Heirloom

"It's a signature line," Ephram said sternly. "It has to sound like you mean it." "I'm trying," Elias assured him. "I really and most assuredly am!" "THERE!" Emmaline barked, toasting with wine. "Say it with THAT level of earnestness ... of entrenchment!" They both jumped at her loud laughter (having commented more than once that hyenas cackled with more grace), and then Ephram was on the thing again. "Say it," he commanded. "The holy knees, Ephram!" Elias groaned. "There's no point forcing it in this exact moment; it isn't real - it isn't called for!" "I'M CALLING FOR IT," Ephram reproached him, "and I am calling for it NOW! It's a FAMILY HEIRLOOM - a sacred seasonal troth!" With his siblings' stares upon him, Elias Scrooge brought an impromptu (albeit it thin and weak), "ba aaa ah humb u u u g" forth into the parlor on a quivering gust of air that felt thready. "What in the bloody name of the three ghosts was THAT?!?" Ephram yelled (when the shock wore off). "Oh, dear," Emmaline clucked, "that'll summon the Ghost of Christmas Never Not Once. That was a new low, somewhere between the bleat of a fainting goat and a throat tremor." Ephram stormed out, red with rage, and Emmaline followed (flushed with Cabernet Franc). "Screw you lot," Elias seethed (within the safe confines of his innermost thoughts). "I love Christmas. I freaking love it."