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Tink gave his bed a curious look before he started jumping up and down on it, sending several dolls and stuffed toys flying. He hoped a few more times with a rather series expression on his face before stopping iwht a little bounce. "Hmm..Nope!"

He kicked off a few more of his toys off the bed and started jumping in a new spot before quickly stopping with a resounding 'Nope!' and throwing his pillow off it's spot to start jumping there. Letting out a frustrated shout, he let himself fall on his side on his last hop, falling to the bed like one of the few rag dolls still on the bed, limp and limbs all about. ".....This bed is enterily not proper for jumping on it....I wonder if mama's is."

With a little wild grin, he slid off the bed and just lay there, looking at everything upside down before rolling to his hooves and getting up. He started to walk across the toy-riddled floor.

Purple eyes narrow slightly at the toys impending his 'research', before finally looking up at his mother as if he just notice she was there. "Oh, hi mama."

His head cocked to one side, he turned to look at his room. Dolls, building toys, puzzles of all matters and pieces of toys were all around. "Um...........I suppose the answer here is one you would like to hear rather one I actually want to do?"

Tink just hummed while his mother talked, raising one hoof next to her leg for a moment. Where they the same shade? Colors had a tendency to be just colors to him. Matching and so on was important on toys, but more often then not, a lot of colors would be buff, faded, scratched or otherwise fall off said toys. You know, if they were played with.

Perhaps he'll ask his sister Bebe, she could tell the difference between shades of white, she surely could tell if his mother's green was the same shade as his. He blinked again, his eyes coming to focus at his mother's words. "Oh, I made them!" He chirped proudly.

Tinker gave a very slow blink at his mother, adults so very rarely say things without double meanings. Or perhaps that was just in the plays his uncle continue giving him to read. He looked at all his toys, each lovingly made, stitched or glue or nailed, or otherwise put together(and what a surprisingly broken window C.C. gotten the first day he got into the tool shed).

But did he played with all of them, equally? The answer was a resounding no. Puzzles lay back in their boxes, all made up and forgotten once resolved. Lacy dressed dolls waiting in a tea party that he forgotten as he went off to make them a hatter and Alice. And he was sure there was still some horrid mid-experiment lab scenario hiding under his bed, waiting for a fabulous conclusion, if he hadn't gotten distracted by the lure of playing outside when the sun came out in that one rainy day.

While he played with all his toys, he had his favorites, like the rubix cube whose colors were fading from one too many uses. Or John-the-action-figure-not-a-doll, the first toy he made and who had surprisingly stayed on the bed, regardless of how much he jumped on it. Or the many building toys that were hiding in their respective chests and boxes, waiting for the next big city to be built.

"...No, not equally" He managed to hiss out between his teeth. "...But they are many, that's a task even I cannot master. At least not without a large pint of peach ice cream..." He grinned and waggled an eyebrow.

Frowning, Tinker clicked one of his hooves on the ground slightly, showing some of his irritation. He often made toys for his friends, and his sisters, and even the odd adult. Why did he had give away the rest? They were his creations, no one asked artists to-...well actually, they do, at an alarming and selfish rate, if he was honest with himself. He had been guilty of it quiet a few times.

He snorted, turning his nose up at his mother's words. He wouldn't be taken for a fool, why should he-...when did he run out of space in his ceiling for the model planes? Didn't he used to have a solar system? He thought he could barely see pluto behind a large jet's sprayed wings.... His ear twisted, hundreth-string favorite....He looked around his own room with slightly wide eyes, as if finally seeing just how clutter and nearly-claustrophobically small his room was starting to get. "....but they are my toys..."

Aaaaand his mother hit the nail on the head, quiet hard. If there was one pet peeve Tinker had that he could absolutely not stand was seeing toys being left in boxes or glass cases, to be admire but not played with. He understood having a beloved toy as a foal and keeping it in a shelf, or a night stand when one grew up. Adults often did that, and they had their childish moments of playing with them, even if it was just to have pretend conversation with them. He had seen a few adults at this, one of them being his 'aunt' Barley.

He snorted at the nudge, looking at the piles upon piles of toys. His mother was right, as much as it pained him to admit it. He would keep making toys, it was the funnest thing he had ever done, and he really couldn't think of anything stopping him from continuing, but perhaps lack of space. "...........and where would I donate them? I can hardly go door to door, giving baskets of toys. Many think me strange already, I hardly wish to be called a toy fairy.."

Tinker shifted from one side to the other, surveying the floor's treasures of toys. "......I believe I can afford making some donation to each and every one of those establishments right now..." He smiled a little to his mother, the task of taking care of not donating any of his absolute favorites, or toys that were obviously never meant to see the light of day, would be annoying, but at least he would have room to walk again, and who knows, maybe make some foals happy in the process. "...and I think I will."