Aw, no more attempts to strangle, or even a punch thrown, what fun was that? Pan chuckled and smoothed down his rumpled shirt, letting it conform to his lean body once more. Little upset Pan--well, little other than flogging his statue and claiming he was dead. He liked near-violence, he even liked violence itself so long as it wasn't directed at him. He was used to disrespect, he was one of the few gods who was considered deformed, not perfect, you got used to being disrespected and judged very quickly when you had goat legs. He found it fun, enjoyed being clever enough to get his way despite people looking down on him. Of course he spent more than his fair share of time bitching about it, but that was fun too.
"I can swear by Jesus if I like," he snorted defensively. "I met the guy. He was nice, a lot like me. Liked shepherds and the lost, liked to listen." Of course Pan preferred to talk rather than listen, but that was probably why he liked the man. "Played a mean lute. Or tambourine. Or whatever was popular in those days," he muttered, waiving the details away. It really was hard to tell when he was laying, when he was telling the truth and when he was simply adapting things to try and make them his own memory, odds were even he had forgotten what was truth and what was fiction by this point. He was sure he met someone important from that religion, but he had seen the movie Dogma one too many times to really remember if it was Jesus or if he had just taken those ideas from Kevin Smith.
"Besides, swearing by the popular gods makes you fit in. Haven't you learned anything about adapting after all these years?" Of course Pan would be interested in fitting in, he had always loved the humans. All but the hunters. Unlike the gods of Olympus, Pan favored the Earth and the mortals and had greatly enjoyed his time as a fallen deity.