While AO3 has been down, the members of @2wolf2star have started a commune in preparation for the inevitable apocalypse. This is:
A/N: I've never read a The Walking Dead and I haven't watched the show since it ended.
Wordcount: 1,212
Three wooden plaques. Three stakes. Three severed heads outside the gate saying This kind not welcome here.
Well, Rick wasn't any of those things, and while the personal invitation he and Michonne had received might've been a trap, he knew there was nothing the two of them couldn't handle together. And he had questions. So, after an exchange of knowing looks, he and his beautiful, badass wife stepped out from the cover of the woods and made their way toward what the invitation and the artfully crafted sign above the gate called "The Library."
A young woman who Rick could only describe as nerdy-looking but beefy climbed down from the watch tower to greet them. In one hand she held a metal baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and splattered with what Rick hoped was walker blood. In the other she had what looked like – but couldn't possibly be – a tablet. One of those slim e-readers from before. What were they called… Candle? No…
"Hey, how's it goin'?" the woman said with a nod, skeptical but not unfriendly.
"We received an invitation," said Michonne, pulling the crisp, folded paper from her pocket. Rick would always be grateful for his wife's ability to stay cool in the strangest of situations. No matter how many wars, cults, or executions he saw, Rick never stopped being surprised by humanity's weirdness. Michonne always took it in stride.
The woman broke into a genuine smile. "Oh, sweet! I'll let them know you're here!"
She turned slightly, cupping one hand around her mouth but keeping an eye on Rick and Michonne.
"HEY!!" she shouted really loudly. "VISITORS!!!"
That was one way to do it.
Of course her shouts carried, and soon a walker was stumbling out from the tree line toward them. Rick pulled his knife, ready to dispatch it when it got close, and his pistol, too, just in case.
"Ew, is that a gun?" the woman scoffed. "What are you, a cop?"
"I was once," Rick drawled raspily.
"Well, you can't have that here. The Library is a gun-free zone."
"No guns at all?" Michonne asked, rightfully bewildered. "How do you protect yourselves?"
The woman rolled her eyes behind her glasses. "Typical gun owner."
With that, she skipped to the approaching walker, reeled back, and line-drived it right in the brains. Home run.
A loud clack, creak, and groan behind them told Rick the gate was opening.
"Hey, I'm Heather!" said one of the women there, both of whom were also wearing glasses. "My pronouns are she/her. I'm the farmer. I'm not a leader here, but I will give you a job if you show any kind of competence. You must be Rick and Michonne. What are your preferred pronouns?"
"She/They," said Michonne, and when Rick glanced at her, she was smiling in a warm, surprised kind of way that Rick had never seen in all their years together.
Rick didn't have time to fully process this new information before he realized everyone was looking at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and shifted his weight.
"Right on," said Heather. "Come on in. We'll show you around."
Leaving their guns with the watchwoman who looked at the weapons like simply touching them might turn her, they followed their guides through the gate.
The community that was The Library had a distinct medieval feel. They walked along wood chip paths between tudor-style buildings that looked like they'd been plucked from some kind of Shakespeare theme park. They passed a blacksmith, a woodworker, a glass bead maker, even a small stage where people in costumes were putting on some kind of fantasy-themed show.
Three things prevented Rick from feeling fully immersed in the commune's rustic, Renaissance feel:
One, at least half the population wore glasses. Rick hadn't seen this many glasses-wearers in years. Maybe his whole life. He wondered vaguely if he needed glasses. Reading had certainly not gotten easier in his advancing age.
Two, everyone was using technology that Rick hadn't seen since the turn. E-readers, touch-screen cellphones, even laptops. Everywhere he looked, people were staring at screens, reading intently or clacking away on keyboards.
And three, the invitation. The moment he and Michonne opened it and saw the fresh paper and bold graphics, they knew they had to see the place for themselves.
"Was this printed from a computer?" he asked their guides, pointing at the folded paper still in Michonne's hand.
"Oh, yeah!" said Heather. "We make all our correspondence in Canva."
Rick exchanged a confused glance with his wife. What the hell was a Canva?
Michonne was the one bold enough to ask, "How?"
Heather and the other guides smirked like they were sharing an in-joke. "Anything is possible at The Library."
Another bespectacled wom– person, Rick realized he should stop assuming everyone's gender – joined them then, greeting them with a friendly but professional smile.
"Rick, Michonne, I'm so glad you got our invitation," they said. "I'm Emily, she/her, and I'd love to talk with you about a trade relationship between your communities and The Library. Please, have a seat."
They joined Emily at a picnic table and were quickly served a smorgasbord of international snacks and beverages, including french fries in shapes Rick had never seen before.
"These are olives, and these are grapes," said Emily, gesturing to each on the charcuterie board. "In case you weren't sure."
As Rick and Michonne tucked in – famished after their travels – Emily told them about the history of The Library and how they ran things, of course leaving out certain strategic details that could be used against them. Rick was befuddled when she began to explain how they'd managed to survive and carve a place for themselves in this new world when the only goods they had to offer – besides small items made by their skilled craftspeople – were stories.
Not books – though they had those, too – but digital literature stored on servers that Heather, the "farmer," kept running. Somehow.
"Did you have any favorite TV shows or movies before the fall, Rick?" Emily asked, leaning her chin on her fist.
He racked his brain for an answer. That was so long ago… but there was something he watched with Carl and Lori every week. He hadn't thought about it in years. Decades, even.
"I liked, uh, Survivor," he said with a chuckle, the irony not lost on him.
Emily lit up at that. "A man after my own heart! We can certainly help you with that here. What about you, Michonne?"
"I always had a soft spot for Grey's," Michonne said with an honest-to-god giggle.
"Oh guuurl," said Emily, "The Library definitely has you covered. We also do custom orders for higher value trades, and of course, if you're looking for something more… practical, we can offer taters from our garden." She gestured to a nearby plot of land where a few diligent workers tended to rows of plants.
"PO-TA-TOES!" came an angry French shout from between the rows. "Boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew?!"
"Yes," Emily said calmly. "Potatoes. But I think you'll find our main export is a lot more fun."
Credit to @je-suis-imparfait for the name The Library and many of these concepts, along with the other members of 2W2S, named or not!
