Author's NB: Huzzah! Just a quick note for whoever feels the need to read this scribble, I've been playing around with literature techniques, and I've decided I like doing this, writing in such a way that I don't end every statement with "said bob" or "replied Joe" or "Steve grumbled". See, the way I view it, this is transformers, most people should know the characters well enough by now to figure out who's speaking based on their personality and usual colloquialisms, and I tend to order it anyway, if I figure the majority of people won't guess who is railing I'll put in their name. It just kind of annoys me when people have every second sentence with the word "said" or some such similar semantic. Also, I don't feel the need to put "so bob and Steve and Joe were at the pub… now they're at the next pub… and now they're at another pub… they're on a pub crawl". Gets tedious, pads out the story waaaaaaaaaaaay too much.
That's my cringe element for the day.
Another issue at hand, if you're confused during certain parts, good, there are parts.
And 10 points to whoever can figure out where my accent makes life difficult for foreigners.
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Prodo
"I betray"
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Chapter One
A farce.
That's what this is.
How the hell could they be sure?
Those charred remains could belong to anyone.
"Unidentifiable".
That was what they said.
So, chances were, it probably did belong to someone else… or used to be belong.
That mound of burnt, stinking, meat.
For all he knew, it could have been some stray caught in the cross fire.
How dignified.
A filthy, unwanted mongrel, probably just out to spill its seed in whatever bitch it could find, and here it was now, laying in a neat and new wooden box, lined with padded cushion, silk skillfully sewed over it, and buried under a tombstone with the name of his beloved inscribed in some overtly poignant font.
Or maybe just some hobo, down on his luck, deciding to have a sleep in a place where giant robots would have an all out brawl. Or maybe, well, most likely, passed out drunk after an attempt to strain meths through bread.
At least they "found" Carly. His son, God only knew what fate his corpse met.
So in the box with the mangled hunk of overly singed flesh was his son's school blazer, his hair brush and his favourite child hood toy.