Hoyt Fortenberry's head goes spinning around like a top. The only thing that keeps him from physically drilling down deep into the earth at this point is Jason, who snags a couple of Summer's biscuits (I exceedingly hope this is not foreshadowing, but I do realize we need something in place for getting Hoyt back together with Jessica once whatever happens with Tommy happens; Jason's dick would, and does perennially, suffice for most errands, but especially that of ruining sweet girls like Summer) and bonds with her instantly about them.

On the way out the door, he advises Hoyt to hold onto this one: "She's gonna make a great grandmama one day. She's a keeper!" (Nobody's turned off by the dynastic implication here; I would further point out that, in terms of people who have baked Jason biscuits in his cumulative lifetime, he knows more about grandmothers than he does about mothers.) Left alone, Hoyt stares and eats; Summer spruces. She can't know, can she, just how well she's doing Maxine today; she must know, certainly, what Good Southern Boys are about. The simplest and most obvious characters, on this show -- Jason Stackhouse, Sarah Newlin, even Amy Burley -- are usually the most complex, if you squint right. Think on it. Summer is a mastermind.

In the completely feminine realm of Queen Sophie-Anne LeClerq -- compare to Russell's ultramasculine compound, and what happened there when Woman entered -- things are awry. She's been put in a cage, in fact, a gigantic wrought-iron (guessing silver is involved) birdcage. It's a beautiful image, and just as weirdly out of place as anything else in vampire-world, but with this show I feel like they buy themselves the ridiculous at a vast overprice: The weirdness shows you -- and this will become increasingly important to remember as the episode continues, right? -- the stakes. Moving back and forth to dreamworld, vampires as symbolic modes of being, with the only sign we've done so the increasingly bizarre ways things can look.