Hermes was looking forward to the little informal briefing. Gone were the days where he would be called to Olympus and stand in a marvelous Hall of Ivory and Gold before the Throne and report to his Glorious Father, but it wasn't all bad. The diner had great coffee. Olympus had ambrosia, but it didn't have apple fritters.
And his Glorious Father wasn't quite so Omnipotent anymore, stuck in a pretty, but flimsy little shell the likes of which he used to chase with lust in his eyes. He also had a small following, which boosted his powers at least enough to register. But it was barely a fraction of what Hermes had been building for the last two decades in this realm, and thus... changed the dynamic, just a tad.
Wes Cummings pushed through the diner door, clicking flirtatious noise and a crooked grin at the elderly waitress behind the counter who always brought him free coffee and sweet things. The same smile shot to his father's vessel as he plopped down in the booth across from her, and half-assed a salute once he got comfortable.
"Whats the word, Big Z," he started, already riding the humor. "You're looking pretty today."