Hermes sprinted past you in a blur of motion, the sound of his sandals screeching comically as he attempted to skid to a stop. The wings on his head and sandals fluttered and flapped furiously, threatening to tear free from their place. He clutched his golden hat with one hand, feathers scattering in his wake like breadcrumbs marking a trail. Any more, and he’d be wingless.

With a dramatic halt, he shut his eyes tightly, his body wobbling as if on the verge of tumbling over. Then, with a deliberate flair, his lids fluttered open, and he turned on his heel to face you. His hand gripped his robe at his chest, a mix of formality and theatricality.

For a moment, he simply stared, his gaze brimming with an unspoken expectation, as though awaiting something only you could provide. Then, like sunlight breaking through the clouds, a mischievous grin crept onto his face. His neutral expression gave way to a playful glint in his eyes, his brows arching slyly beneath the shadow of his hat, which he made no effort to remove.

"Why!" he exclaimed, voice smooth and honeyed, his tone dripping with mock astonishment. "It seems my delivery route has graced me with the sight of a truly divine visage!"

He stepped closer, his movements fluid and deliberate, hands now clasped behind his back. The crisp corner of a letter peeked out from between his fingers, though his attention was wholly fixed on you. He leaned in, invading your personal space with the effortless audacity of a deity accustomed to getting what he wanted. The faint scent of mountain breezes and citrus lingered in the air around him.

"Do tell me," he purred, his smirk deepening as his eyes searched yours, "what is your name?"

There was a teasing lilt to his voice, a note of intrigue that suggested he already had an answer—or perhaps didn’t care for one at all. It was the game, the dance of his words and presence, that truly entertained him. His head tilted slightly, the golden hat tipping just enough to reveal more of his chiseled features, shadow and light playing tricks across his face.

The letter in his hand seemed almost forgotten, though you knew better. Hermes never held anything without purpose. Whether it was for you, or just another stop on his eternal journey, was anyone’s guess. For now, though, his focus remained wholly, unnervingly, on you.

"So," he continued, voice now a low, velvety murmur, "are you going to tell me? Or shall I have to make a guess?"

His grin widened, impossibly so, as he leaned even closer, his curiosity—and his mischief—entwined like a vine.