Our Lost Girl obsession is going strong! If you’re just now diving into the show, be sure to check out all of Kiersten Krum’s recaps, including those for the last few episodes of Season 1 (episode 11, episode 12, and episode 13), plus the Season 2 premiere, “Something Wicked This Fae Comes.” All caught up? Good. And now, on to the recap for last night’s episode, 3.02, “I Fought the Fae (and the Fae Won).”
At Hilton Hovel (drink!) Hale is sitting in the kitchen while Kenzi lines up supplies: vodka, ice cream, animal tranq dart. “OK. We’re ready,” she says as Hale examines the dart and wonders if Kenzi might be overreacting just a little bit. “Hey. It’s called being prepared. Last time Dyson dumped Bo’s ass, a car got smashed, three furies died, and a dude’s head got cut off.” She hands the tray to Hale. “And that was when they were just bang buddies!” As he follows in her wake, Hale admits Kenzi has a point. What he doesn’t get is why he has to be a part of this. “Because your boy started this. Sidekick solidarity. Check your contract!”
Kenzi whispers further instructions as they enter Bo’s bedroom. “Just be really cool and don’t siren her or anything…” and then calls out Bo’s name with fake cheer. The camera pulls back and Bo swings into view—literally as there is now a swing hanging from the bedroom ceiling. When did she get a swing?! My mind battles not to go—nope, too late. It’s there.
Bo is freakishly chipper. “Hi!” She is also in a scarlet negligee with black lingerie beneath, totally not at all bothered by Hale in her bedroom as she swings and listens to the music rocking out of her headphones. Kenzi, warily: “Hi!” and to Hale “Danger! Danger! She has lost her shit!” (U.S. censors changed this to “junk” but I refuse to follow suit), and throws in a hysterical wave at the crazy succubus. Hale shoots her a look and makes a laughable attempt to soothe Bo (though you’re a total sweetheart for trying, babe). “Ah Bo —we just, ya know—wanted to see if you needed anything,” Hale says while Kenzi Vanna Whites the coping tray. “You,” Bo replies, hopping off the swing on a up draft and grabbing the pint of ice cream, “came to make sure I wasn’t raging myself to death over Dyson.” I’m pretty sure we’ve got you covered on that, kiddo. She thanks them for their concern but genuinely insists that she’s fine and tweaks Kenzi’s cheek in reassurance.
Hale, because he’s a guy and doesn’t know better, bless him, takes Bo at her word and shrugs at Kenzi, “See?” as he tries to back out of the room. Kenzi, not buying that crap for a minute, grabs his arm and pulls him after Bo, who is now in front of the antique, full-length, stand-alone mirror. “That’s sounds like suspiciously good news that is in no way convincing me,” she says to Bo. Hale, perched now on the swing, still balancing the tray, agrees that Bo is handling this break up really well.
“That is because we didn’t break up!” Bo snaps and goes into a rant. “We were broken up by some hook-nosed, haggy, magic-y old crone who probably wouldn’t know real love if it leapt up and bit her in her waddle and who I’d be inclined to lay an epic vengeance beat down on if I wasn’t also kind of terrified by her clearly amazing fae power.” Barely pausing for breath, with a manic smile on her face, she lifts up two dresses for approval: “Pink or blue?” she asks Kenzi. “Blue,” Kenzi answers. “Pink,” Hale says right away, nodding, with a small “game on” smile as he checks Bo and her cleavage out. Kenzi clears her throat and dismisses Hale, “This is kind of a girl thing.” Hale, exasperated: “That’s what I’ve been saying!”
Kenzi asks if Bo is really Okay with this. Bo admits that obviously she isn’t, but last night, she realized something. Wait, so it’s not the same night? It’s morning with vodka and tranq darts? Eh—I’ve been there. “Dyson risked everything for me,” Bo says. “He risked his wolf, Kenzi! He wouldn’t do that unless he really loved me.” THAT’S WHAT WE’VE BEEN SAYING!! Do you not READ the Twitter feed?! “Not the sex. Not the succubus. Me.” This epiphany light’s up Bo’s face. He’s the first and only to love her like this. Ever. Heady stuff. If only she’d come to that conclusion sooner, like in Blood Lines, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
“I’ve never had that before,” she says, helpfully. “There’s no way in hell I’m letting it go. Not without a fight.” Get him, babe. Kenzi is all on board with this idea and wonders what “they’re” going to do. “I,” Bo stresses, primping in the mirror, “am just going to have to win him back.” She plans to remind him how good they are together—Team Badass FTW! “Being back at square one is a blessing in disguise. How many couples get to fall in love twice?”
Kenzi is suddenly less enthusiastic. “That’s it? Woo? Your big plan is to woo?” Bo, as she primps some more in the mirror, fixes her cleavage and plumps up the girls: “Never underestimate the power of a desperate woman...in love.” She said it!!
A van drives down a rainy alley. The female driver climbs out and gently assists a hooded and cuffed prisoner from the back of the van. “Good luck, girl. I’m rootin’ for you,” the guard says encouragingly, officially making this the strangest prisoner transfer I’ve ever seen on television. A bald man comes around an SUV bearing silver shackles to take custody, but as her cuffs are removed for the exchange, the hooded prisoner erupts, shoving the guard into bald man. Whipping her hood off, the woman flees. Both guards give chase. Panting with effort, she reaches the juncture of two alleys, which a moment ago was the end of the alley, but like Hogwart’s staircases, that seems to have changed. That, or there was a hiccup in post production. The woman stops and holds up her hands in surrender as the guards close in from behind. Suddenly she whirls around, and quills plunge into each guard’s chest. Guess that makes her a porcufae. “I’m so sorry,” Porcufae says sincerely. “But there’s one last thing I need to do,” and she runs away.
Hale and Dyson are walking down the same alley. “You are looking rough,” Hale tells Dyson helpfully, who admits that he was out all night. Pleased, Hale congratulates his partner, “that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” and reminds Dyson that he is always up to play wing man. “I was out hunting,” Dyson corrects him, and Hale deflates some. “You’ve been doing a lot of that lately. You’re not going feral on us, are you? ’Cause I hear a woman brings that outta your kind, not break ups.” Annoyed, Dyson snatches the file from Hale who downloads him on the light fae prisoner escape as the woman guard points them in the direction Porcufae took. Dyson asks if anyone was injured and she confirms that not fatally, but that Porcufae is packing poison in her quills that knocked them out for hours. Hale wonders what Porcufae was doing there anyways as its miles from the catacombs, which I gather is the light fae jail. Guard explains that it was a prisoner transfer and Dyson, reading the file, notes that Porcufae has been in bond for 80 years. “Why are you moving her now?” Hale: “And on who’s authority? I mean The Ash isn’t exactly running things these days.” Guard: “They didn’t tell you guys yet,” and Hale and Dyson exchange “tell us what?” looks.
At The Dal (drink!), a party is in full swing, reminiscent of Fae Day celebrations –sorry, La Sho Shain. Trick greets Bo and Kenzi, “what are you drinking?” Kenzi: “Something cold, wet, and on your dime.” Trick: “My cheapest ale it is.” Hee. Bo says she’s been meaning to ask Trick what he knows about this Norn/Dyson business. Trick, warily, “Why?” but before Bo can answer, the door opens and a bunch of well-dressed men enter, led by a tall, dapper man in an expensive suit, complete with lavender vest and tie. As the entourage spreads out behind him, the crowd spreads open before him, several fae bowing low in obeisance. Kenzi, hysterically, follows in kind with a flamboyant bow, but Bo smacks her arm. “What!? All the cool kids are doing it!” Bo notes that it’s actually only the light fae bowing low, and guesses that this is some sort of honcho. Trick agrees, saying the new arrival is an emissary from the old country. “I suppose it was only a matter of time.”
Dapper Man approaches the bar and asks if Trick be the keeper of this way station. Trick confirms it. “Well met. Fitzpatrick McCorrigan of the Clan Finn Arvin.” They bump wrists as Dapper Man introduces himself. Trick: “By your colors, I’d make you The Black Thorn.” Ooh. That’s currently my favorite local pub (even if it is a chain, they have Magners hard cider and yummy bangers and mash), but I don’t think that’s what Trick means here. He asks what brings The Black Thorn to their fair realms. Sorry. Getting a little caught up in all the Ren Faire speak. “Oh, I’m just here to poke around, see the sights, make a little proclamation to the people.” Oh, is that all?
The Black Thorn pings the bell on the bar and as the people quiet down, he makes said announcement. “Let it be known, by order of the council, in two days time, a new successor to The Ash will be named.” He chuckles and raises his arms. “Let the selection games begin!” and the crowd applauds. Bo and Kenzi, who have been silently watching it all, look around confused and, for Bo’s part, concerned.
At the lab, Doctor Lauren is peering into her microscope when her cell rings. Without looking she puts it to her ear, instantly recoiling from both phone and scope as raucous music from The Dal explodes through her cell. “Wow! Loud.” Bo, on the other end, agrees. “Sorry, it’s rampant frivolity here at the moment.” Bo thinks she should know that the light fae are replacing The Ash. This immediately gets Doctor Lauren’s attention. Shocked, she stands up from her work and asks Bo what she’s talking about. The camera slowly zooms in on Doctor Lauren as Bo explains to us all over the phone. “Some guy from merry old fae town is here,” Bo explains. “However they elect new Ashes? It’s going down this weekend.” Doctor Lauren is visibly rattled. Bo promises to see what she can find out and will call Doctor Lauren later. “Please do,” Doctor Lauren says emphatically and hangs up. She stares off into space for a minute, and then, almost subconsciously, plays with her pendant, which we know is her symbol of ownership to The Ash.
At The Dal (drink!), Hale and Kenzi are at a table where he is explaining that this whole “choose a new Ash” thing is a BFD as Bo returns from calling Doctor Lauren and joins them. “Lots of rituals, a big ass feast, and a stag hunt.” Kenzi: “Ooh. Will there be wenches and mead?” Hale, turning back to his tea: “Heh heh. You crash the party there will definitely be a wench.” HA!
Bo asks who this black thorn dude is, and Hale corrects her that it’s THE Black Thorn, as it’s a title not a name. “The dark fae take their names from great warriors. Light leaders are named after our sacred trees.” Kenzi scoffs at this. “Trees. Bunch of hippies.” Bo wonders if this is a good thing and Hale cautions that it depends on who’s chosen and that they won’t even know who’s in the running until the big gala. “And then whichever contender wins the big hunt gets the big gig.” Kenzi wonders how they get tickets to this shindig. Hale offers to take them as his date, but, with a look over Hale’s shoulder Bo declines, rising as she insists they have other places they need to be. “Have fun storming the castle.” A Princess Bride quote?! I love you SO MUCH, show! Kenzi pouts, “aw, seriously?!” but Bo tugs her up by the arm and drags her from The Dal.
The camera shifts to a brooding Dyson, presumably standing behind Hale, whose gloomy gaze is fixed on Bo as she leaves. But wolf boy himself is not unobserved as The Black Thorn sips a glass of wine and studies Dyson’s reaction to Bo with great interest. Dyson’s loaded gaze flickers from Bo’s retreating back to The Black Thorn and the wolf raises his chin as he takes measure of the emissary, all yeah, what of it?, as the foreshadowing music plays us out of the scene. Too. Much. Testosterone!
At Hilton Hovel (drink!) Kenzi stalks into the kitchen bitching at Bo the whole while. “Since when do we turn down a free party?! It’s like I don’t even know you anymore!” Bo shoots back, “Trust me, nothing is ever free when it comes to these guys and their little...reality show.” Kenzi, plopping down on a bar stool and stripping off her boot: “Survivor: Fae Island. I would tune in!” Damn it, so would I! Bo pulls two bottles from the fridge and explains. “Look, Aoife got messed up in politics and it nearly blew everything to hell for us. Literally.” She’d like to play it safe and steer clear of any fae authority games for the moment, thanks anyways. Kenzi rubs her foot and complains some more: “Aww. Your mom ruins everything.” She begs Bo to change her mind, insisting that it would be oodles of fun. “Feasting! And hunting stags! And kilts! And bangers and mash! Mary Poppins!” Bo: “Are you feeling okay?” Kenzi, defeated: “I’m all outta British crap. You win.”
Bo notes that she always does win and as she leads the way out of the kitchen and towards the stairs (Why? Are they gonna go play on the swing?), she insists that Kenzi will thank her later for this. “The further we stay away from this succession business, the better.” Anvil! Anvil alert!
The sound of rattling chains stops the women in their tracks. They whirl around to find Porcufae cautiously emerging from her hiding spot in the corner of the common area. “Don’t be scared,” she pleads, holding up a hand. Bo steps in front of Kenzi. “How about violent?” Porcufae quickly says that she needs Bo’s help. “You know that stag hunt you were just talking about? I’m the stag.” Bo sighs and looks to the ceiling and then at Kenzi. Freaking fae! She knows she’s sunk. “Oh, crap.”
Dyson sits alone toying with his drink at the bar in the darkened and now empty Dal. Trick walks into frame. “I really have to start enforcing last call around here.” He pauses in front of Dyson and asks just how much The Black Thorn knows. “That there was an attack on the elders under The Ash’s nose. He wants The Ash replaced as punishment, even if he is wounded.” Trick, still tense, asks about Aoife and Dyson says The Black Thorn didn’t mention any link between Bo’s mother and the bombings. Far as he can tell, no one knows that Aoife has returned. He asks if Trick thinks there’s more to The Black Thorn’s visit than meets the eye, but Trick admits that if the emissary has ulterior motives, he’s keeping those cards close to his chest. “Just have to wait and see,” he admits, unhelpfully, and pours them each a shot of the good stuff. Broody Dyson clinks glasses with Trick and broods some more. It’s clear that Dyson, at least, has yet to abandon his fealty with Trick, which usually comes around to being about protecting Bo, directly or otherwise, which is interesting.
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo asks Porcufae why she is going to be the one hunted. “Tradition. To prove his or her merit, contenders for The Ash compete by fighting over the prey. The stag is always a prisoner and, well...” She holds up her dangling shackle as evidence of her prisoner status. This makes Bo even happier. “You’re an escaped convict. Wonderful.”
Kenzi wonders what Porcufae did to get “sent to the pokey?” Porcufae says she was following her heart and planned to elope with the man she loved, Hamish. He’s dark fae; she’s light, and though they knew it was treason, they didn’t care.
We flashback to Porcufae (really show? STILL no name?!), in 1920s hat and dress emoting on the docks (why is it always the docks?!) as she waits to meet her forbidden love. “We were young,” she voiceovers. “We were naïve. We believed our love really would conquer all.” An old Ford rolls down the dock and young Porcufae prances to meet it, climbing in and immediately macking on the driver. She starts to pull at his clothes, but he stops her. Taking off his ring, he slides it down her finger with great ceremony. “Don’t ever leave me,” he implores, kissing the ring on her hand.
Back at Hilton Hovel (drink!) Porcufae admits they could’ve gone on like that for years, but Hamish’s clan began to arrange a marriage for him and they only had 24 hours in which to make their escape or loose each other forever. A little calmer, Bo asks what happened and we flashback again, to the docks, where young Porcufae once again waits, this time perched on her valise. “We decided that night to make our escape,” she voiceovers again. The same Ford pulls drives down the docks and young Porcufae jumps up, but as she prances to the car, the door flies open knocking her to the ground. “I was met by light fae guards who knew of our plan and accused me of treason,” she voiceovers as we watch young Porcufae try to fight off those same guards, sans quills. “I fought and in the struggle one of the guardsmen was seriously injured. I’ve been imprisoned ever since.”
Back at Hilton Hovel (drink!), Kenzi quietly asks how long Porcufae has been in jail and Porcufae admits it’s been 83 years. “Whew,” Kenzi, the grifter, says on an exhale, “your penal system does not fae around.” Bo wonders about Hamish and Porcufae says that she never saw him that night or ever again for that matter. “I still don’t know if it was the dark fae who betrayed us or my own people.”
Suddenly, there’s a pounding at the door. “Here we go,” Bo murmurs, bracing as she steps in front of Porcufae. “Kenz?” Kenzi: “On it,” and she streaks across the room to grab weapons. As the pounding continues, Porcufae grabs Bo’s arm and insists that she’s not afraid to die; she only has one last request. “To know that Hamish is well and to see him one more time.” She asks if Bo will help her and holds up her open hand. Bo glances at it for a moment and then clasps it in that warrior way that wordlessly seals a bond. “I will.”
Kenzi is digging in a drawer as the door finally splinters open. “Bo!” she shouts and tosses a dagger across the room, which Bo unsheathes and wields before her as The Black Thorn’s well-dressed entourage plunge into Hilton Hovel, the lead man whipping out his own weapon (not like that!). “This is not light fae territory,” she invokes, and I dig that she’s learned enough to know how to use the light fae laws against them. “Get out.”
“Bo!” Dyson calls out, as he and his long-legged stride cut through the entourage to stand before Bo. He orders them to stand down and wait outside. “I speak for The Black Thorn.” What the huh now? Bo looks like she thinking the same as her dagger wavers but doesn’t lower. It’s been so long since they’ve been on opposing sides; it’s been all too easy to forget that Dyson’s main job is to act as enforcer for The Ash and the light fae. When the lead guy hesitates, Dyson gets all threatening. “Feel free to complain to him if I leave you a throat.” Hmmm. It’s wrong to love the posturing, but I so don’t care.
The entourage debunk as Bo asks Dyson what the hell is going on. “You’re outnumbered, Bo,” he points out in THAT VOICE. “It’s better for everyone if the girl just comes peacefully.” Kenzi objects, noting that it’s better for everyone except Porcufae. “I’m going to take her in myself, Kenz,” Dyson reassures her. “She will be safe and well cared for until the hunt. It’s the law.”
Porcufae backs Dyson up on this, insisting that she said what she came to say. “You can’t help me,” she tells Bo, “if you get yourself into some kind of trouble.” As Porcufae crosses to Dyson, Bo calls after her that she doesn’t even know Porcufae’s name. Porcufae smiles sadly as though it’s been 83 years since someone asked her that, and it probably has. “Sabine,” she says and she leaves with the entourage. It’s been bugging me this whole while that Porcufae/Sabine looks very familiar and after checking IMDB I realize I just saw her die on the 5 minutes of Being Human US version I caught before a previous Lost Girl episode. Seriously, that would’ve plagued me endlessly.
Bo nods at Dyson, thank you, and he nods back, of course, putting the final beat on that part of the scene. Kenzi breaks off and exits through the back door, but as Dyson begins to walk out, Bo pursues him, asking where they’ll take Sabine and he assures her Sabine will be kept at The Ash’s compound. “Thank you,” Bo says out loud this time with a smile, “for still looking out for me.” Dyson nods again, yeah, I guess so, and attempts to leave.
“You kinda sprung some big stuff on me,” Bo says, stopping him again. “Trading in your feelings to save my life? That’s one messed up love letter.” As he turns back slightly, cautiously, she tells him they need to talk, alone. “You owe me at least that.” Dyson agrees that they will indeed talk. “Just not now,” and finally makes it out the door. Bo nods as though to reassure herself and I’ll admit, I do not like seeing her so nakedly vulnerable.
At The Ash’s compound, Bo is greeted enthusiastically by The Black Thorn. “Oh good! You came!” He sweeps up and kisses a startled Bo on the cheek. “Bo. The Undecided. You know, I’ll be the envy of political pundits for years just from this meeting.” If Bo ever got it in mind to test the fae political waters, I think she’d be surprised at the power she could wield. And that’s before the orgy.
Bo is visibly uncomfortable by the notion that she would even come up by name amongst the fae politerati, but quickly rallies, accusing his people of abducting a guest from her home. “That’s not okay.” The Black Thorn smarms that, technically, Sabine is their prisoner. Bo asks with disgust if they’re seriously going to hunt her for sport. “Not sport!” The Black Thorn corrects her. “Ritual.” Bo scoffs. She’s had enough experience with fae ritual and sacrifice to know it almost always is merely an excuse for brutality. “I’ll never understand you people,” she admits as The Black Thorn gallantly takes her arm and leads her into a large room where several minions are prepping for the gala. “You slaughter your own kind, yet you call yourselves ‘light’ fae.”
The Black Thorn thinks this is why they need a rebranding, as if the tendency to solve issues with bloodshed is merely a marketing problem. They approach a dais, which sports a full-length mirror and a mannequin that is draped with a half-basted dress. Two smiling seamstresses flank the dais. “Would you mind if I borrowed you for a moment?” The Black Thorn asks. He leads a puzzled Bo to stand on the dais and Flora and Fauna strip off her jacket and begin to drape and measure her. Bo looks as though she thinks she should be fighting something but is stymied by the threat of needle and thread as weapons.
The Black Thorn rattles on. “Humans are food. We eat from them or die.” The dark fae, he points out, tend to kill for pleasure and not just for need. “Show me the red,” he demands as Flora drapes a fold of bronze cloth over Bo’s shoulder. Ignoring the women, Bo snaps that the light fae aren’t much better, but The Black Thorn disagrees, claiming that they’re more like Native American hunters. “We respect the kill, won’t over hunt, and don’t eat the young.” Flora pins Bo into a long piece of beautiful red fabric, and he’s right, it’s a big improvement.
Bo wonders what then that makes her. “An obnoxious vegan,” The Black Thorn insults her casually. HA! This is especially funny as Anna Silk is a committed vegan. I love me some Meta. Naturally, Bo takes this as a compliment. Taking her hand, The Black Thorn leads Bo off the dais and they take a stroll around the room, bypassing Merryweather, who is already at the loom—er, sewing machine—stitching the approved red cloth into a gown. The Black Thorn rattles on that the stag hunt is a respected tradition. “Through their [sic] willing sacrifice, the stag’s crimes are forgiven, returning honor to the family name. It’s really quite an equitable system.” Bo pings on the willing part and The Black Thorn informs her that the stag is always a volunteer. “If you had a chance to go out free and fighting instead of rotting in a cell, wouldn’t you take it?” Obviously, Bo definitely would volunteer in such a case, but doesn’t like that realization.
They finish their circuit of the room and Bo pauses, throwing a smile of thanks at Flora as she helps her back into her leather jacket. She tells The Black Thorn that though she doesn’t want to get off on the wrong foot, she’s also not asking for permission for what she’s about to say, “because you and I both know that I don’t do that.” Lady after my own heart there. The Black Thorn acknowledges he takes her meaning and is still listening. She tells him that Sabine asked to speak to her lost love as a sort of dying wish. “And I just thought you should know,” Bo finishes, and then tacks on, “that I’m going to do that,” in case The Black Thorn didn’t get that.
“Well,” The Black Thorn says, dismissively, “now I know,” and clearly could care less. Merryweather hands him a box that contains the now finished red dress, which The Black Thorn holds out to Bo who asked what it is. “A little something to wear to tomorrow’s gala. Come, be my guest.” Put the servants to the test. Wine’s be poured and thank the Lord, I’ve had the napkins freshly pressed. What?! He can have Sleeping Beauty’s three fairy godmothers whip up haute couture in five minutes but a little singing teapot is verboten? Damned elitist fae.
“Come see how civilized we can truly be,” The Black Thorn cajoles. With reluctance, Bo accepts the dress. I can’t really blame her as I can be bought for far less. (Call me, wolf boy, and we’ll negotiate terms.) Pleased, The Black Thorn insists that Bo bring that bartender along too. “Seems like he’d be fun.” Ruh roh.
Cut to Kenzi as she climbs out of the succmobile. “Next time? Ask him if he has Gucci too.” She and Bo walk across the street to a dingy, low-level brick building complete with threatening bums gathered around a barrel fire. Bo admits that she’ll just be happy when this Black Thorn guy leaves town, “couture aside, this whole fae election thing is creeping me out.” Kenzi scans the area and fills the exposition hole as she wonders if Bo is sure Hale gave them the right address for this Hamish guy as he’s not answering his phone “and the files were hella old.”
Bo knocks on the door and wonders if maybe Hamish isn’t home. “Oh and speaking of not home, can you give me some space Saturday night? Dyson’s agreed to come over and talk.” Kenzi is totally on board. “Operation Woo begins. And what is your plan of attack?” Bo looks at her blankly; clearly getting Dyson to come over was as far as she got. “Cleavage,” she finally suggests. “That’s about as far as I’ve gotten.” I myself often find that to be a key tool in my, um, box. Kenzi: “Honey, that’s farther than some of us ever get.”
The door is opened by a sullen guy who must be Hamish, judging by his resemblance to the guy in Sabine’s flashbacks. He wonders how Bo and Kenzi got this address. Bo tells him they’ve been leaving him messages about Sabine. “I got them,” Hamish admits and—that’s it. His lack of reaction surprises Bo too. This is the same guy that Sabine claimed was in forever love with her, right?
Bo decides that if he got the messages, then he’ll go with them to see Sabine. “I don’t think so, but thank you,” Hamish answers while furtively scanning the area behind Bo and Kenzi before attempting to shut the door in their faces, but Bo blocks him. “Clearly we’re having a communication error here.” She reminds him that she’s talking about Sabine Purcell, “the woman who spent the last 80 years in chains for wanting to be with you.” Hamish douchily insists that those were Sabine’s actions, not his. “I can’t help her.”
Bo is pissed, but tries telling him that Sabine just wants to say goodbye. “You loved her once?” she asks. Hamish snaps that he did, but he’s had 80 years to get over it. “She should too!” Bo tries to reason with him, reminding him that this is serious shit they’re dealing with. “She’s volunteered to be the stag,” she states with portents of doom in her voice. Hamish recoils; he knows what that means. As he steps back, he fades into invisibility and while Bo and Kenzi gape at the space where he once was, Hamish fades back into sight and yanks the door closed.
“Whoa,” Kenzi exhales. Bo turns around slowly on a slow boil. “80 years? To get over it? I’ll give him 80 years of my foot up his ass! That’s the jackhole she’s dying over?!” Kenzi tries to head her girl off at the pass. “Bo? Honey? Look, I know you’re a little sensitivo when it comes to, you know, penis-related rejections at the moment and I know you’re probably going to be tempted to personalize this—”
“Kenzi!” Bo cuts her off. “This isn’t about me, I get that OK?” Kenzi says that’s cool, “so we’re not going to get any more involved, right?” Right, Bo agrees and Kenzi relaxes, “phew!” Bo yanks opens the door to the succmobile. “Oh,” she adds, “except for the part where we’re going to save Sabine and not get caught doing it.” Kenzi’s face is all painful I knew it was too good to be true as she sprawls across the succmobile’s vinyl roof. “I wish I could quit you,” she moans theatrically and nope, that joke still isn’t old. “Come on, let’s go!” Bo demands from inside the car and Kenzi rolls her eyes. “Yes ma’am.”
At The Dal (drink!) Bo is pouring over some of Trick’s books, and it is not going well. She asks Trick to talk her through the process of naming the new Ash. “First the potential candidates gather for the gyallahaal.” Bo: “Which one? Jake or Maggie?” Trick gives her a look and clarifies. “It’s a gala in the stag’s honor,” but it’s actually the first competition, a test of political skill and cunning. “And those who survive it...” Bo: “Survive it?!” Again, Trick clarifies, “receive enough votes, are deemed contenders and they compete in the hunt and you know how that ends.” But Bo objects, saying that if Sabine makes it to the bell, she’ll be allowed to live free and clear. “But Bo, that never happens!” Trick says, frustrated by Bo’s refusal to accept what he’s known for centuries. “The entire system is canted against it!” Bo: “Well then we have to un-cant it! Fast!” Don’t you mean decant, sweetie? As in wine? Hmmmm, wine.
“There has to be a way that we can save Sabine without breaking their rules and pissing off The Black Thorn,” Bo insists, a little more calmly. She says she can at least get into the gala at The Black Thorn’s guest, “oh, by the way, he wants you there too.” Trick flinches, “He said that?” but Bo thunders on, about how she still can’t be part of the hunt since she’s not light fae, oblivious as usual to anything that doesn’t directly concern what’s important to her until it smacks her upside the head. Trick ponders this for a moment and Bo finally suggests Dyson, but Trick nixes that idea as there isn’t enough time for him to pass through the vetting process. “At this point you need someone of noble blood.” This gives Bo hope as she sure Trick must know someone of noble blood “we can exploit into helping us.” Trick: “Actually, we all do.”
At Hilton Hovel (drink!), Bo and Kenzi knock a protesting Hale back against the wall. “No, no, no, no, no. Not happening, little mamas,” he insists, brushing the creases their fists made from his shirt and jacket. Kenzi: “Why did you not tell us your family was hooked up?!” Hale: “They’re not hooked up; they’re old.” Kenzi: Old, as in old money.” Hale corrects her: “Old as in stuffy and judgmental and generally disapproving of any nontraditional life I may want to make for myself, OK?” The women aren’t buying it. He adds that if he’d wanted to make his grandmother happy by getting into politics, he would’ve done it decades ago. “Oh boo hoo, I’m sure you had it so rough Lord Gutless of Nobsberg!” Kenzi sneers. But Hale just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. He ain’t doing it.
Kenzi sighs and tells Bo that maybe they just need to ask His Highness nicely. Bo agrees archly, “Perhaps in a manner befitting his station.” Digging this change in attitude and failing to see the imminent danger, Hale breaks out that gorgeous smile. Kenzi pirouettes perfectly finishing in a flawless bow, while Bo waves her hand regally, sticks out a leg, and bows low, if with palpable mockery, as they both break out their best Dickensian orphan “please sir!”
“Thas nice, thas nice,” Hale admits, grinning. There’s a pause and then Bo rears up and smacks him in the shoulder. “Seriously?!” She tells him he could help save a woman’s life and no one is asking him to actually win, just run. Kenzi: “Yeah and losing could be like a whole new way to disappoint your family! And I would really love to see you kissing hands and shaking babies.” Hale chuckles scornfully. “Joke’s on you anyways, Cinderella. No humans at this ball.” Then why didja invite her along 10 minutes ago, fool? “Now,” he says, smile falling and tone flattening. “What’s your brilliant plan?”
String music brings us back to The Ash’s headquarters where Bo, flanked by Hale and Trick, enters the gala. She looks smashing, naturally, in the red gown while Hale and Trick are also dressed to the nines. Bo voiceovers their entrance that to save Sabine, they have to get Hale into the hunt and this gala offers Ash hopefuls the one chance to curry favor and votes while working to sabotage the competition by any means necessary short of murder. Personally, I’m pretty sure murder would be okay in these environs too. “Hale, use your siren call to get votes while I incapacitate the competition and Dyson will act as your protection.”
As the trifecta turn the corner at the headquarters, present Bo asks Hale if he’s sure that Dyson will show up. “Don’t worry, I talked to him,” Hale reassures her. “He’s cool. He’s in.” As they line up to enter the gala proper, Bo sees Dyson arrive through a different entrance and calls his name. Dyson, looking mouth-watering sexy of course, in a black formal jacket, collar and lapels turned up to frame his face, glances over at Bo. He offers no smile or means of recognition as he ignores her, stepping forward instead to greet a waiting woman with a kiss on her cheek and his arm around her waist, he escorts the woman inside. He brought a date?! What an asshole! Crap, I am having such the college flashback right now. Bo looks pole-axed. Dude totally just snubbed our girl in front of everyone. I don’t care what crap you’re dealing with, wolf boy, it’s not her fault and that was cruel. As she watches Dyson depart with the chippie, Bo voiceovers, “the important thing is that we work as a team. Get in. Get out. Together.” Irony, thy name is television writers.
Trick, naturally, saves the day. “Would you allow me to escort you in?” he asks Bo. She rallies with a smile and takes his hand. “Here we go.”
Hale passes his calling card to the major domo who reads his full title. “Wearing the blue: Baronet William Haley Francois Santiago. Clan Zamora.” The major domo fastens a glittering blue band to Hale’s upper arm as Bo arches an amused brow. “Haley?” Hale: “One word, just one word and I’ll sing you to sleep and I’ll leave you in the corner.” I love all the marvelous things this whole situation says about Hale, how he’s doing the thing he hates most—getting involved in the family business, so to speak—in order to help out his friends for something that, to him, must feel very same old same old as this is a fae tradition Hale has lived with all his life. By careening into their world and refusing to bow down, Bo has changed all of her fae friends’ lives for the good and for the better.
Trick is handed a clear glass pebble that reminds me of the ones my mother used to put in the vases of flower arrangements. Bo expositions for us that the arm bands designate contenders but she doesn’t know what the pebbles signify. “Gias,” Trick fills in, “the stone you use to cast your vote.” He leads her over to several vases free standing on pillars, each filled with liquid that matches the color of the respective candidates arm band. Trick helpfully demonstrates as he casts his vote for Hale, and the vase chimes and lights up as a result. “Real modern system you got here,” Bo snarks. “Exactly,” Hale agrees sullenly, lowering a goblet that has mysteriously appeared in his hand. “Old people like old
shit junk.” U.S. censors ahoy! Trick smiles at Bo, excuses himself, and makes his way over to Dyson and his chippie, where the wolf boy is spinning Hale’s credentials, “a long lineage coming out of Africa.” By the look on her face, Bo has had about enough of this shit and starts for Dyson, but before she can take more than a step, she literally runs into a very handsome man.
“Pardon me,” she apologizes, but the debonair Brit declines her apology. “No, no, it’s my fault. I hope you won’t hold my clumsiness against me when you cast your vote,” he adds, needlessly tweaking his tie. They exchange charged looks before he moves on and as Bo stares after him contemplatively, Hale sidles up next to her. “Ah, you good on your own?” he asks, fidgeting, clearly beginning to enjoy the attention being aimed his way. “What did he say?” I’m reminded here how tall Hale really is; standing next to Dyson as he often is, Hale’s own impressive height usually goes unnoticed, even though wolf boy only has an inch or two on him.
Bo thinks Debonair Brit with the green armband is her first target. “And then Cougar, Grampa, and, ah, Mister Big.” The camera briefly settles on each candidate as Bo ticks them off. Bo says she’ll try to take them out of competition. “The other two contenders should cause much support. You work the room,” she orders Hale, “score some votes.” Hale: “Let’s rock out with our frocks out.” Without the closed captioning, I thought Hale said “with our fox out” and had no idea what that meant. Frocks works better though. Sort of. Hale tosses back the rest of his goblet and he and Bo stride off in opposite directions to get their game on.
A long queue of fae lead the way to a raised chair where Sabine is enthroned, accepting homage. She is gorgeous in another of the bibbity bobbity boop dresses (actually, that would be an excellent name for a fashion line). Despite the honors, she is clearly miserable and in between greeting sycophants, Sabine scans the room, clearly searching for Hamish.
Hale is shaking hands, spinning his song. He really is quite good at this game. Dyson hulks a few feet behind him, keeping a watchful eye as he continues to—what else—brood. The chippie is nowhere in sight. Random fae add their gias to vases that are not Hale’s and Bo watches closely as Green Armband chuckles with potential voters. She sets aside her champagne flute and approaches him with purpose. “I’ve been watching you,” she purrs, stroking his face as she feeds him the succubus juice. “I’ve noticed,” Green Armband admits. Without further ado, Bo slides in for the succubus kiss, and Green Armband, like many before him, goes willingly. “Oh I think you want to go home now,” Bo suggests to the stunned Green Armband, “forget all about this silly election.”
But wait, what’s this? He’s recovering? Green Arm leans into Bo as if sharing a confidence. “You know, I think you may overestimate your talents,” he suggests and it’s Bo’s turn to look stunned. No one has ever fully resisted her succubus wiles before. “Mind you,” Green Armband adds, clasping Bo’s arms in his hands, “those are some talents,” and the smug git winks at her!
Behind and to the left of Bo, Dyson descends the stairs and oozes into frame, his gaze fixed on Green Armband and Bo’s tête á tête. As the politico leaves her to schmooze other fae, Dyson’s long-legged stride takes its time smoothly crossing the room, sliding behind an oblivious Bo without saying a word, much like the way he stalked her at the rave last week only without the tragically hot kiss culmination. His eyes remain pinned on Bo the whole while as she stares off into space, processing Green Armband’s immunity (might he be wearing a koushang?), before choosing her next target.
Two fae add their gias to a vase while one adds a gia to Hale’s who is placating some older fae about the pension system, another silver goblet in hand. “As The Ash, I would double the payout for any fae over nine centuries old.” This overreaching promise is too much for Cougar Candidate watching nearby and as she strolls past Hale, she drops a mickey in his goblet while Hale assures his potential voter that she doesn’t look a day over 650.
Hale goes to drink, but Dyson is suddenly there, covering the goblet with his hand. His eyes briefly go wolf gold as he sniffs the cup and then waggles a chiding finger at the Cougar Candidate who shrugs, unconcerned at being caught. That is the game, after all. While Hale peers after Cougar Candidate, processing what just happened, Dyson smoothly holds out the goblet to the passing Grampa Candidate. “For you, sir,” he offers, one arm behind his back, neatly taking out another contender. “Huh,” Hale says, finally catching up. “Mmm hmm,” Dyson responds with light rebuke. “My man,” Hale offers in thanks as Dyson ambles off to divide and conquer worlds and numerous fae panties. That entire exchange delights me, from the uncharacteristic tch tch of Dyson’s finger to the volume of meaning Hale and Dyson exchange in their wordless conversation, so attuned to each other after so long together as partners that nothing more needs to be done or said. Plus, they’re such guys.
More gias are added to the vases, and the level in Hale’s blue stein is climbing high. We switch back to Bo who is laying the succubus kiss on Mister Big, backing him up to the wall then releasing him without ceremony to fall next her other two targets. “Still got it, damn it,” she mutters to herself, whirling around only to bump right into Dyson. He raises an impressed brow at the pile of unconscious bodies behind her. “Nice,” he compliments, and that’s weird too. She smiles up at him and I hate that she’s so damn happy to see him no matter how crappy he behaves even as I can’t say I’d be any different. “It’s good to see you,” she says. For a moment he simply stares at her as if he can’t decide whether he agrees. “It’s good to see you too,” he finally admits, but immediately makes to brush by her. Bo smacks an open hand against his chest. “Dyson,” she grits out. “We have to talk.”
There’s a crash and Bo’s head whips around to see Grampa Candidate passed out on the floor, a sprawl of silver goblets around him. When she turns back, stealth Dyson as already fled. Coward. Yeah, I said it.
Trick approaches Dyson who is standing alone in the shadowed hallway. “So, is it your brilliant plan to avoid Bo for the rest of your lives?” Trick asks with some bite. “I don’t know what to say to her, Trick,” Dyson confesses with more emotion than he’s shown all night. Trick reminds Dyson that he warned the wolf about the Norn and their trickery. ‘Cause beating the guy up some more about it is gonna help there, Trickster. “I’m a big boy, Trick,” Dyson states. WE KNOW. “I knew what I was getting into.” He starts to leave, but Trick isn’t done yet. “Then why punish her for something you chose to do freely? That’s not like you, Dyson.”
Dyson, with leashed anger: “Well, I’m not exactly me anymore, am I? That’s the point. You’re the one who didn’t want us together and now that that’s permanent, I would say you’ve lost your right to complain.” He enunciates those last few words, biting them off as his long-suppressed resentment of Trick’s machinations breaks through.
The Black Thorn has been slowly making his way toward them during this exchange. As Dyson stalks away, he commiserates with Trick. “Ah, the younger generation is so lippy these days,” he tsk tsks. “Some of us are born lippy,” Trick reproaches him mildly. “Like your little protégée there,” The Black Thorn agrees, pointing out Bo who is across the room standing with Hale by the vases. In that red dress, she stands out like a beacon, and even from a distance, her crossed arms broadcast her displeasure. From where he stood before Trick engaged him, Dyson would’ve been staring right at her the whole time he was brooding in the shadows. Likewise, Trick must have been doing the same in that brief moment between Dyson’s decampment and The Black Thorn’s first salvo. Nicely blocked, show.
The Black Thorn notes that Bo is quite the firebrand by all accounts. “But then I hear she takes after mother, Aoife.” Oh no he didn’t! Trick cannot hide his reaction to this news, and The Black Thorn smiles. “You need to work on your poker face, my friend,” he tells Trick, and then sidles off to indirectly threaten someone else.
Bo pays homage to Sabine’s hand, kissing her hand, but all Sabine wants to know is whether Hamish is there and Bo has to admit that he isn’t. “Good news, though. He’s alive and free.” Sabine can’t believe that he doesn’t want to see her and Bo insists that she tried, and wonders if it’s possible that it was Hamish who betrayed her in the first place. Sabine is confident that it wasn’t and Bo asks how she can be so sure. “Have you ever been in love?” Sabine asks her, “with someone who loved you with everything he had.” Bo nods, “Once,” then adds dryly, “apparently.” Sabine: “Then you understand, when you love like that, you know. You feel it.”
But Bo can’t bear to talk about that. She tells Sabine that while she may not have been able to bring her Hamish, she’s brought her something better. “My friends and I, we’re going to help you during the hunt.” Sabine wonders what they’re going to help her to do. “To win. By their own rules. If we get you to the end of those woods alive, you’ll win your freedom.” But Sabine is all melancholy. “Freedom to what? To wander a world I haven’t lived in for 80 years and risk all your lives in the balance?” Bo tries to protest, but Sabine isn’t having any of it. “You’ve been good to me,” Sabine admits. “But not every story has an ending.” Anvil! Anvil alert!!
Before Bo can protest further, they’re startled by another tray of goblets crashing to the ground, but this time, instead of a drugged candidate, a dumbfounded waitress is picking up the debris. The air behind her waffles and Bo frowns and pursues her gut reaction into a back room. Slowing roaming around shrouded furniture, she turns in circle and then, suddenly out of nowhere, head bangs forward and connects with an invisible Hamish, who rematerializes as he falls to the ground. Total bad ass move, babe.
She yanks Hamish to his feet by his lapels. “Dumb ass!” she snaps. “I can see auras and yours is totally hot for Sabine!” That’s a nice call back to the parts of her power that don’t have to do with the succubus kiss. Hamish: “What do you want from me?!” Bo: “Admit that you love Sabine! Say it!” I don’t think she’s really talking to Hamish right now. A little bewildered by her vehemence, Hamish admits that yes, he loves her. He’s always loved. Bo wonders why then did he betray her, but Hamish denies this, though he admits that he might as well have. He tells her that his family is not good people Um, hel-lo? Dark fae?! No one expects touchy feely from them. When they found out about Hamish and Sabine they were furious he would jeopardizes the family name. Bo surmises that they were the ones who alerted the light fae who then imprisoned Sabine. “I tried, for years, to find a way to help Sabine. But what can I do? I’m dark fae.” Even now, all he can do is catch glimpses of her from across the room. Bo insists that there is more that he can do. “Come with me to the hunt. Help me save her!” but Hamish refuses. “I don’t want to get her hopes up,” he says brokenly. “It’s better if I just leave.”
But Bo has had enough of men not manning up for love. “If you really love her,” she spits, “you’d fight for her.” She shoves him aside and leaves, but not without a final slap on the back of his shoulder. Dumb ass.
It’s the next morning (I guess. Who knows?!), and The Black Thorn is congratulating the three final contenders, Cougar Candidate, Green Armband, and Hale. Each of them is decked out in tailored leather threads, as if Banana Republic bought a sponsorship in the stag hunt. “The rules are simple,” The Black Thorn intones as a flunky passes out wooden bows and quivers of arrows to each. “You may only use sanctioned weapons.” Translation: no powers. “You may not kill one another.” Well, there goes the neighborhood.
The stag, he tells them, has already been provided with the location of the bell. “If she finds it, rings it, you are all disqualified.” He blows a horn that looks like Wagner’s lost helmet and the three take off in pursuit of Sabine.
Sabine, equally attired in the leather of the day, is running through the forest, oodelolly, oodelolly, golly what a day. First up in pursuit is Cougar Candidate followed closely by Green Armband. Sabine is making a good run of it despite her assertions to Bo, but leans against a tree to catch her breath. Uh oh. Somebody’s gonna come sniffin’ around that soon! Wait, yep, here comes Green Armband sniffing away and with a pleased smile, he sets off after Sabine.
Hale bounces through the forest like Tigger on a mission. No seriously, the dude’s bouncing, almost like he’s hitting a spring board— maybe he did, as he leaps over a log in his way. Sabine struggles her way up an incline, clearly holding on to a rope embedded in the dirt, but I’ll allow it. As she reaches the top and comes around another tree, Cougar Candidate is waiting for her, arrow knocked and bow drawn. Before she can fire, though, Sabine does her twist and shout move and quills sprout from Cougar Candidate’s chest and she falls to the ground.
Without warning, Dyson sneaks up behind Sabine and grabs her, slapping his hand over her mouth. She squeals but Stealth Dyson quickly reassures her in THAT VOICE that he’s here to help. As he removes his hand, Sabine gapes up at him. “Do you trust me?” Dyson asks, and a dazed Sabine nods uh huh. Don’t worry sweetie, we geddit. “Let’s find this bell,” Dyson exhorts and the two of them head off. There’s about 5 seconds of footage here that the U.S. cut off that I wouldn’t mention except for the fact that it’s of Dyson and his long-legged run through the forest so, fail! It does make me wonder what other non-language tweaks they’ve made that I haven’t noticed.
Kenzi and Bo are wandering though the forest and spy the freedom bell. So much for the stag being the only one to know where to find the bell. “Now if Sabine can just make it here in one piece and ring it,” Bo expositions for us. Kenzi notes it’s a good sign that no one else has found it yet either.
Sabine and Dyson are running. Well, she’s running; he’s loping. As she pauses to catch her breath, Dyson scans the area and points out the freedom bell nearby. “Don’t stop. You gotta run,” Dyson orders her. “Thank you,” Sabine gasps and strikes out for the bell. Bo and Kenzi catch sight of Sabine and watch as she runs full pelt for the bell. But wait! Suddenly, Green Armband comes out from behind a tree, notching an arrow taking aim. “No, no, no, no!!” Bo shouts futilely. “Sabine! Run!” she yells. “GO! GO! GO!”
Dyson sees Green Arrow and growls but cannot interfere. Sabine runs. Green Arrow takes aim. Sabine is closing in on the bell. Running! She’s running! Green Armband lets the arrow fly. There’s a ripple in the air next to Sabine and then the arrow strikes home, thrusting Sabine forward and down to the ground.
Bo, Kenzi, and Dyson come out from “hiding” and race to the side of the unconscious Sabine. The arrow has gone straight through her shoulder. Dyson takes her wrist, taking her pulse as Green Armband, The Black Thorn, and his minions cluster around. Green Armband smiles triumphantly and Kenzi eyes him with distaste. Dyson announces that she’s dead. He stands and speaks to The Black Thorn. “Will you leave us to bury the fallen?” Bo looks anxiously at Dyson and he shakes his head in answer. Turning to the others, he announces that Sabine is dead. “If you’ll leave the fallen to us,” he says to The Black Thorn and it is not a request. The Black Thorn turns to Bo. “As I told you, we are not monsters,” and tells Dyson to tend to Sabine’s burial. “Meanwhile, we have ourselves a new Ash to crown.” He blows his own horn, in this case literally, signaling the end of the hunt. Green Armband crosses by Sabine’s body to get right up into Bo’s face. “You’re the succubus, aren’t you? The one who does what she pleases,” he says, and it’s not a friendly observation. “Well, not anymore.” With that comforting thought, he leads the way out of the clearing as Hale bounces into frame to round off our group of mighty heroes.
Reconnoitering the clearing, Dyson announces they’re clear and Doctor Lauren emerges from hiding. What the huh now? Where did she come from? There’s a whole lotta people hiding in this sekrit sekrit spot and I gotta say the trees are not that big in the first place. Not to mention that these fae folk have a tendency to literally be able to sniff people out, particularly humans. Eh- whatever.
Doctor Lauren tends to Sabine, breaking off the arrow and removing it from her shoulder as Hamish rematerializes next to Hale. Doctor Lauren assures Bo that it’s just soft tissue damage, and Hamish tearfully says he tried to spin Sabine out of the path of the arrow as best he could. Doctor Lauren reassures him that he did well; if it had hit the heart they’d have no hope. “The problem will be the poison,” she says, cold and clinical as she prepares a hypodermic syringe for injection, “but we prepared for that.” With no further warning, she goes all Pulp Fiction and plunges the needle into Sabine breastplate, and through the leather jacket too, I might add. Sabine wakes up with a gasp and immediately sees Hamish. “Hamish! You came!” He drops down beside her, “just 83 years too late,” he says brokenly, but she doesn’t care. “I knew you’d come,” she says holding on to him tight. Raising her eyes to Bo, she thanks her, and as Bo nods, no problem, we see she and Doctor Lauren and Dyson are all arrayed in a row. Doctor Lauren slides a pain-filled looked towards Dyson, who is watching Hamish and Sabine, stone faced, and once again, Zoie Palmer fills the throwaway moment with deep subtext. “I guess science kicks the crap outta tradition, huh?” Bo says to Doctor Lauren, but she just smiles sadly. Nobody is getting out of this lover’s reunion unaffected.
The scene shifts to Green Armband’s coronation (STILL NO NAME, SHOW!) as The Ash. Trick pushes his way out of the crowd and takes his leave of The Black Thorn.
With a knock, Dyson enters Hilton Hovel (drink! no, seriously, drink. This is going to be rough.) Bo comes out to meet him in a black negligee bearing two full wine glasses, clearly all prepped and ready for sexy times. Dyson grimaces at the sight of her, no doubt exactly the response she was looking for. He tries to cut her off at the pass, but she insists on speaking. She thanks him for taking such a risk to protect her and apologizes. “Until recently I’ve been kind of stubborn and blind about how good we were together.” He knows this, but doesn’t like being reminded of it. “So, here’s to starting over if you’ll let me,” Bo finishes. She hands over a glass, but, with awful sympathy and wariness on his face, Dyson takes them both and sets them aside putting a gulf of actual distance between them. “This is my fault,” he says low and darkly. Yeah, we know! He realizes he wasn’t clear enough as he should’ve been. Dyson: “I told you once that wolves mate for life. Well, I gave that love to you, and I don’t regret it,” he whispers with emotion. “But the Norn took it!” he growls.
“I know! I know!” Bo shouts back, frustrated. She’s tired of this same song and dance. “Big fat, crazy Norn. Well, since when do we let strangers control our lives, Dyson? Since when is that you?” Dyson: “Since it was the price I had to pay to save your life. “
Bo says she’s grateful for that. “But she made you stop feeling what we had, Dyson. She didn’t make me.” This is a key sticking point; in saving her life by going to the Norn, Dyson victimized Bo most of all, and still can’t get around his own giant emo to try and find a way to make it better for her to endure. Alphahole.
I just –” she puts her arms around him. “I just want to try again.” She kisses him and he responds as though desperate one last time to be wrong, but his face contorts with wretchedness and after a few moments he pushes her away. “I don’t!” he shouts, brutally. “Please!” and turns away from her.
“Dyson, that is not you talking!” Bo yells, jerking him back around, frantic. This is not going the way she planned. “I can make you, you know,” she snarls, getting nasty. “I can make you love me.” Her eyes simmer blue with power, but Dyson just looks at her, his gaze sad and, God help them both, full of pity. Power crackles between them and, with a low growl, he shoves her back. For a moment it looks like they might actually, finally, throw down, but Bo is instantly contrite. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Dyson says, softly. “Bo, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you.” Good job there, buddy. Full marks. “But you have got to move on.” His voice hardens. “Because I already have.” He turns his back on her and walks out with a tangible pallor of finality. You’ve had three weeks to deal with this, jackhole! She’s only had three days! Maybe. I’m not really sure. With the way this show handles time gaps, mostly I don’t know if they’re coming or faeing.
Bo stares after him, her face devastated by sorrow and pain, unable to believe the man she loves has left her so viciously. My belly is in one big, honking, aching knot. Poor, poor chickie boo.
At The Dal (drink!) The Black Thorn and Trick are having a political salvo under the guise of a post-coronation drink. The Black Thorn thinks the whole think went well, all things considered. Trick trusts that The Black Thorn has gained some valuable insight about Bo, “and who among us protect her.” The Black Thorn muses that the subterfuge was quite clever. “Nothing in the rules about bringing the stag back from the dead.” Trick points out the obvious question, wondering how after 80 years in prison, how did the stag know who Bo was, let alone where to find her? The Black Thorn suggests that he may have mentioned something to Sabine in passing and enabled her escape, but who can remember, really.
“I still find it hard to believe you came all this way just for a swearing in ceremony or a closer look at Bo,” Trick assays, cagily. The Black Thorn mentions there are rumors “tweaking higher ears” that Trick may not be a simple barkeep after all, that he may, in fact, be The Blood King. “I would be very happy for those rumors to cease,” Trick says pointedly. “It’s the stuff of fairy tales.” What the hell else do you think we’re dealing with here, Trickster?
The Black Thorn asks if Trick really expects them to believe that a man of his stature is satisfied as a simple tavern-keeper. “It’s more of a gastro pub, really,” Trick deflects smoothly. He asks that The Black Thorn go back to the council and reassure them that he has no pretentions to power. This pleases The Black Thorn, but Trick isn’t finished. “So long as there are no more efforts to locate Aoife.” The Black Thorn finds it interesting that Aoife has indeed resurfaced. “She’s the mother to this Bo then?”
Trick insists that he can’t speak to either of those issues, but “I imagine I would find my continued retirement more attractive if the council would agree to this friendly request.” The Black Thorn promises to mention it to the council upon his return and the two men smile shark smiles at one another, completely in accord. “And may I say what an honor it’s been,” The Black Thorn smarms and they clink glasses and drink. As The Black Thorn leaves he mutters, “bartender, my ass.” Heeeee.
At Hilton Hovel (drink! often and freely) Bo and Kenzi are sitting on the floor, propped up against the tub. Bo is burrowed under a nondescript white robe while Kenzi holds an open pint of ice cream and a large spoon. “Well,” Bo sighs. “That was supposed to be a lot more epic. Thunderbolts were supposed to go off. Music was supposed to play. Nakedness. There was supposed to be nakedness!” We feel that loss too, sweetie. Kenzi confirms sadly that it didn’t happen. Bo shoves her spoon into the pint. “Mostly I just made an asshat out of myself,” Bo moans. “Shut up. You did not,” Kenzi instantly denies.
Bo is desolate, her pain-filled faced a picture of despair as she admits brokenly that she and Dyson are really over, for good this time. “I just can’t understand why he doesn’t want to fight for us.” Kenzi thinks it’s the Tim Effect and explains that he was the first guy she ever “lurved” until she found him with another girl “lurving her from behind.” Bo grunts in sympathy and asks what happened. Kenzi admits that eventually she was ready to forgive him and move on—mentally. “But my heart would not frickin’ listen.” She’d remember how good they were together and she would miss it, but she couldn’t get herself to feel it again, even if she tried. “I think that’s what the Norm did to Dyson, I think that’s the kind of whammy she put on Dyson’s heart every time he thinks of you.”
“Except, I didn’t do anything wrong,” Bo says sadly. Oh, so very sadly. I’m so glad I too have chocolate ice cream in the freezer right now. Kenzi knows this and lays her head on Bo’s shoulder in comfort. “Do you know what the irony is here?” Bo asks suddenly, with bite. “I’m a freaking succubus! I can make any man want me. But I can’t make this one man love me.” Kenzi wonders if Bo wants her to beat the snot out of Dyson, “’cause I totally will.” Bo laughs a little. “He’s so girly about that beard,” Kenzi adds, “I think I need to mess it up a little bit.”
Bo sighs. “Whatever he did, Kenzi,” she says grief heavy in her voice. “He did it for me.” Kenzi says ‘yeah’ softly and strokes Bo shoulder. She knows it all sux from every side for everyone. Bo: “I mean, he just needs to be friends and –” Hang on. When did he say that?! Cause I’m pretty sure that was a “have a nice life, babe” moment back there, not “we can still be friends, right?”
“I gotta tell him I’m okay with that,” Bo finishes, miserably, hating the idea. Because this is Bo. In the end, she’ll do whatever is necessary for the people she loves, for those who belong to her, no matter the personal cost. Kenzi: “So you’re gonna lie.” Bo: “Damn right.” Kenzi wishes her luck with that. “Another pint,” she says, softly. “Vanilla this time. I know.” She kisses Bo’s cheek, eliciting a small smile, and gets up to get more ice cream. Bo sighs again, deeply, her face breaking my heart with its despair, one that’s so deep, she can’t even cry.
End credits. Sob.
New Fae Terms:
The stag: A light fae prisoner who volunteers to be the prey in a hunt used to determine who will become the new Ash, leader of the light fae.
gyallahaal: neither Maggie nor Jake, the gyallahaal is a gala put on in the stag’s honor, but really serves as the primaries for the competition to become the new Ash. Candidates use the event to curry favor with voters while working to sabotage the competition by any means necessary short of murder. Supposedly.
gias: clear glass pebbles that voters use to indicate their vote by adding their pebbles to the appropriate vases for their choice of Ash candidate.
Quotes of the Night:
Kenzi: Last time Dyson dumped Bo’s ass, a car got smashed, three furies died, and a dude’s head got cut off. And that was when they were just bang buddies!
Kenzi: Sidekick solidarity. Check your contract!
Kenzi: Danger! Danger! She has lost her shit!
Bo: He risked his wolf, Kenzi! He wouldn’t do that unless he really loved me. Not the sex. Not the succubus. Me.
Kenzi: Your big plan is to woo?
Kenzi: Will there be wenches and mead? Hale: You crash the party there will definitely be a wench.
Kenzi: Survivor: Fae Island. I would tune in!
Kenzi: I’m all outta British crap. You win.
Dyson: Feel free to complain to him if I leave you a throat.
Kenzi: Next time? Ask him if he has Gucci too
Kenzi: Operation Woo begins. And what is your plan of attack? Bo: Cleavage.
Kenzi: I know you’re a little sensitivo when it comes to penis-related rejections at the moment
Bo: Haley? Hale: One word, just one word and I’ll sing you to sleep and I’ll leave you in the corner.
Hale: Let’s rock out with our frocks out.
The Black Thorn: The younger generation is so lippy these days. Trick: Some of us are born lippy.
Bo: Since when do we let strangers control our lives, Dyson? Since when is that you? Dyson: Since it was the price I had to pay to save your life.
Kenzi: He’s so girly about that beard. I think I need to mess it up a little bit.
Next week: Episode 3: Scream a Little Dream