Everybody in the world is at Sookie's, including Sam with the sad present and some impressively window-down doggy hair. He makes his way through the already-excited crowd on her lawn and porch, nervous because of how he hates people, but also because this is officially a Maryann Party, and some deep-magic part of him knows what that means. She greets him at the door, at the threshold, and damn she looks good. White gown, classic lines, white flowers in her hair. Excessively dangly earrings and necklace. She looks like a goddess. "A present? For me? I love presents!" That's like Maryann's Indian name. Dances With Presents. Sam tells her it's for Tara, but it's only when he admits it's from Lettie Mae that her face goes sour, and she hums displeasure. "Gift table is in the dining room."

Sam puts the gift down, and Maryann reappears at his elbow. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed by your showing up!" He grins angrily, and responding to the implied threat after last night, tells her to go ahead: she'll also reveal herself in the process, if she does the thing. "Reveal myself as what?" she asks sweetly. As whatever the hell she is, of course. She laughs, but he leans in quiet: "I don't know what you're doing, but these are people I care about. And I will not stand by if you try to hurt any of them." He's forgotten how she feels about threats, I see, but she doesn't seem to mind: "Even when they've dumped you? Or chosen a dead man over you?" She laughs, and caresses his cheek. "You're really not an alpha, are you?" She goes aww again and dances away. Daphne waves to him from the kitchen, and he walks past Tara and Eggs without noticing.

"Who are all these people?" asks Tara, and he says he sees none, because he only has eyes for her. When these two talk to each other it makes me want to barf. But maybe that's puppy magic too. I mean, her bender did include an '80s prom dress, it's not only possible but likely that this crap would work on her. "Seriously, who are all these people? And why are they bringing me presents? Not that I'm complaining." He very specifically doesn't answer this last, turning the conversation to her dancing -- " Anybody that dances like you should dance every fucking day" -- and they move together as Maryann watches and smiles, happily. Almost at her command, the music changes, going hotter and more rhythmic -- albeit sounding like '90s hip-hop, something a fifty-year-old man from Sacramento would find just edgy enough without being noise -- and the crowd cheers. Tara even goes haaaaay.