Ares was never one to think of the details. In fact, his disposition was one that historically bypassed the thinking process altogether. Going by the view from where he sat, the behavioral landscape was little changed. The face had, though no new skin could ever be stretched over the warmonger's skull without it coming out looking smug. And somewhat lacking in cerebral arenas. It was interesting to see the similar colouring--a pattern had emerged in this modern family. The men had gone fair, whereas the women gone dark. With the exception, of course, of when one of the women had become a man, then dark.
"Leisure." Hermes said, shrugging his suited shoulders. "Perhaps an amount of the old curiosity. I'd heard you had come to rest on the West Coast like the others, but it didn't occur to me to investigate until I smelled you." There was a pause in which he didn't sniff. It wasn't an insult, just a stated fact. Ares smelled of blood, Hebe ambrosia, Hera premature menopause, and Pan of copious amounts of weed. "It appears a proper family reunion is on the make, fueled by whatever it is in the air."