He was tired. It showed in the lines on his face. Long, cutting lines, drawn into his skin over many years. He wasn't the same god as before, and shaking the earth was far more difficult than it used to be.
That didn't stop him from disembarking the vehicle and walking out, the photograph falling from his lap to the floor of Zeus' car. He hadn't noticed that, for once, Zeus was listening to him and didn't get out of the car. Or drive away.
He tapped the wanderer on the shoulder and pulled back. Waited long enough for the man to turn around, and when he did and that face that looked too similar to the one in the photograph, Poseidon threw a punch.
He slugged him in the cheek, to put it bluntly, and it was the kind of punch that drove mortals into the ground and brought titans to their knees.
"Get up," he said, even though he wasn't waiting for the poor excuse of a man to get to his feet. Fingers curled and gripped tightly into the collars of his shirt, picking him up off the floor, holding him up just so he could get another punch in.
"You stay away from my granddaughter, or you'll never see the light of day again."