Shmoop's crack team of P.I.s was recently able to tap into Pan's phone. (Can you believe how good we are?) In the following conversation with Artemis, it's revealed that the goddess of the wilderness is still ticked off about losing Syrinx to the lust of Pan.
[The sounds of a wild party roaring in the background—people yelling, cups crashing together, drums and flutes playing wild music.]
[Pan's goatish laugh crackles through the phone.]
Pan: (muffled) I know! I know, right? That's what I told that nymph. Yeah, yeah, yeah... they're all like that, right?
Pan: What? Oh, who is this?
Pan: Artemis? Wow, no wonder I didn't have this number in my phone. Kind of surprised you're calling little ol' me.
Artemis: No need to put me in your contacts.
Pan: Whatever. Look, I've got a Bacchanal to get back to, so...
Artemis: Yes, I hear the Bacchanal very clearly. You people are keeping my nymphs awake with all your noise. We can hear all the way on the other side of the forest.
Pan: Well, why don't y'all come over here? Dionysus and all my satyr buddies would welcome you and your nymphs with open arms.
Artemis: I'm sure you would. We'd all like to keep our virginity intact, thank you very much.
Pan: Ah come on, I'll play a special solo on my syrinx just for you.
Artemis: How dare you say that name to me! Me, of all people?!
Pan: Would you chill?
Artemis: I don't see any reason for me to "chill" after what you did to her.
Pan: Yo, she did it to herself. She's the one who begged those stupid naiads to turn her into reeds.
Artemis: She was one of my favorite nymphs before you had your way with her.
Pan: I didn't have my way with her. Like I said, she turned into reeds before I could.
Artemis: You are a disgusting god. I wish the rumors that you're dead were true.
Pan: Come on, Arty—
Artemis: Don't call me that.
Pan: Look, I feel horrible about what happened, okay? Why do you think I made the first pan flute out of those reeds? Every time I play it, I think of what we could've had together. I even call the instrument a syrinx in her honor.
Artemis: The fact that you think that cutting parts of her reedy body apart and fashioning them into an instrument is some sort of honor is only more proof that you should be tossed into Tartarus.
Pan: Whatever. Your own brother did practically the same thing with Daphne after he chased her. She turned into a laurel tree, and now he wears those leaves around his head.
Artemis: Well, that was... that was different.
Pan: How is wearing somebody as a garment any better than turning them into a musical instrument?
Artemis: I'm through talking about this.
Pan: Sure, have it your own way.
Artemis: Just keep the noise down!
Pan: Yeah, yeah...why don't you come and make us.
Artemis: Don't be surprised if one night—quite unexpectedly—an arrow shoots you from the sky.
[She hangs up.]
Pan: That lady seriously needs a date.