Dimitri shrugged aside the apology. "It's alright. You've had other things on your mind." Most of them did, even if their primary objective was to deny and ignore most--ugly--memories of their past lives. Some, Dimitri knew to be doing it on purpose while others had simply internalized so much bullshit that remembering their true selves could be the straw that broke the camel's back. Their fragile human minds defended against the perceived threat by means of willful amnesia.
"There's some talk of sponsoring a conference," he explained, keeping his answer as evasive as possible. "I work with some people who are interested in the easy exposure." Gods tried every means available to gain support and followers; some went so far as to plaster their face across billboards--which Dimitri had found was far more likely to attract vandalism and graffiti--while others set up their own companies and wove their names into the products sold. Hephaestus had done a fair bit on that score and if Hera knew anything about Dimitri Proffit, the body her old friend now inhabited, then she would likely know he was employed by her son's latest incarnation.
The world wasn't an oyster so much as a tangled spider's web.
"So are you married, this time around?" It seemed like the thing to ask; they had both been defined by their husbands, once upon a time, and old habits died hard.