“James Calvin Smith,” he replied with an oddly practiced tone “Clan Gangrel, Unaligned. Seneschal Hart, Ma’am.” He was feeling a bit odd about where (or if) he should be maintaining eye contact and even more uneasy staring into the dark holes within a doll’s face. He bowed more out of habit than anything.
He took a mental breath, working to recenter himself.
“I apologize if I make any mistakes in protocol, Ma'am, since I haven’t had time to observe local customs. I would like to seek acknowledgement within the Sacramento domain and since the Gangrel Priscus is also the Prince, I felt it prudent to approach you first instead of Prince Alessandra Antinori directly for such routine procedure.” On the advise of Dirt Nap of course but if this turned out to be the wrong choice, then saying so would be through him under the proverbial bus.
JC felt like there were a hundred people staring at his back. Predators, watching and waiting for the chance to strike. Gazes burning into the back of his skull.