You sat alone on a park bench, your mind wandering as you gazed out at basically everything and nothing.

You barely noticed when a sleek red Maserati Spyder came to a halt not far from where you sat. The engine purred, then fell silent as the car's occupant emerged.

A tall, handsome man stepped out from behind the wheel. He had a head of tousomely messy blond hair and wore dark sunglasses that concealed his eyes. His slender fingers drummed a rhythm on the car's hood as he seemed to take in the park's serene surroundings.

The man moved towards you with a confident grace of his stride, like a jungle cat on the prowl. There was a certain air about him, a worldly nonchalance that seemed to roll off his broad shoulders.

He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, open at the collar, and fitted dark jeans that hugged him in all the right places. An expensive leather belt encircled his trim waist.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Apollo remarked casually as he drew near, his voice a deep, smooth rumble.

His weight shifted to one hip as he leaned an elbow on the back of the bench, angling himself towards you.

"I'm Apollo, by the way," Apollo said, extending one hand in greeting. His smile widened, turning roguish. "God of the sun. Music. Medicine. Healing. Poetry. Prophecy. Plumbing." Apollo barked out a laugh at his own joke.

"Kidding about that last one, of course."