She's not wrong, but also: Gladiators? Really? I wonder if they fight against regular dogs or other shifters. Think about it: That is two very different stories. At first I thought it was the former, because a person-dog is probably a smarter fighter than a dog-dog, but on the other hand -- speaking of hands, one set of scars on Tommy's little body looks like burning fingers; maybe he fought a Stackhouse once -- there are lots of stories you can tell if it's supes doing the fighting. Which we know for a fact, because every single TV show in the history of TV shows, not to mention every comic book -- hell, Chris Claremont has done it at least once a year since the '80s, with his crazy ass -- eventually does the Freak Fight Club storyline. They even did it on The O.C., a show in which the only supernatural powers are like, One-Liners and Hair Shininess.
I miss shiny hair, everybody is so dirty these days. That last Twilight movie they all looked like refugees. So Tommy points out that Sam is proving to be an endless source of hope, support, financial and lifestyle breaks, and genuine sunshiney good nature, but Melinda doesn't give one shit. There's pain and shame in her voice, and that strange thing where no matter how manipulative she's being, it's also all completely true: She hates this life, her life, she hates having brought Tommy into the world, she hates Joe Lee, and most of all she hates Sam, no matter how much she also loves them all. "He may be blood, but he ain't family. And he ain't never gonna be. He looks down on us. Thinks he's better than us." (And you know what I say: The second you say that, they are.) Tommy points out that in this case, Sam totally is better than them, but it's not a bad thing necessarily.
"Yeah, well, maybe the fuck he is. But you think he's willing to take care of us over the long haul? Once he knows the truth?" Um, why would he? You people are terrible. Tommy is shaken by this last, though, because now that he knows how good Sam really is, it's going to be impossible living up to his example; which is to say, you only fear losing somebody like Sam's love once you learn how good it feels.
Of course Franklin's bedroom has a whole wall full of medieval weapons artfully hung on goldleaf paper in an enormous floor-to-ceiling gilded picture frame. (Sometimes Talbot does all right by me.) Tara coyotes herself out of his arms, once he's dead, and sneaks over to it. See that axe, Thornton? You use that to cut his head off and then hide it in another location. See that spear? You go ahead and put that through his chest, where his heart is. No? You're gonna do your own thing? Oh, a mace, very nice. And how are you going to... Whoa, girl! His head is splattered everywhere! You can stop! No? Okay, keep going until you feel better. It might take awhile.