As Jason walks toward Fangtasia!, a truly hilarious conversation is happening in the parking lot. One dude is all, "I'm gonna bite you, I'm really gonna bite you," and the other guy is like, "That's totally what I want!" Is there anything weirder than when people start talking like a porno? I hate that so much; it's like, sex and porn are similar but one of them is actually happening and why would you put yourself inside the movie when sex is actually happening. They are homonyms but they are not the same thing, and Jason's still working that one out. He shivers and smiles at Pam, who looks at him like an old dead thing. "Your mama know you're out in the big city?" He admits his Mama's dead: "So am I." Jason, he does not know what to do with that. "Lemme see some ID," she continues, and he hands over his card. "Jason Stackhouse? From Bon Temps?" You're in my vault. "You related to Sookie, by any chance?" He's the brother, yeah. Wait, Jason asks, how does she even know Sookie. "She stands out. Do you?" Oh, Jason. He shakes his head because he knows what Pam means, but then gets his feet under him again: "Maybe? Uh, in other ways." I would love to know what he thinks his mutant power is. Not ever listening to very good advice? Sliding through on charm and those sick obliques? Using his body as a weapon against himself? What a useful fucking power that is.
Pam asks why he's there, and he acts like a total fucking junkie, jerking and staring at the gay fangbanger porno happening in the parking lot to demonstrate his open-mindedness. She locks eyes with him and something turns on behind them. He stares, fascinated. "Tell me why you came here." He nods. "I want some vampire blood." She cocks an eyebrow at him, offended. "What time do you get off work?" he asks, with the sweetest smile. God, Jason Stackhouse is the reason Jordan Catalano never learned to read. "You came for my blood?" She nods, and says the saddest, saddest thing: "Yes, you're right. You're nothing like your sister." Disappointed in him, like as a person, she pops her teeth out and welcomes him in, refusing to move out of his way. "And good luck getting out," she whispers in his ear.
When we talk about sacrifice what we're talking about is the fact that there are things moving in the deep; leviathans and strange angels, older than time, twisting in the water. You can feel them when they move past you, or through you. You can even talk to them, make deals with them, because they're implicit in the sparks that light your skin up. You give them something, your pain or your blood or your pleasure, and they pay you back in power. Their passage deforms the universe, like Einsteinian ripples in the fabric and curves in dimensions you can't see -- but you can feel it. My favorite description of them, the archetypes or Gods or characters in your dreams, whatever you want to call them, is Lynda Barry's: "And in my dream there was a creature. Not too friendly, not too mean. He closed my eyes and opened them." And of all the other things vampires signify, in this story, you must never forget that they are part of that deep magic: every one of them a leviathan, full of blood and demons and magic. So while Jason just made a serious social faux pas, an error in judgment during a specific time of political turmoil, he also just brushed past something that might as well be God's less lovely face.