memory fails him when he tries to recall the proper etiquette for interacting with the master vampires of the council. should he bow? how deep? is there a formal greeting he should recite? foster bemoans the loss of much of his memory now more than ever, wondering if a wrong move could mean his head, quite literally.
he would have known she was a master vampire even if he didn’t recognize her as one of the members of the council. the power he could sense in her, the confidence of her every movement. foster knows he was but a child, a baby, compared to her and that if she so felt like it she could take his life. no one would stop her, not when she held so much prestige and no sane human or hunter would mourn the loss of a monster.
the very thought puts the fear of god into him, and he eyes the woman almost warily as if she’ll eat him at any moment. silently he wills her not to notice him; that must be the safest way to interact with her, from a distance. foster can never recall getting along well with other vampires and he just wishes to survive.