OK, what do you say we just get the Bellefleur business out of the way? That night, Lafayette is busy getting high and bedazzling his wardrobe—as he does with all his apocalypse-free evenings now that his sex life has been written out of the show—when Terry Bellefleur comes a’knockin’. Terry hands him the key to a safety deposit box and gives him a tearful hug, so obviously, he is about to do himself a harm. Lafayette calls it into the other Merlotte’s employees, who have the brilliant idea to get a vampire to glamour away all Terry’s sad thoughts. They call in one of Bon Temps many well-groomed gay undead, and within five minutes Terry’s bad memories are gone.
Seriously, if the other characters on this show were as efficient as that vampire, there would be no show, because everyone would have their shit figured out by now. Without his PTSD, Terry is as happy as clams are alleged to be, with but one small problem: he has forgotten that he hired a sniper to kill him. Apparently he also forgot all the Joss Whedon shows he ever watched because the next day, he goes around just taking deep breaths of fresh air and listening to the birds chirping sweetly and feeling like the swellest guy in the US of A, like such happiness is not bound to draw the wrath of the gods.
And it’s funny: last week we were all speculating about who Terry’s sniper would really end up killing, like there was no chance his horrible plan would actually work. But work it does, and Terry spends his last few seconds of life choking on his own blood while Arlene sings him a lullaby. It’s a heartbreaking, tear-jerking, well-written scene, but a stupid story decision. For the past two seasons, Terry’s story has been peripheral to the main action of the show, and his death is no different. And now the show’s very sweetest character has been sacrificed on the altar of Emotional Punch. Somebody get me a vampire to glamour away that shit.
Meanwhile, in Instagram, Sookie ties Warlow to a gravestone in case he is unable to resist his hunger for her, a la Edward from Twilight. This scene tries to address some of the ways in which this pairing is problematic but it leaves some rather gaping loopholes. For example:
Sookie: Why have you been waiting for me for millennia? I mean, I’m hot, but not that hot.
Warlow: Because it was never just about love. If we’re together as fae/vamp hybrids, we can feed off each other and I’ll never have to murder again. I’m sensitive, see?
So that explains some of why Warlow is so dogged about Sookie, but it doesn’t explain why he couldn’t have taken a different fairy bride at some point. Is it because she’s royal? Because we don’t truck with that shit here in Amurka.
And another thing:
Sookie: This whole contract where you own me thing is kind of weirding me out. Care to help me find the romance in property law?
Warlow: Sookie, Sookie, Sookie. Arranged marriages were to the 1700s what cocaine and polyester were to the 80s. EVERYONE was doing it.
Well OK, but I’m pretty sure that fad had passed by the early 1990s, when Warlow came to claim his child bride, a la Jacob from Twilight. Come on Sook, you’ve been so tough this season! Try to hold out against the shirtless man!
When we return to the much darker world of Vamp Camp, Burrell is trying new ways to take his revenge on Eric. His big idea is to inject Nora with a lethal strain of Hepatitis V and make Eric watch her slow death. (It was going to be Pam instead of Nora, but apparently her shrink has a thing for her, which may be the first time in history a straight guy crush has worked in our favor.) But again, Burrell has underestimated his foe. Eric calls his progeny to him. At first, Willa doesn’t even know what’s going on, but Tara gives her a crash course in glamouring, obviously pleased to be the senior vampire for once, and soon Eric and Nora are good and rescued. While trying to escape the compound, though, Eric stumbles upon a very disturbing room, on which all the new Tru Blood is being infected with Hep V. Burrell’s plan is to poison all the vampires, starting with the ones he already holds prisoner. And suddenly Eric’s escape plan is a lot more complicated.
Elsewhere in Vamp Camp, Jason runs into Sarah Newlin. He thinks he’s got her in a Mexican standoff, since she can’t expose him without revealing their tryst, but Sarah’s a lot slicker than him. She arranges for him to view a “copulation study” in which a vampire named James, who must have been an Abercrombie and Fitch model in his former life, is forced to have sex with Jessica. In yet another case of people surprising you, though, he flatly refuses, and no amount of torture wil change his mind. Still, Jason gets the point that Sarah pulls the strings around here.
This week in good decisions: stunningly, both Alcide and Sam manage to do the right thing. Sam gives Emma back to her grandma, which would not pass for good childcare in many situations, but works here. And Alcide doesn’t kill Sam. I mean, that’s how low the bar is set for Alcide this season: not commiting murder qualifies as a good day for him. He just tells Sam to GTFO of Louisiana or his pack will rip him to shreds. Whatever, it’s progress. Moving on.
When Bill emerges from his slumber, he immediately leaps into action, swallowing a vial of Warlow’s blood and sallying forth into the daylight. He goes straight to the abode of Governor Burrell, who is literally reading the bible to a statue of himself. When Bill arrives and kills all his guards, Burrell knows this is the end. But as a grief-stricken parent, he no longer cares. And if either Bill or Burrell were less monstrous they would come to an understanding of each other in this moment. But instead Bill rips Burrell’s head off and lays it on his statue, which is almost as good.
When we return to Instagram, Sookie takes her first ever shot at explaining why she is the way she is.
Sookie: So according to my mind-reading abilities, the townsfolk around these parts have a word for me: danger whore. And you know what? Fuck it, maybe I am. It’s like, the more awful stuff I find out about you, the more I can’t walk away. I could fight it, or I could walk into it with my eyes open. Because, Warlow, whatever else you’ve got working against you, you are definitely my type.
She then tightens his ropes, straddles him, and drops trou. Hey, she knows what she wants. Which, actually, is progress.