Zagreus sat naked in the dead man’s leather chair and used the remote to flip through channels so fast, that it looked like he wasn’t watching them. But he was catching only what all the men in each of the channels looked like. He took bits and pieces from them, and changed his form to reflect them. After three hours of channel surfing, he shut off the TV and went to the bathroom, looking in the full-length mirror.
First, he needed to be of the Caucasian color, possibly a little darker, an olive skin. He would keep his black hair, and the fine hair that covered his body. Green eyes? He turned his eyes to a deep emerald green. No. Hazel? No. Blue. Yes.
Shorter. He was eleven cubits tall as it was, and could easily grow to fifteen cubits if he chose. He chose ten cubits, the height of the top of the mirror. He gave himself a different hairstyle, something that reflected a modern time. His hair was shorter in the front, wavy. He also gave himself an earring, and a bit of some stubble to make himself look rebellious.
He looked down at his naked body. It was in the perfect shape for a Greek godling. There were many other men on Earth with better looks than him, and many more shaped like the Greek sculptures that were patterned on him. He went into the closet to try the dead man’s clothes on. The black t-shirt was far too tight, and the black jeans were tight as well, easily showing a heavy and large package.
He frowned. Oh, this would not do. But for now, it would have to. He was testing his form, not his clothes.
He left the penthouse, taking the elevator down to the bottom floor, where he saw a security guard. The guard looked up, and looked twice. “Hey,” he called. “Who are you?”
“Mr. Wyndham’s son’s friend,” he said, smiling and walking over to him. “Roman Olympus.” He accented the “man” in the name as he spoke it, and held out his hand. “Can you tell me, sir, where I can find a place that would sell clothes this time of night?”
“Well, there’s a 24-hour Super Wal-Mart about ten or twelve miles out of town.” The guard shook it, and suddenly, he was placid.
“South, north?” Zagreus kept holding onto the man’s hand, willing that the man tell him everything.
“Follow I-90 West, can’t miss it,” the guard said, still malleable and nearly stupified.
He wanted to borrow the man’s car, but thought that would be too much. He could run there well enough.
He got to the well-lit Wal-mart without incident. He went to walk inside and realized that he would need something to pay them with. They certainly wouldn’t take a lump of silver, but they would actually have to take the green paper or coins he had seen many people try and pay Charon with.
Zagreus remembered passing by a lit sign that said, “Sell Your Gold Here!” Maybe it was still lit, but first he had to get some gold.
He went around the back of the store, to a small copse of woods. He went out of range of the light of the store, and before he came to a fence which blocked him from the highway. He dug his hand into the earth, and closed his eyes, using the ability his father had passed onto him, the ability that called him Plouton, “The Rich.” He called the gold to his hand, just enough for a drachma. Gold in this time, just as in his own time, would be worth something.
He arrived at the pawn shop. It was very busy, surprisingly to him, at this late hour. He had to take a number and wait. His number was called – damn these Arabic numerals – and he went to the counter. An older man who looked like one could barely pull money out of him stood back, while a younger, smiling man, came up to the counter. “Can I help you?”
“I have this,” Zagrius said, and set down the lump of gold. It was about the size of the young man’s pinky nail and finger.
“Did you take this right out of the ground?” he asked, brushing off some of the dirt.
Zagrius shrugged.
“I’m going to wash it off. I’ll be right back.”
Zagrius watched him go in the back, and then return, blotting it. “Now, let’s take a look at the carat…” He got a magnifying glass and looked. And looked. He looked up at Zagrius, then looked again. He called over the old man. The old man looked at it, and without lifting his head, said, “A hundred fifty dollars.”
“No,” Zagrius said, having played this game at many bazaars over the eons. “Five hundred fifty dollars.”
“Two hundred.”
“Four fifty.”
The man looked up. Zagrius reached over the counter to take it back.
“Three fifty, that’s final.”
Something nagged at Zagrius, saying the jeweler was getting the better end of the deal, but there was nothing he could do with the piece of metal anyway. And, besides, he could always get more. He needed the green pieces of paper more right now.
“I will accept that.”
“Roger will take care of you.”
With the green pieces of paper, he went back to Wal-mart and found some clothes that fit him and Josh. He knew Josh’s size and style of dress, and chose to copy it. However, when the magic blade would come out and he could use that, blood would spatter.
He put on the more comfortable clothes in the bathroom of the store, and threw his other clothes into the trash. He looked up to see the rosy-tipped fingers of dawn just at the East. Apollo and his chariot were beginning their rise. He had just enough time to get back to the apartment, hopefully before Josh awoke alone in bed.