If anyone nearby could hear well enough, he might be able to discern the source of some thumping bass and unintelligible rapping; if that person knew his pop culture well enough, he might be able to pick out the aggressive, empowering lyrics; and if that person were a god, that person would know that the source of that racket was Adam Pascal. He was a lean, husky athlete — broad shoulders, sculpted muscles, a healthy amount of fat — he had the figure which would make him many men's envy. His skin was supple, fair, and flushed, seemingly glowing, and under gold-rimmed lenses, his eyes were dark chocolate-colored to match his short, thick head of brown hair. To tie his appearance together, Adam wore clothes that matched the typical apparel worn by the Millennial generation: a Prussian blue button-down, tight, dark-gray, waxed jeans, and red, flat-sole sneakers. And had this fellow any consideration for his hearing, he would blast his music quieter through his earbuds, but Adam didn't worry at all.

	Why would he, anyway? The privy eyes of gods knew [i]exactly[/i] what Adam knew, and Adam knew he was a god. Adam Pascal was just an apparition of Phoebus Apollo, and Phoebus Apollo was carving his path through the crowd of tourists up the acropolis. He met eyes with one of his ilk, and that shimmer of light in the crowd became more distinct to Pascal's eyes. Halfway to the Parthenon, Adam saw a familiar face, and that face belonged to none other than Hermes. Yes, Apollo could see clear through the disguise to recognize the messenger of the gods, and he could never be mistaken. Apollo knew too well the face of the god, from whom Apollo received his lyre. As he made his approach to the messenger, Apollo slid the lyre (presently masked as a guitar) off his back, and he held it in his deft hands.

	Looking at Adam Pascal, Hermes and the rest of the gods would see, past the veil, the one they recognized as Phoebus Apollo, the epitome of youth still as physically flawless as he'd been in previous ages if not better as if Apollo had never felt the passage of time, as if Apollo was some constant who transcended even their fall from godhood. Now, that was not to say that eons had gone by since their heyday or that Apollo had not changed at all. On the contrary, rather, it had been centuries, and Apollo's more wild days were behind him. Years of isolation from the pantheon, Apollo was reluctant at the idea of a reunion, but friendly faces like those of Hermes and his sister would be a little warming. Like any tug to the Parthenon, Apollo expected some influx of gods, and that was no incorrect assumption.

	Finally, after ages of a droning, ordinary life, Apollo approached an old friend like the sheep and their shepherd, and his voice, low and sonorous, flowed with an intoxicating nostalgia. [color=ffecd0][b]"It's been a long time."[/b][/color]