"Hi there, munchkins!" Adele reckons Arlene's children the youngest "history buffs" she's ever had at a DGD meeting, and Rene represents, as he will throughout the episode, the rubberneckers of the world, who look out at the trees and weeds and flowers through the glass; the ones that stay inside, with their allergies and secrets. "They wouldn't stay home for nothing -- the minute they heard a vampire, they had to come." The Mayor approaches Adele next, asking if everybody's safe. She does that Gran thing where she pretends not to know what he means, because it's just too appalling to be true, and ends up telling him she's more worried about what their asses are going to do to Bill, not what Bill's going to do to their children. Bill sits in the kitchen of the church with a bottle of TruBlood, as still as a statue, not even blinking, listening to them: their chatter, their casual bigotry, the excitement of the crowd, their heartbeats, the blood in their veins.
Inside the chapel, Hoyt's on all fours on the altar, having no luck with the cross. It's a funny image but a good one, because what Hoyt's trying to do is give the church antihistamines. They've redefined this space as civil, not religious, for tonight, and yet the church stubbornly goes on being a church. I'm not a religious man, exactly, but I'm pretty grossed out by the idea of so casually moving that cross around like that, like, "Sorry God, not tonight. Could you come back later?" I mean, it's well-intentioned and underinformed and sweet, and God knows I love Hoyt Fortenberry, on all fours or otherwise, but it's still backwards and kind of fucked up.
Bill listens to Adele welcome Sookie and her date, Sam Merlotte. He doesn't move, but somehow flinches anyway.
Flinching more visibly: the appalled and staring -- and very much alone in this room, by the way, considering where they are and why -- Tara, watching the men hang up the Dixie flag. Word. I already said my piece about the "Glorious Dead" and the whole Civil War thing, but just to be clear: it's not okay. The little meeting is not okay. This little club? Not okay. Dixie flags? Not okay. Regardless of what you think or say it means to you or your family, put that shit away. We don't want to see it, and we don't want to make the assumptions about you -- that you are ignorant, ill-bred, hateful and aggressive trash -- that you're forcing us to make. The fact that you're wearing it proves those assumptions are correct, and you're looking for the fight. There are places where irony doesn't go, and symbols of hate are among them. You can't wear a swastika ironically without it proving you're an aggressive dick, and the same applies here, and you know it, and please spare me the complaints about that, too: wearing Dixie shit and reacting with that disingenuous shock when you're called out for being a racist tool is like hanging a rainbow flag outside your house and complaining that people keep treating you like a fag. Stop acting like a fag and they won't, you Nazi.