Jason comes back from dinner with the Newlins pretty proud of himself, but the bunkers are dark and scary on the Light Of Day: windchimes, scary music, a dripping faucet, the whole deal. The door is hanging ajar and like, I don't know, the whistle of witches overhead and a whole family of wolves singing "Don't Fear The Reaper" in three-part harmony. Shit is dire.
But inside, oh! It is worse still! For all his brother-friends in Jesus have been slaughtered and are lying on the floor, covered in tomato-red blood! It flows from sucked-on wrists and slit-up throats! It drips from casually thrown-wide arms! It is an orgy of blood! He stares around having PTSD for a second and then somebody in a hoodie jumps him from behind and tosses him lovingly to the ground. Is it the Fangbanger Strangler back from the Bon Temps dead? It dresses like him. Or maybe it is the Unabomber! Or a vampire!
"I can smell that hot blood just under your skin," the apparently turned-on demon whispers into his ear. "Cowboy! You smell awesome!" Jason whines and wriggles beneath his bulky vampire frame, squealing, "Fuck you!" The monster laughs seductively, but not appropriately: "That can be arranged. But I'm gonna kill you first!"
The monsters bites slowly into Jason's neck -- Softly! Delectably! -- as Jason Stackhouse's QB-1 frame continues its mute undulation... But then the lights come on! And it is not a vampire's boner against his Grade A Louisiana Beef at all! It is LUKE'S BONER! All in fun. Sometimes you get a yen to play Mass Slaughter, you just go ahead and do it.
The Light of Dayers are covered in ketchup, laughing, and Jason's like, "Heck yeah I was scared! Vampires are scary!" Luke asks how his split lip is doing, while they all stand up and act goofy. His lip is bleeding, thank you, so he asks, "How's your nose?" And then punches Luke in it. Then he takes off his clip-on tie, which in addition to being adorable in its own right also signals a change into Jason Stackhouse, Orator and Flimflam Buyer.
"Vampires are not a joke!" He commands their attention regally from the start, busting somebody's Heinz bottle right out of his hands like a barely literate George S. Patton, staring at them each individually. Into their souls! "There's a war going on," he says, manfully pushing a man to the bed. "And you're either on the dark side! Or you're on the side of the light! And there ain't no in-between!" He is like a preacher! A preacher of hate! He points down at Luke, who still rolls about on the floor clutching at his nose and his harder-to-reach manhood. "I thik you broke by dose!" he shouts, but does Jason care? He does not. He tastes only a determination, a belief, reignited by this tawdry display as though the hounds of hell were at his back, waiting to be struck DOWN by awesome Jesus power. Also his own blood. Jason tastes his blood.