"Think back. Wasn't there ever a time you felt someone, or something, watching over you?" Of course, Sookie nods: "God." Maryann arranges a garland, taking blooms and blossoms from every part of the room: "You can call it that. But it's not the same one the blind billions worship." She finally turns: "And in your heart of hearts, you know it." Sookie remembers -- ah, the chain! The time she took down Mac Rattray and it looked all weird! That was confusing. "Fine. Then what am I?" Maryann assures her she's beyond human: "I live off human energy, and yours I can't channel. That's very rare, though surprisingly not unique in this town..." Sookie tilts her head: Is she saying she's going to marry Sam Merlotte?
Offended, Maryann looks up from her bouquet: "Please. My husband is a God. Sam is... He's just the ideal wedding gift." She tears up, like Sarah Newlin at her wedding, or up in the balcony the day Jason showed her the new sun. "Oh, it's been such a long wait... I'm sorry, I'm getting a little overexcited. I'll smear everything!" She assures Sookie joyfully that the time is auspicious and perfect, and that Sam's on his way. Sookie protests some more, and Maryann reaches out to stroke her chin: "He is the vessel! He appeared to me naked, a virgin, drawn to the very statue that represents the birth of my God. Should have sacrificed him then and there, but I foolishly let him go."
Meaning, of course, cutting out his heart. "It's the food of the Gods. My husband will love it, it's the very thing that gives him life." Just mixing and matching, like Sophie-Anne said, trying to get the recipe perfect. Just like the Fellowship of the Sun. Just like you and me, any time we reach for wholeness. Sookie assures her that it's not going down like that, and Maryann shrugs. "That is why you are here. It's fate! Just as Sam Merlotte is the one who will bring forth my husband, you, my dear, are the one who will bring forth Sam Merlotte. The moment he learns where you are, he'll come running like a dog. Maybe even as a dog." Sookie is grossed out as Maryann plants the crown of flowers on her angry, ridiculous, resentful head, and it's awesome.
My favorite of those wild customs, though, is called rough music. One aspect is called charivari, or chivaree or shivaree -- the last is my favorite, because it's a very good band -- and it's a French custom from the Middle Ages, where it happened for every wedding. Later on it was intended primarily to protest weddings for whatever reason -- widows marrying too early, things like that -- but once it was a celebration.