Midnight Raider

Not the most linguistically fluent expression I've come up with, but hey.

I think that it got it the point across.

Now that I've sought to consoling Morgan, it only seems proper that we address the other monarch in the room.

"You can have my bed".

Only one room in my apartment, so might as well.

It's the right thing to do, really. I invited her here in the first place. Would be improper if I made her sleep on the sofa in my stead.

Thankfully, Morgan doesn't argue my choice. Through her eyes and posture, it's easy to tell as much.

"Thank you." She says softly, letting her head bounce up and down. "Though, we could always sleep together if you want."

I'll pass.

Nothing against Morgan, but I enjoy my wiggle room.

As if reading my mind, Morgan chuckles, a hand to her mouth.

"Sorry, Camille, I had to try," she says, grinning mischievously. "It's just been so long since we shared a room."

"Only two years." I remind her.

By her own admission, Morgan's always been the affectionate type. Been the same since back in sixth grade. Always asked to come over, share a room with me and ▅▅▅▅ amongst other things.

I sigh.

It's her preference. While we're probably too old for these things, I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Some people like to snuggle; some don't.

I'm just of the latter category.

There's no significant reason or objective logic to it.

With that out the way, we then head towards my room. Careful so as to not step on my clothes, Morgan enters. Her reaction comes instantaneously. I can see a genuine glee in her eyes past the point of mere amusement. Something cheery and warm.

It must be nostalgic. When push comes to shove, nothing's changed.

Through thick and skin, she must still care for me.

No matter how long the periods of no contact between us last.

Morgan Pendragon, my friend, never gave up on me.

I could never reciprocate such compassion. I'm just too awful for that sort of thing. Helping a friend out even after they abandoned you for six months is beyond my capabilities.

Argh.

I don't often feel bad, but I owe it to Morgan for her kindness. She's here at my behest; after all, the least I can do is entertain her for a bit.

Looking over my 3mx3m room, I explain a few things of note. Going from the bathroom that connects to it, what games I've been playing, and some new equipment I bought.

Likely due to genuine amusement, Morgan sticks through it.

After a few minutes, I end up finishing.

"Thank you, Camille."

We end on a high note.

She stops just short of my bed. Her eyes lingering on my pale white sheets. On the count of three, Morgan then rotates to face me.

"Please don't get yourself killed."

Breaking the silence, Morgan voices out a somewhat morbid statement. Despite that, I can't say it affects me substantially. Death by murder is a bad way to end. And yet, it's difficult to conceptualize.

How can I? Being told of the loose threat of murder and seeing it firsthand are two different things. Wouldn't want to croak, of course. But there's nothing to be gained from being scared.

If I die, fine. No point in pointlessly worrying over it, though.

Crossing my arm, I reply, "I'll try not to."

"Liar".

Her eyes are calm but meaningful. Composed, yet full of judgement. An unmistakable glare peers from her blue irises. With all the time we've spent together, it comes to me that Morgan takes me for a fibber.

Part of me wants to refute her, but the other part can't.

"You'll live a long time Camille; no reason to lose your life over an opportunity that could very well come later."

"So you really believe I could die, huh?"

Morgan lowers her body and sits on my bed. Her shoulders then droop. Within seconds, my blanket is clutched within her right palm, raised to just below chin level.

"I believe that my dearest friend, being who she is, will act out rashly. I believe that she is tired and bored of her life. I believe that she is, most importantly of all, a fascinating person who can't help herself."

These are not the words of someone intending to insult.

"Hahahaha."

I let the laughter leave my lungs. It's my way of agreeing with her. Simply put, I haven't heard such an entertaining analysis of my character in a while. Whatmore, with such accuracy too.

I need this feeling—the harsh reminder of my nature and person.

The comfort of my isolation has taken its toll.

That's why an external input like Morgan is necessary, a constant variable in my thinking, a gear that shifts the output of my mind.

Morgan.

Do continue. Remind me of who I am and what I strive for, take me back to the days of yore, and regard me as the degraded vermin I am.

Because the more you do so, the more I want to prove you wrong.

"Do you keep up with martial arts?" she asks.

"Haven't sparred in a while, but my skills are still there."

"Hmm," she murmurs. "Then I suggest finding a place to try them out. You'll get to vent out your pent-up frustration that way."

"So what? Not gonna discourage me no more?"

She chuckles. "Hehe. There's no point. I mean... How do I put this?" she says thoughtfully, finger on her lower lip. "If trouble doesn't find you, then you'll find it." Her finger then points towards me. "So, might as well find trouble first, right?"

"—Haha."

What a weird conversation to have. Talking of me encountering a murderer as I would a stranded puppy on a rainy day. Brilliant, to say the least.

Naturally, there's only one logical action from here on out.

Find someone and test out my powers for real.

Heeding that fact, it occurs to me that our conversation has ended.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it."

I say my farewells and prepare to leave.

"Good night". She calls out from behind, "I hope my dearest friend has the most wonderful dreams and sleep."

"Good night."

Our exchange ends there. Anything after is just a mishmash of my standard routine. Showering, brushing my teeth, all that fluff. Like clockwork. Inevitably going from one point to the next.

Save for one detail, that is.

Before the night ends, I conclude that an additional step is necessary.

My decision-making takes me just short of the sofa where I will sleep.

I look into the empty air. A deep breath comes through my lungs. Almost instinctively, my left foot steps forward. My body then follows suit. Adjusting as required, I stand face to face with nothingness, my elbows tucked to my side.

I strike three times. My fists surge from left to right to left again. That's my first attack. Wasting no time, I then grab the air and shove my forehead into it. The movement comes from raw muscle memory.

I think it's quick, I think I'm faster due to my ability, but I'm not sure. If I mean to win, though, I can't tolerate such indecisiveness. When I'm fighting, these types of uncertainties can bring me down.

My new powers are interesting.

However, I can't let them do the heavy work.

All it is as of the moment is more body strength. Even now, I can't say if the defences it offers amount to anything. If I'm up against a mage, or some other supernaturally powered individual for that matter, will thrashing at them cut it?

I'm doubtful of that, to be honest.

And well, how do I put it?

Just punching like a moron is boring. Admittedly, fighting isn't just about winning for me. More often than not, it requires a supplementary addition. For some, it's an honour; for others, complete domination of their opponent's spirit.

As for old Camille?

Well, I guess you could say it's a mix.

Ganging up on someone isn't satisfying, so I guess you could say I'm honourable. And I don't find it fun to just get destroyed, either. So, a bonus of breaking my opponents' spirit definitely helps. Besides, what better way to break someone than to prove you're superior to them in every single aspect?

Still.

No way to tell unless I try it.

Maybe things have changed; who knows?

If that's the case, then there's only one path forward.

So when I can, I'll go back to that old place tomorrow.

That old fight ring I used to visit.

I'll come to drop by for a bit, and who knows?

Maybe I'll finally get to feel fresh blood on my knuckles.