You can't knock me down

Mortimer hadn’t forgotten the murky darkness that had greeted him when the portal had sucked him in. Even as he walked through the apparitional mists, neon eyes blinking as he strode by, he still remembered the confusion and the panic that had enveloped him. A ghostly world, nothing like that of his birth home; a home ripped from him before he could even know it, understand it or love it. Instead he was doomed or destined, fate had yet to decide and only in death would he truly know, to this world fit for wraiths and vampires, ghosts and cadaverous creatures alike. However, Mortimer was none of these things, yet, and still found that he did not miss his old home, the home he would never see again, a home that meant nothing to him but demise and destruction. He belonged to this world now and in it he had found a rather mundane life that he was quite happily clinging to lest it be ripped from him and be replaced with something… less mundane. In fact, he had grown rather lazy, even as his young body grew, not quite the height he would make yet, but old enough that the golden horns atop his head were growing with some determination now. He was quite leggy still too, his cloven hooves looked rather too big for his spindly legs and a frame that he had yet to grow into. In a world of darkness and psychedelic madness, Mortimer was like a steady autumn coloured wind, passing through at a sedately pace, hoping nobody noticed him. Except Mortimer still hadn’t learnt that life rarely went the way you often wanted it to go, and instead, took great delight in doing the exact opposite. Which was why he was staring at this stranger (or maybe openly gaping was a better term), he was a colt for that matter, with a jagged lightning bolt stark on his handsome face and a swagger that Mortimer was a little jealous about. They even appeared around the same age, yet thunder colt here looked like he wanted to take on the world more that Morty ever had, wings sprouting from his dark sides and eyes that were very much like Mortimer’s own. For a moment he said nothing, for a moment he thought about turning around, pretending he hadn’t seen anyone and continuing on with his simple day. He would have done just that too, if it wasn’t for the fact that in his daydreaming he had managed stop right in plain sight of the stranger and to just turn around and leave would be… weird. Instead, Mortimer closed his eyes for a few seconds, reorganised himself, and tried his best to look relaxed, slipping a back cloven hoof into a lazy resting position. “Hey spark” he drawled, “where are you heading?” a ghost of a half-smile drifted on his lips as Sunny, his dimly glowing figurine of an old Helovian relic, moved to stand next to Mortimer—and burst out crying. Tomorrow we may come this way, and take the hidden paths that run Toward the Moon or to the Sun.

Hertz <333