#ngno.plot

News of Pan's permanent death has struck the divine community like a sucker punch square in the chest. None felt it harder than his business partner Utu, who worked shoulder to shoulder with Pan in what would be his final descension. He  has worked tirelessly to plan a memorial for Pan, a send-off that he truly deserved. With the help of Pan's band-mates, present and past, they organised a jazz funeral for the deity of the wilderness.

The streets wailed with somber music as Pan's mortal body was taken to the funeral home for a public service. At the service, Utu delivered a short eulogy:

"I loved Pan.  I think it was difficult to hate him - but the thing was, Pan did his best making it equally difficult to love him.  A challenge, almost; to show many of us that you don't have to be perfect, or infallible, or even pure, to be loved.  Many of us needed that reminder, didn't we?  Lost or abandoned or forgotten, we needed to remember that everything is a full circle - love and fear, desire and achievement.  One can't exist without the other.  Pan was both; Pan encompassed everything; or at least he tried to.  Somehow he could tap into this modern world, and access it and make it his. I admired him for that. I love him for showing me.  I'll miss him, as much as I miss the sun when it sets.  To know his sun will never rise again...this world - our world - will never be the same, without Pan."

Pan’s body was cremated, with the intent to scatter his ashes in as many wild places as possible, so his atoms might be free. After the service, the band procession slipped into  songs from Pan's own repertoire, wild and rowdy. The trumpeter played Pan’s part like a ghost. The further the procession moved on from the funeral home, the more chaotic the crowd became. Made of fewer and fewer mourners and more and more passersby, eager for any opportunity to dance and live life. In a way, it was what Pan would have wanted.

The procession has continued on through the streets of New Orleans, now less a funeral march and more a second line party that the whole city is invited to. All deities have been invited to Attaboy!, a quiet gathering at Pan's beloved club. Both the cafe and the speakeasy are open for the deities to use. A chance to speak freely with one another about their grief, or to hunt for the killer.

Kanaloa's party was on its way to being a roaring success. It was set to be one of those parties that is talked about in legend, the perfect mixture of decadence and debauchery. As the night went on it became harder and harder to remember the mysterious death of a god three days ago. Not when the drink was flowing and the music was loud. Kanaloa was on a high, mingling with his guests, bristling with the mortals’ praise and glory. 

That was, until Alekto, rage incarnate, crashed the party. Screeching over the impropriety of the party. A god is dead, they screamed, and the shocked spectators surrounding the scene whispered it until the knowledge spread out like a ripple through water. A god is dead.

That concludes our first event and plotdrop. Pan has not ascended back to the divine plane. He is not in Olympus, or Arcadia; it is as if his divine essence has simply vanished. While in different pantheons gods may have been killed before, for a god to be killed in their mortal form, and for that death to stick, is unheard of.

They knew precisely what had drawn them back to his apartment, even if they didn’t care to say it aloud (they’d rather scream it). The way things had ended last night was leaving a sour taste in their mouth and they wanted a fresh spar. A fair fight if you will. Fuck that asshole for saying Alekto would spoil the mood. Pan had lazily slurred over the phone that they’d ‘be too intense for this delicate and intimate night of pleasure.’ Pan had screwed them over before this was not the first time but the lack of a fight, the dismissive nature, had really fucked them off.

Alekto thumbed their nose waiting for the doors to slide open. No one answered. Not unlike Pan who so often could be found passed out on his heart shaped bed. Alekto keyed in the passcode for the front door and let themself in. There wasn’t a fucking elevator in his block, but thank god the decrepit warehouse only had two floors. They took the steps two at a time until they were hovering outside his door like an omen.

“Pan you shit!” Alekto smacked their furled fist against the door with the side of their palm but no answer came. They keyed in the code and with a hiss the door slid open and within was the usual mess of botanics. Pan’s apartment was a fucking jungle. They stormed past the kitchen ready to kick into high-gear only there was an absence of the usual chaos. No music. The shutters and blinds had all been drawn. The plants that were usually caught in the murky city light looked limp and decrepit. 

They found him face up in the living room. The knife was still stuck out of his chest making the entire scene look practically comedic. That and the blindfold. Alekto squatted down beside him pressing their fingers to the blood that had dried against the floor. Gods never left a body behind. Their ascension back to the immortal heavens, or hells, was no different than their arrival. The body they had materialised and formed for their walk amongst the mortals would disintegrate. As if once a moral form was made devoid of immortality it simply crumbled to ash. Alekto stared at his lifeless form. They pushed the blindfold up to confirm it really was him, but they knew. They knew. Alekto stood. Half tempted to kick his body out of spite.

If they couldn’t have this fucking fight on the mortal plane ––

                                               ––  Alekto would have to hunt the shit down. 

Arcadia. Olympus. They couldn’t snap their fingers and reach them without relinquishing this body. Alekto flew out of the apartment as if concerned that someone might find them in it with a dead god. They stormed back down to their waiting bike and punched in the address for Heph. Knowing the fucker had a link back to Olympus that would confirm or deny their suspicions, and inevitably let Alekto give Pan an earful. Only, they were fairly fucking certain that Heph wouldn’t just let them rock-up and use it. They weren’t in the mood for espionage. Alekto went to the only other person they could think of. The god that could potentially let them walk freely between the planes even if only temporarily. 

They knew where to find Kalfou. If only because Pan would often be hanging about him for unfathomable reasons. Though they were sure he said the same about them. They rapped their knuckles on his door and quickly barged past the deity. “I need you.” They snarled, which was the closest they had ever gotten to a plea for help.