In the early-morning light, Fiona walks down a street in the French Quarter until she comes across LaLaurie, sitting on a bench and looking defeated as she plaintively notes the names of the streets are the same. Fiona, smoking as ever, takes a seat beside her and tells her she's lucky she didn't get run over, but LaLaurie reminds her she doesn't have to worry about that before complaining that her home's been defaced with a plaque deeming her house a historical site. "My home, a museum of horrors." Well, I'm no preservationist, but I saw that attic and I'd be hard pressed to come up with a better description. Fiona conversationally points out that people have always celebrated the macabre: "You're not remembered fondly, but I guess that beats not being remembered at all." LaLaurie tries to justify her atrocities by saying she was a woman of her time, but Fiona tells her that's "a crock of shit" – LaLaurie has a mean streak wider than her ass, or possibly she has a mental disorder. "Either way, if ten of the hundreds of things I have read about you are true, then you deserved every minute down there under all that dirt." It's so much more effective a speech coming from someone else on the evil side of the spectrum.
LaLaurie doesn't argue with Fiona but does tell her how her children were hung right from the house, and you'd better believe this show takes that as an invitation to flash back to that grisly tableau again, although it does refrain from any close-ups this time. She adds that her husband was killed too, but she didn't care about him – "I was plannin' on killin' him for weeks." Ha! Although if that's the case, I wonder what the appeal of the love potion was for her. Fiona's like, I'll conjure a violin to play Hearts and Flowers, so moved am I, but LaLaurie tells her she doesn't care what anyone thinks – she loved her girls in her own way, "even the ugly one." Hee. She adds that said ugly one was a shame to her – "she had the face of a damned hippo" – but she still loved her. She then breathes that hell is real; time disappeared for her in that box, and the only thing left was what was in her mind's eye. "And all mine saw were the faces of my girls." It doesn't sound like she reflected on her victims any, but the little run-in she had with Queenie kind of made that clear already.
Fiona, who's been paying close attention to this part of the speech, cryptically offers that maybe death is better – there, you can't disappoint the ones you love. I don't think she's planning to die any time soon, so I'll be interested to know what specifically prompted her to say that. LaLaurie looks at Fiona and inquires if she's a witch, and when Fiona wonders why she's asking, LaLaurie says she was hoping she was: "Maybe you'd know how to kill me." Fiona chuckles and says she may kill her, but not today, and if LaLaurie runs away again, she'll be back in the box in two seconds flat. LaLaurie deferentially agrees, so Fiona suggests they go home. As a saxophone cuts through the morning, LaLaurie starts to step into the street, but Fiona pulls her back out of the path of an approaching police car; an overhead shot shows them heading down the street, and if FX sees fit to put an extended version of them sashaying into the morning, Fiona in her black skirt and LaLaurie still in that period costume, I can guarantee it'll get at least a few hits. Joe R is back next week; thanks for reading!