Page 5 of Fixing the Grumpy Pumpkin King
This is not the time for your size difference kink to activate.
“Okay, I love a big strong man like anyone else but could you please put me down!”
“BRILLIANT!” Jimmy’s voice boomed from somewhere behind them. “The chemistry! The boldness! I may make a few changes to the end because of this!”
Jimmy, I swear to God.
“Did we approve this blocking?” someone asked.
“Who cares? It’s WORKING!”
The pumpkin-headed man started walking. Carrying Locke toward the back exit.
This is fine. Method acting. This is fine.
“So, uh, this is going great,” Locke said, bouncing slightly with each step. His face was approximately level with the guy’s lower back, which was not a dignified position for anyone. “Really committed to the role. But maybe we could workshop this part where you’re... you know... kidnapping me?”
No response. Just more walking.
Okay, so not stopping. Cool. Cool cool cool.
Locke’s nervous rambling kicked into high gear. “I’m just gonna… I’m gonna keep talking because that’s what I do when I’m nervous, which I am, because a very tall person in a pumpkin mask just threw me over their shoulder and is carrying me out of the theater.”
For a moment he thought this a bit. Jimmy loved weird theater exercises so perhaps this was one of them?
“Is this method acting? Because I gotta say, it’s very method. Daniel Day-Lewis level commitment. Respect.” He paused. “But seriously, you can’t carry me off to Gods knows where!”
Still no response.
The evening air hit them as they exited the building. Cool, crisp, October air with the scent of fallen leaves and someone’s backyard fire pit.
And his captor just kept walking, following some invisible path only he could see, carrying Locke as if he weighed nothing.
This is not fine. This is the opposite of fine.
Locke was being kidnapped by a very committed actor in a pumpkin mask and everything was fine.
He was going to have words with Jimmy about this later.
Assuming he survived whatever this was.
Chapter Two
“Okay,sothisisofficially kidnapping!”
Lord Mabon emerged onto a small-town street, and the world hit him all at once.
Color.
Actual, vivid, saturated color.
The sky was on fire with sunset, oranges bleeding into purples, clouds edged in gold. Not the washed-out, faded mockery he’d watched through his scrying pool. Not the dull, lifeless palette of his region of the Loam where everything had been slowly draining gray. This was real. Vibrant. The way autumn was supposed to look.
His breath caught.
When did everything get so bright?
The street stretched before him, lined with shops whose foundations he recognized even if their faces had changed. The asphalt instead of dirt beneath his feet was harder and unforgiving. The air tasted different. It was the exhaust ofpollution. But underneath the harsh sounds and smells was something else.
