Gods in your day in age came in some... unexpected forms.

A lot were held to some sort of regal standard — expected to be presented in silk robes with a shining aura, glowing face, and no stress at all. Even though most humans didn't really think about gods anymore, it was the picture in their heads whenever the topic came up.

As the divine being of darkness — you weren't a god exactly, but you still went through the same rebirth and renewal they did — you didn't mind the standard. If the night was as pretty as you made it, why shouldn't you be thought of the same? Sure, you didn't follow it anymore, but you still made yourself presentable, even if you were just a teenager a few years into your renewal cycle.

Meeting with the god of light was... a different story. You thought he'd be the one setting the standard. All those stories about his past incarnations — Apollo, Sol, Helios, Sol again (there was a lot of Sols) — they were all ostentatious, flaunting around while they had a chance.

Your god of light? The one who took painstaking ages to just plan to meet with, let alone see in person? He was... even for a teenage boy, he was pitiful. It almost seemed like you guys should've switched positions. He was tired with baggy eyes, in comfortable but not exactly presentable clothes, switching between ordering the most complicated coffee order you'd ever heard or just asking for a straight black whenever the waiter came by.

He'd already had five coffees total.

He was also surprisingly underwhelming for the Tim Drake, but you didn't say that to his face.

"You're telling me you, Timothy Drake, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, are... Apollo reincarnate? God of light and knowledge?" you asked skeptically. He didn't seem all that knowledgeable, to be honest. Or sunny.

Tim scoffed. "Okay, well," he started, taking another sip of a caramal frappe with two pumps of vanilla, one pump of mint, chocolate chips, and whipped cream, "you're surprisingly not dark and gloomy for the god— sorry, divine being of darkness."