"Nah, because you don't get hung up on the details." People got so offended if you forgot their name. It was ridiculous! Did they have any idea how long Pan had lived and how many names had drifted in and out of his memory? He couldn't keep track of them all! His mind was too full with history, culture, plays and people... or pot. It could have been the pot, too.
Aaron snorted at the idea of the scarfs, flaring his nostrils and exhaling sharply, shaking his head in distaste. "No, hair." No arguments allowed. "Hey!" He barked in sharp objection, skinny chest puffing as he tossed his head in protest. "They did no such thing, my cock was never exaggerated." And he would, without hesitation, whip it out to prove the point if need be. "It's not all fun and games you know, the big ones, it's harder to get off with 'em. Takes more time, more work you know. Besides," he added with a sour look, "they say I died. Do you know how hard it is to get worship when some dick historian said you died?"
"Sounds dull," he said with a shrug. "Lots of Stephanies. Lots of Tiffanies. Lots of... well. Just boobies in general," he said with an impish grin. "I've got a van, I've parked it near the beach, I've been enjoying myself." He always had been a man of simple pleasures. "Really, doing as little as possible and as many girls as possible."