So yeah, I'm not sure I understand this, but I'm not sure we're supposed to just yet. Like old Europe, vampire marriages are dynastic and serve to consolidate power. I'm still unclear on why Bill can help with this -- unless Russell's still trying to figure out why Sophie-Anne values him so highly -- but moreso I'm concerned with his saying that the kingdoms will cease to exist altogether. I mean, how many vampires are there really? I'm sure a lot of kingdoms are like twenty people -- all continually bowing to each other and acting all snippy and weird and bugging each other's houses and whatever -- so why go about it this way?
It's a very fucking Anglo-Saxon crowd over at Merlotte's once they start applauding Andy's murder of that young black drifter. Jason drunkenly takes in the media attention on the TV, and then the actual clapping of the many white people of Bon Temps around the bar, and something sort of snaps and before you know it he's standing on the table, looking down at Andy, giving a little ridiculous speech (any speech that concludes "you're the wind beneath my wings, man" is a bad idea) Andy shoves him back down in the booth. "You got nothing to be embarrassed about," Jason whines: "You shot the bad guy. Right in the head! Everybody loves you!"
Jason finds the weirdest things to be jealous about, but in this case it does seem kind of unfair that he's getting the bullet-hole PTSD hallucinations while everybody else is falling finally at Andy's feet. Maybe, Jason thinks yet again, he deserves to be in jail. "I keep trying to do good all the time, but all I ever end up doing is just hurting people."
(Screwing every girl in town was going alright until they all started screwing vampires too, at which point my sexuality got a little confused and I started to think I was a serial killer. Once that turned out to be untrue and my sister cut off his head with a shovel, I turned to drugs, first with a transvestite prostitute of my acquaintance and later with a pretentious Wiccan. About a month ago my vampire father-figure -- whose blood I was draining for my own sexual gratification -- got blown up right in front of me and I woke up in bed with yet another corpse, so I joined a paramilitary cult in Texas and eventually fornicated with my new evangelical father-figure's wife, who shot me in the nuts with a paint gun. I got back to Louisiana just in time to stage the annunciation of the Horned God incarnate, but ended up becoming the zombie slave of a minotaur. Now I've blamed my first murder of father-figure number three, and mostly what I do these days is see bullet holes in people's heads, which is just real hard on my boner.)