"Something like that is right." Said the man in the third chair at the table where seconds before there had been no man or, for that matter, chair. "This West Coast magnetism is having a strange and questionable effect on the whole family." The man crossed his legs at the knee and leant back comfortably in his seat, looking between the two women with serene familiarity as if he'd been there since the start of the conversation.
Hermes could spot another god at two hundred yards in a dense fog, and he was never surprised by the passing presence of a relative. Some identifications took longer than others, but so prominent and familiar a face as Hera was instantaneously felt and recognized. Her power, diminished as it was--diminished as they all were--was still distinct. She was one he typically avoided, especially when she made effort to seek him out. He'd been making the point for some time, to Zeus, Hera, and others, that he was no longer at the beck of call of their whims. He would come and go, assist and thwart, and deliver and receive as he pleased. This was a prime example of how he did exactly that.