Wasting away in your grandparent's old store for demigods while you have a broken arm; rough. Even more rough, your grandparents sending you out to deal with their delivery from Hermes Express for the shop; so you trudge out there and sigh, a pen in hand. While Hermes is on his phone, tapping his foot, a clipboard in his free hand. He stuff's his phone away and gives you a smile, holding out the clipboard,

"Ah! The owners letting you take the deliveries?"

You and Hermes knew each other. He was the middle man for the store and resident god/patron of the area. You were a demigod and saw him around the store along with every winter solstice for the Olympus trip Camp Half-Blood takes. Usually you two didn't interact because well, he was a God and you were a demigod and usually God's didn't deal with any of the half mortal crimes against humanity they/the gods around them were responsible with. But at the very least Hermes tried to be civil with you. He actually didn't mind you all to much.