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Well, you could look up a moonshine recipe that won't kill us.

I have this sinking suspicion I've started the most deadly Thanksgiving since the syphilis-ridden blankets.

Two fucking turkeys, homemade pies, me talkin' like a hick, and possibly moonshine. It could be worse, y'know.

Deep fried turkeys are the leading cause of Thanksgiving deaths. I seriously can't make this stuff up. And I'm pretty sure Alex was about to kill Sean when he found out I said he could do the turkey. Never mind that I had no idea he was planning on it.

...Wait. Are you saying I talk like a hick?

Two turkeys. I can't get over it. [Laughs, because really? A band of misfit college kids during Thanksgiving would have two turkeys.]

No. I'm saying I talk like a hick. You talk like a southern belle.

Hey, ya'll will have leftovers for days. And Logan can eat a full one by himself.

You're from Tennessee, you'd hardly have an accent anyway. [She raises an eyebrow] Well gosh an' golly gee, mistah' All-uh-dyce. Ah wus evah' so worried that Ah sounded like some backwata' girl who'd gone an' got married to her uncle. Thank ya evah so kindly fer settin' me straight. How evah' will Ah repay ya? Ah'll tell ya whut, how 'bout ya come round fer dinner. Ah'll whip up some fritters an' we'll have mint juleps out on tha' verandah. [She even flounces slightly as she says it before resting her hand on her heart, acting every bit the Scarlet O'Hara knock-off her mother wanted her desperately to be.]

That's true... [He strokes his imaginary beard at this.

...And then fuck. He is literally doubled over, laughing so hard it hurts because there is no way she just pulled out all the stops on him. It is actually getting painful to breathe, because holy shit that was. That was too much. Too fucking much.]

Jesus, woman, you're - you're trying to kill me. [He wipes a stray tear from his eye.]

Fuck that was funny.

[She can't help it, but she just grins as she watches him laughing. Yeah, she did pull out all the stops, and probably could have been a lot worse, too. When it comes to Southern sterotypes, she's seen them all and hell, experienced a whole lot of them, too-- just look at her family for god's sake-- but seeing John like that really can't help but make her laugh at her own jokes.]

I can be surprisingly funny when I want to be. [She giggles slightly.] Thank god I don't talk like that every day. I'd probably go crazy.

Oh sweetheart, [he literally drawls.] Yer prettier then'a newborn baby calf, you are.

[He presses his fist against her chin in a mocking jab before dissolving into laughter again.]

I can't. I can't even, I sound like a fucking lunatic.

[She's got about a thousand reasons to be laughing over that. One is that stupid gesture, whatever the hell that was, and the fact that of anything he chose to compare her to in everything below the Mason-Dixon line he'd chosen a newborn baby calf. And then he'd called her pretty and he just sounded, well, like a fucking lunatic. So it's her turn to dissolve into hysterical giggles.]

Ohmygod-- John-- A calf? Are you fucking kidding me? Jesus--!

[There is no way for him to stay standing up at this point. He's literally leaning against the counter in the PTG kitchen, clutching his stomach with one hand, using the other for support. Her reaction was priceless, and exactly what he was looking for. And it felt so great to be laughing so hard like this, it really did. So he swiped away another fallen tear, the chuckles left in him starting to fade.]

Yeah, well. You know us hicks.

[He flashes her a big smile and a thumbs up, frozen in a wink as if he's on some horrible commercial.]

[At that she only has to roll her eyes.] Oh shut up, you look so cheesy. [Any other girl would probably have reached out to give him a playful shove, but not her. Not with her past, and not with what she'd recently learned from him. So she wrinkles her nose at him.] You couldda gone with something like a magnolia blossom or something better than a newborn calf. My god.

[He arches an eyebrow.]

Do you really think they'd use anything other than the disgusting look of a newborn calf, covered in juices of birthing as a metaphor for beauty? Come on. You and I know these people. This is not unheard of.

[He flashes her a winning smile. Sort of.]

Contrary to popular belief, I do not live in a the middle of a farming community. [Sure there were farms, but they were way on the outskirts of Meridian. Meridian was... your Picturesque Southern Town. And was just as rotten on the inside as you would guess. Think American Beauty meets... My Dog Skip or something else equally Americana where people still had confederate flags flying.]