in acknowledgement of their current uselessness.
There was really too much good happening today to allow room for imperfection, in his humble opinion.