We’ve met Egeria before. Numerous times now, in fact.
The primary joke with her character is that she’s a member of a major aristocratic family, but talks like the typic country bumpkin.
© J.B. Norman — Published by Emona Literary Services™
“Daddy!” Egeria cries happily, all but leaping at her father Ammianus as he makes his first appearance of the day. “Happy Father’s Day!”
“Yes, thank you, Egeria,” he mutters to his daughter, earning her embrace with equal affection but significantly more of his dignity maintained.
On the one hand, Egeria Sagittaria Valda is without a doubt the scion of a very old, very powerful, very proud family. On the other hand, it is quite clear to Ammianus that his daughter takes after her mother in most things.
“Good mornin’, hun!” Juliana says with the same happy warmth as her daughter. “Happy Father’s Day!”
“Thank you, dear,” he says.
“Ma and me done made you a right proper feast to celebrate,” Egeria informs her father. “I got eights kinds o’ cornbread, all sorts of birds stuffed into other, bigger birds. Come on now, Daddy, eat up!”
“I hate this infernal day,” Ammianus mutters.
Egeria looks thoughtfully up at him.
“Why, Daddy, is that because it’s also the anniversary o’ that fateful day Great-Uncle Horace done drownded in the crick?”
Despite the dark subject matter, Egeria has become rather excited reciting the sordid history of her family.
“And ever since, his very own unquiet shade has been glimpse wanderin’ the banks o’ the crick and heard to remark in a ghostly wail Now where did my durn mule run off to?”
“No, Egeria. That is not why.”
Egeria nods thoughtfaully.
“Is it because your resent how those with a vested economic interest have popularised the idea that you gotta buy your Daddy somethin’, or else you don’t really love him?”
“Maybe on a philosophical level,” Aammianus concedes.
Egeria narrows her eyes, starting intently at her father as she ponders.
“Now, Daddy, you sure it ain’t about the unquiet shade o’ Great-Uncle Horace?”
Ammianus stares silently and quizzically at her.
“I know what it is!” Egeria cries, leaping to her feet. “It’s ’cause — and I don’t mean no offence, Daddy — ya just simply hate any an’ all fun, both the havin’ of it and the mere consideration o’ it. And so, you don’t like anyone makin’ a fuss over ya.”
“I do not hate fun,” Ammianus insists, taking a sip from his World’s Best Local Magistrate mug.
“But it’s Father’s Day, Daddy!” Egeria protests. “We’re s’posed to be makin’ a fuss over ya! That’s the whole point!”
“Now, darlin’,” Juliana says. “All that buzzin’ like a bee in yer father’s ear is botherin’ him. You just hush up for a minute and let yer father eat his cornbreads. He’s got seven kinds left to try!”
Ammianus rolls his eyes.
She continues to silently contemplate her father, mentally going over the information she’s managed to gather so far.
She nods to herself.
“Nailed it,” Egeria mutters, makiang a satisfied, triumphant fist.
She nods to herself again.
“This has been downright illuminatin’. I really must oughta write a book about this, or somethin’.”
“Please don’t,” Ammianus pleads through a mouthful of the fourth kind of cornbread.
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