Scrant Earl Edwards

Sir Edwards was of one of the richest family in England. Now his family riches have been reduced to a dilapidated apartment on the second floor of some building that he'd rather not talk about. Maybe it was unfortunate fate that his parents had one too many drinks at their numerous dinner parties, and maybe forgot that Sir Edwards existed, and maybe took 5 years until they named him, named him Scrant. Or maybe it was that his parents' car met the end of the ravine and it's name was instant death, and then he had to take care of himself at age 23. Being educated only on the life of welfare and parties, Scrant immediatley fell in love with culture. But fell a little too in love with books of heroes, drinking, and gambling. You should call Scrant Earl, he hates Scrant.
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Sir Edwards was immersed in a war. He had just been drafted and had no time to bid farewell to his fiance. Edwards was about to board the train to a world full of deadly green gas when he heard a dripping. Edwards looked up and saw that the Upstairs apartment floor was seeping water onto his recently polished floor. He sighed got up and began to attempt to fix the crack, Edwards hated this life. Roger was sitting in a corner as if he had always been there.
"What do you want at a terrible time like this?"

"Personally, I'm Bored Scrant, bored to the bone. What happened to the lively, the reckless Scrant? Now all I do is observe you entranced by a cheesy novel about some war. World War I is over, but you aren't."

" First, Nobody calls me Scrant. Secondly, I have no money, and besides what are you doing here anyways? You know as well as I do that you do not have to be here."

Sir Edwards woke up, and Roger had apparently left. He checked the time and left for the battlefield.