niteowl: i can think of few things more terrifying than a formal dinner in the South. dinner ware politely clinking, a chef's take on 'some old time Southern favourite' being eaten, everyone look dazzling and fantastic.
Cyrano: i don't even know people who know people who do that shit.
niteowl: the hostess clearing her throat politely, looking over to me in the generous way that i imagine only great established matriachs can, and saying, 'so tell me jason, when did you come to our country?'
bigjimslade: well technically you are a foreigner
spruce: 'oh, and would you mind fetching me some coal from my father's mine? Won't take a moment, you darling man'
greens: Or mentions 'your people'
niteowl: 'you darling little man'
bigjimslade: actually what would be worse is she turns to you and says "I believe we shall take our mint juleps on the veranda, and bring some canapes when you come out of the kitchen"