Modern Myths: A Pan Short
"No, man, I have literally every genre known to man planned. Hell yeah! Yeah, okay. No the big man's already took me out
Hermes's place, where else? 'Kay, I'll talk to ya later, man."
"Who was that?" Pan grumbled, staring bleakly into his morning coffee. His head hurt like hell. Maybe that last round of shots had been a bad idea; he couldn't even remember what exactly he had been drinking.
"Ah, Zephyrus. He's gonna drag Eros and that pretty girl all over the magazines to the concert." Dionysus smiled brightly; the bastard had drunk more than him, how the hell could he be so chipper this early in the morning?
"Oh," Pan muttered, letting his head rest on the table.
"MORNING BOYS!" Hermes shouted, entering the dining room; Pan whined and put his hands over his ears.
"I'm going back to bed."
"Oh no you're not! You're going to help me get Apollo there."
"Why the hell would I do that, Di? I hate that guy. He's so cocky and arrogant and good looking and always makes me look like an idiot." Pan stood up, downing the rest of his coffee. "And I'm not going out tonight. I feel like hell."
"Look like it too," Hermes commented. Pan shot him a glare. "Oh go help Dionysus. It'd be fun to show Apollo up, wouldn't it? The way he's always going about acting like he's hot shit and pretending to be straight
I think your music is twenty times better than his."
Pan snorted, "You're alone there, dad."
"Oh bullshit, half the country thinks you're a god."
Dionysus dropped his mug, sucking in a loud gasp. He was grinning, shaking a bit, waving his fists in the air like a teenage girl after being asked on her first date.
Hermes and Pan stared at his spazz-out in mild amusement, both mentally screaming "GIRL!" at him.
"YOU! YOU MY DEAR FRIEND!" Dionysus squealed, pouncing on Pan. "You're going to challenge Apollo's music! You are, and then you'll hold a competition at the concert. And that will sell out every single seat in the house, plus the whole yard. It will be fantastic, it will be amazing, it will be EPIC!"
Pan stared at his friend, slack-jawed and confused. "I
Dionysus only squealed again, grabbing his wrist and yanking him out of the house, texting Zephyrus to pick them up.
Apollo lifted a brow, his left eye twitching at the disheveled mess Pan and Dionysus were in as they made their way into his studio. Dionysus had his usual hyper-active beam; Pan looked distressed and hung-over.
"Good morning, Sunshine!" Dionysus called; Pan ran his fingers through his hair and huffed. "We have a proposition for you, don't we Pan?"
Apollo lifted a brow, "Oh?"
"Pan," Dionysus giggled.
"Okay, here's the thing. I think your music is gay." Apollo's jaw dropped, face flushing with rage. "I only say this now, because Di's charity concert is coming up, and I think it'd be nice to have a little friendly competition there, to help raise money for whatever it is Di is hosting."
"Homeless people who are starving on the streets looking for work and food," Dionysus supplied. "We're raising money to help the shelters help the people."
"Right, whatever. I don't care about your charity thing," Apollo hissed. "If you really think you could ever, possibly be better than me, Pan, I will take you up on your challenge."
"Awesome. Concert starts at seven on the fifteenth. Make sure to be there, square," Dionysus beamed. "Buh-bye now, Sunshine."
Apollo glared as they left, then tried to pick back up where he had left off when he'd been interrupted.
Pan let his feet dangle in the water while he went over the notes again. He wanted something new, something earthier. He hadn't really used his reed flute on his albums, even if it was his favorite. He memorized the notes he'd been playing, then tried to figure out how to move on. He wanted
He wanted to move through the seasons with this, move through life and cherish every part of it. He wanted those who attended to feel it, rather than see it. He wanted to praise their great mother and love her for everything she gave-the good and the bad.
How to go on? How to make it spring? How to show life all around and feel the breezes conflicting their temperatures? How could he do it?
He growled in frustration and threw a rock into the river. This was stupid, why was he going along with it? Sure, he would love to show that prick Apollo up, but he doubted anyone would actually judge him and his reeds to be better than the "God of Music" himself. Why did he let Dionysus talk him into this?
"Hey," said a familiar voice; Pan tilted his head back and glared at his friend.
"This is stupid."
"You're just thinking too hard," Dionysus plopped down next to him, offering a bottle. Pan raised a brow, "It's just wine. It'll ease your mind." Dionysus grinned, "Help the music flow through you a little easier."
"You should write poetry," Pan muttered, taking a sip. Ah, he knew this flavor. It brought back good memories of chasing skirts and some wild parties before Hera had chased Dionysus out of the country. When Di had left, there were fewer parties, fewer girls, and a lot less fun.
"Long faces don't belong on horny goats like you."
Pan grinned, suddenly struck with the music he needed.
"Fuck off," Pan laughed, kicking the drunk into the river. He let the notes play themselves. Stupid Dionysus making everything come together
Pan took a deep breath, glancing out at the crowd. Dionysus hadn't been kidding. Every last seat was filled, and the lawn behind the seats was crowded with people. He smiled, wondering how much money the charity had drawn in.
He glanced around, looking for his father. Ah, there he was, in the front row with Aphrodite. Not far down from them was Eros and the pretty girl, fingers laced, paying more attention to each other than the band on stage. Pan smiled; it was good that Eros found a girlfriend
He was starting to question whether or not the boy's gate door swung the other way.
He heard the announcement as the band trooped off in the opposite direction. He grinned, listening to the whoops and calls, a tad faint, coming from the lawn. His loyal fans cheering him
He met Apollo's eyes across the stage as they were called out by Persephone (never one to miss an event like this and show off whatever Raven had created for her). He smiled as she asked who wanted to go first.
"Ladies first," Pan said sweetly.
"Then you best get to playing," Apollo twitched.
Persephone fidgeted, hoping her mic wasn't picking up their exchange. "Uh, guys, please
Thought you had already discussed this or something, hurry up and pick."
"Oh I'll go first, wouldn't want the God all pissy when he gets to play."
Pan bowed to the audience, winked to the judge (Midas was the man's name he recalled somewhere in the back of his mind), then brought his flute to his lips.
He let the air float into a soft, warm spring. He surrounded them with the scent of flowers coming into bloom and the rain soaking into green earth. He pushed it closer to summer, heat and passion and skimpy clothes. The smell of drugs and booze filling the forests-the smell of sex and mud and fun drenching the night. He lingered there, like the rest of the world, wanting to hold onto those long days and hot nights. But the autumn squirmed its way in, like it always does, and clung to the air with a chill. Fog rolled in, sucking the color out of the turning leaves and hiding the last of what there was left. Winter stole over quickly, covering them in ice and longing. Summer days floated back as a sweet memory, but the ice was too much. Warmth from a fire, but no friends to go out with. No reason to go out. Too much cold outside.
But the ice started to melt, and the rain started to fall. Green would always come back. Mother Gaia would always see to it the green came back. And for her, and only her, he would play and pay tribute. Sweet but vicious mother Gaia needed love as much as any mortal. And he would always love her, always play for her, always think of her.
The final notes pulled together in a cry of pleasure and pain, of love and hate, joy and sorrow. Mother Gaia's name on his lips as the last note carried through the crowd. He bowed his head, thanked the Mother for everything she'd given him, then stepped back.
It was those in the back that started screaming and applauding first. He felt his cheeks heat up as they started to stand, whooping and calling and screaming. He had never played his flute for them before, but he was certain he would include it in his albums from that point on.
Persephone kissed his cheek before she gave the floor to Apollo. His lyre struck a traditional and popular song of his. Something he played at every concert. Something well known-some stupid love song about a girl who'd broken his heart. Pan could hear no passion, no love. Just notes being struck and lyrics being sung. He hoped to never, ever sound like that.
As the music wound down, the audience was in a hush, obsessing over Apollo's voice. There was a moment of silence at the end.
"FAG!" It was screamed from the back loud enough for everyone to hear it in the dead silence. Apollo's jaw dropped. Pan tried to stifle the laughter that threatened to emit. He could see his father double over in his seat. Eros and the pretty girl were laughing in their seats. Even Artemis was covering her own giggles. "FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG!" the call came again, and Pan broke out laughing. 'Dionysus you dick!'
Pan stared bleakly at the morning coffee. His head pounded horribly and Dionysus's terrible singing while fixing breakfast was not helping.
"Courtesy of Greysparrow herself," Hermes muttered, dropping the daily paper on the table. He yawned and flopped down next to Pan.
Pan stared at the front page, trying to make sense of it. "Did
Pan blinked and continued to stare. "Really?"
"Did who do what?"
"Raven and Greysparrow did not agree with Midas's decision last night."
Dionysus set down a plate in front of Pan, picking up the paper. His loud laugh rang through the kitchen. "Really, girls! You two are just too awesome!"
On the front page, the leading article's headline read "An ass has no appreciation for rustic music" and the picture of Midas had been altered severely, his face resembling something closer to a donkey than a man.
"Gonna try to bang 'em?" Pan asked, picking at whatever it was Dionysus had thrown together.
"There can only ever be one answer to that."