The clock on the wall of the oversized meeting room, not-quite-graciously supplied for the purpose of Laura's induction into the ranks of this hallowed and ancient agency, is too loud.
Louder than the scritching of the girl's pen, and the rustling of the seemingly endless forms she's filling out. Louder than your own constant nervous clicking of the mechanical pencil you picked up, its lead long since ejected.
Deafening in the mostly empty space, as if trying to stifle any attempt at communication within.
Not that you have any idea yet what to say to your new teammate – trainee, as if you're qualified to handle someone else's training – whose last name turns out to be Summers – and won't that be a source of hilarity around the water cooler! You should probably start looking for people among the ranks with last names like Spring or Fall, really, just to get ahead of the jokes, of which you predict there are going to be many. Not that anyone else would willingly join your joke of a "team".
This sucks.
A deep sigh escapes you, and Laura looks up at you in anticipation, still sporting that same look on her face. Two parts hero worship, one part... something else you can't quite place, but which makes you feel even more uncomfortable. Leaves you squirming in the padded leather chair.
After everything that'd happened. After her life had basically been ended not an hour ago – an immutable fact which she might not even be aware of yet.
It's also been almost an hour since a stack of paperwork was dumped on the poor girl by one of the interchangeable administrative drones, and you said... anything at all.
Should probably really change that.
But what to say? What could you possibly say that would make sense? That could make this right? Thoughts keep swirling around in your head, pulling you in different directions. Making it hard to think. To plan. To do this. But you have to do something.
There is no making this right, and it's all your fault.
A small flicker of chagrin flits across Laura's face, and she bends her head to continue the drudgework of endless bureaucracy. You'd think an organisation so deeply involved in the fantastic and impossible would perhaps have a slightly more relaxed attitude about these things, because how would you even begin to describe some of the things you've seen, but you'd be dead wrong.
Maybe they're trying to fight the incursions in their own way: by pinning everything down, so it can be taken apart. Studied. Like butterflies, on a board. Safely boxed up, behind glass.
Not a lot of fun when you're the butterfly, tho.
Sometimes you even suspect that parts of the agency are trying to snuff out the very concept of the human imagination, if only they could generate enough strict rules and forms in triplicate to smother that inherent spark with.
Time to step up, team leader. To try and salvage something out of the mess you made. For her.
You clear your throat. "You're probably wondering why we're called Final Girls. What we are." you begin. It's as good a place as any. You have Laura's full attention now, and are not prepared for the sheer impact of it. Bright, trusting, shimmering grey eyes gaze at you, so completely different from the dead-eyed terror of that fateful day that you lose your train of thought. You blink furiously, and have to look away for a second or two to compose yourself.
You're doing fine. You can do this. Now keep going. You're just explaining something. Not your first time.
"And no, it isn't because we're good girls who don't drink or do drugs, or didn't have..." A light blush. A stumble, because who are you to talk about this particular subject. "... s-s-sex yet, or... whatever." you gesticulate, your old academic mannerisms coming back to you, your tone changing. Evening out. "Forget what the puritans have been ranting about since the 70s, and what some horror movies have kept reinforcing since then. That coined the term in the world out there. That's not who we are. That's not why we exist."
"Final Girls are the rare victims that survived..." Your finger stabs the tabletop to emphasise your point. "... when no-one else did. Because we're vigilant. Observant." Better not go into why it's almost always girls right now. You're not actually giving a lecture, Winters. Keep it short. Sweet. And for fuck's sake, definitely don't use the word lucky.
A flourish of your wrist, gathering in the both of you. "Yes, maybe because we're not distracted by That Devil Drink, or by boyfriends or g... " Your voice falters. Rallies. "... g-g-girlfriends, for example. Maybe we're a little bit of a loner. But that's not the important part."
"What is important is these three factors: we were aware of a danger, did what we had to to survive, and crucially, fought back against it." You give Laura a smile. "You with your sound system heroics that sent that dragon back to where it came from and saved the day, me with..." No, she doesn't need to know that. She's probably got enough nightmares of her own without taking on some of yours as well. "... other things." you finish feebly.
Laura has been listening with rapt attention, but now you can read a question on her face. The question. The same one you'd had when you were given this talk – except this time, it wasn't being given by an extremely pissed off, heavily armed Siren that wasn't allowed to just shoot the 'disgusting subject' and be done with the whole thing.
You being the one to explain things to Laura is one of the small mercies you can offer her. One of the vanishingly few.
She opens her mouth, hesitates. Closes it again. You're prepared to give her all the time she needs. Remember how this felt, on the other side. Know this isn't easy for her either.
Finally, she squares her shoulders. "But like, why is it a bad thing then? Everyone seemed really steamed about it, and were like, giving me these like, really filthy looks." She trails off. Wraps her arms around herself, and gives you a look that makes your heart go out to her. Her voice quavers. "Isn't it good that I survived?"
"Yes." you reply immediately, decisively, allowing there to be no doubt in her mind. In her heart. "It's great that you survived. Amazing. My greatest accomplishment, ever." Not a lie even, sadly. "We did what we had to, and never let anyone else tell you otherwise." That gets you a watery smile. You wonder how long it'll survive, after what comes next.
"But." There's always a but, and this one's a killer. Literally.
You sigh. Push on, because there's no easy way to say this. To cushion the blow.
"It's..." How the hell should you frame this... "... sticky, for lack of a better word." you settle on. "Once a Final Girl, always a Final Girl. Regrettably." Understanding dawns on Laura's face. "Yeah, exactly. It's not a problem when a breach is minor or a situation isn't life-threatening, and wouldn't have led to casualties anyway unless someone did something incredibly stupid."
Which, unfortunately, humans being humans, wasn't something which could be completely ruled out. Case in point: the organisers of the film festival that caused this exact moment.
Laura picks up the thread. "But if there like, have been casualties and a like, Final Girl is there..." Follows it to its logical conclusion. A sharp intake of breath. "Was I like, supposed to die?! Is that why they're steamed?!" She's almost there. She's a smart girl. Her expression changes as the penny drops, and you wince in anticipation. "Did you like, kill all those people?!"
Ah. The other penny. Surprising. Concern for the many first, not the self. Interesting. Refreshing. Not that you could have prevented her death as well in the end, if not for the inconceivable confluence of your brilliantly stupid idea, her extremely tolerant imagination, and the cooperation of a space already heavily weakened by a breach. That's just how this... this curse works.
The accusation stings, but it's not like she's wrong. You swallow, croak out a "No. Yes. Maybe." Reach across the conference table. To take her hand. Offer comfort. Something to hold on to. To touch her for the first time since she reappeared into your life, and threw everything into disarray. You watch her shrink back.
Ow.
Your hands fall to the polished mahogany surface. Limp. Lifeless. Impotent.
"Sort of. Once the incursion began. And not on purpose." you plead, fingers curling in supplication. "You never intend for something like that to happen, but..."
Deep breaths, because this is the bitter pill. The thing nobody's told her outright. What she hasn't realised yet. The source of your most disturbing thoughts, in the depth of night.
You have to keep going.
"Yes, if I hadn't been there, maybe more people might have survived." Or, more likely, there could have been so many more victims before the caught unaware agency managed to stop the dragon in the end, who, in the worst case, could maybe even have razed the entire city. But you can't say that. Or that the whole thing was a fluke, supposedly impossible in the first place. Not without it coming off like a bunch of pathetic excuses. "I don't know. You can never know. Never predict these things."
Laura freezes. "You can never know." she repeats slowly.
She really is clever, which makes this so much worse. It's heart-wrenching to have to watch something inside her shatter before your eyes. A core of innocence lost forever, impossible to ever make whole again.
Her eyes widen, and she whispers "I'm like you now. Dangerous." A blizzard of half-filled out forms breaks out as she flees the room, leaving you staring at the mess.
That went well.
Way to break it to her gently.
Great job.
