Apollo
He had finally arrived at the extravagant driveway, feet treading the immaculate paved road that only generous sums of money could buy. Apollo never understood why of all things for his father to use as a ruse for his true identity, was what could be considered the modern god? Even after living for millennia vanity was not lost on him, but now of course was not the time to deal petty judgment within his mind as that proved inconsequential against the grand scheme of things.
The Far-darter had taken his time arriving here, on foot no less, only stopping at his apartment to change out of his scrubs. What he wore now could not be considered evening dinner attire in the slightest, for it was the humblest of things, a white T-shirt devoid of design or signature with loose fitting jeans and Chuck Tailor shoes. He cared little for what others considered “proper” or “apropos”, formality was something he’d long abandoned and resolved to view was mere pretense for the majority of such occasions.
Apollo had been in no hurry because his mind was of course plagued by the day’s earlier events. Those images were gnawing at him, as if he could already feel the vermin tearing at his skin hungrily. However his concern was not upon himself, but of his kin specifically his dear sister whose fate made him quiver and emit a quite rage at the same time. His vision had shaken him to the core of his immortal soul, which became all to apparent was a literally perishable possession. How was he to explain this to them, what he had seen, what he knew?
Of course it was his hope that he wouldn’t have to, his father must have relayed the news by now, and all he would have to do await for instruction once he arrived, there was after all a war to fight. Knowing this only grew the sickening sensation within his breast, and so he resolved to walk all the way to the mansion, contemplating how in all of the cosmos would they survive this. As if prolonging his arrival would post-pone the inevitability of his foreseeing, perhaps by a few precious minutes more.
Every moment was precious now.
The night seemed far cooler than it should be for the middle of the spring, as if the chill of winter would not relent its grasp, and Apollo could swear he could see a plume of condensation escape his mouth. He then stood before the door, a hard pulse in chest, the moment of truth had arrived. Was he ready? Were they ready?
He heard shouting from the other side, and at this his pulse lessened but his brow furrowed, for if he suspected right, his kin were even yet having another petty feud. No sense in staying outside however, whatever storm lied within he would have to brave, too much was at stake and even they would have to recognize this.
He entered without a word, and unless someone had been keeping tabs on the door they might have not even noticed his presence as he simply stood in the foyer, as if waiting for a sign of what to do.