Page 3 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
Lord Mabon straightened to his full height, letting his power settle into this form. The pumpkin materialized over his head, carved with a face shifting with his mood. Right now, it settled into imperious authority: sharp triangular eyes, a crescent mouth curved in regal disdain. His robes billowed around him, sage green and burnt orange.
He surveyed the mortals before him, waiting for their awe. Their reverence. Their—
“Jesus Christ, who turned on the fan?” someone shouted from the side of the stage.
Lord Mabon’s carved expression didn’t change, but something inside him went still.
“We’re not at that part yet!” another voice yelled. “Johnny, I swear to God—“
A woman with a clipboard stared at the dissipating orange haze, looking more annoyed than impressed. “Where did we even get a smoke machine?”
Lord Mabon stood there, smoke still curling around his feet, leaves settling gently to the stage floor. Not a single personlooked at him with anything resembling worship. Not fear. Not reverence. Not even curiosity.
259 years, and they thought he was a stage trick.
He tried again, letting his voice boom with divine authority. “Who has summoned the King of the Equinox? Who calls forth Lord Mabon, Guardian of the Harvest, Master of—“
“Holy shit, who IS this guy?” A man in grease-stained jeans and a flannel shirt strode forward, eyes wide with excitement. “Did someone call in a ringer?”
A ringer? What in the name of—
“I thought Xander was playing the harvest god?” A young woman with dark skin and a skeptical expression crossed her arms, studying Lord Mabon the way one might examine a particularly confusing piece of furniture.
“Is this part of the blocking?” An uncertain voice from the back. “I don’t think—“
“Wait, WAIT!” The man in flannel stood vibrating with an energy Lord Mabon could only describe as madness. “This is PERFECT! The commitment! The presence!” He gestured at Lord Mabon wildly. “You, pumpkin guy, you’ve got the part!”
Lord Mabon stared at him through his carved eyes, trying to process this mad man’s logic. “I... what?”
“The costuming alone!” The man circled him now, taking in every detail. “Where did you even get that pumpkin head? It looks so real. And the robes! The dramatic entrance!” He made an exaggerated chef’s kiss gesture. “Chef’s kiss.”
Is this fool complimenting my divine manifestation. Like it’s a Halloween costume?!
“Hold on, Jimmy...” A tall, muscular young man with perfect hair stepped forward, confusion plain on his face. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. I even took time off of leg day for this!”
Jimmy barely glanced at him. “Xander, buddy, I love you but look at this guy.” He gestured at Lord Mabon again. “He’s gotgravitas. He showed up IN character. He probably has the whole part memorized already!”
I’ve existed longer than this entire town. I am NOT a character.
Lord Mabon drew himself up, trying to salvage some dignity. “I have existed since the first harvest—“
Wrong. Too formal, even for him.
He tried again. “I am not here to perform in your mortal theater—“
“See? PERFECT delivery!” Jimmy clapped his hands together, delighted. “That’s the energy we need! Ancient, powerful, a little bit scary. I don’t know who you are but you’re in. Rehearsal every Tuesday and Thursday, performance is Halloween night. Don’t be late.”
Lord Mabon opened his mouth to protest, to explain he was an actual deity who had been actually summoned and this was all a terrible—
That’s when he caught the scent.
It cut through the chaos, subtle but unmistakable. Raw magic, untapped and powerful, mixed with anxiety and confusion and underneath it all, that delicious scent of old magic coming at him like the crisp bite of October air.
Lord Mabon’s entire focus shifted. His carved eyes narrowed.
This was what had called him. This magic, unconscious and wild, soaking into the air.
Lord Mabon turned, following the scent to its source. A young man with long wavy blond hair and eyes a mixture of green and gold.
