#if those two characters had met as teens/younger adults they would have torn each other to pieces because they lacked the perspective given

[junonreactor]

hm

[ilovereadingandilovebreathing]

The World Still Hungers

A/N: WHOA an add-on for the Apcalypse AU (very loosely based on The Road by Cormac McCarthy) that I dreamed up but only wrote an ask response for! WOW.

This is response to that post about what a post-apocalyptic librarian would be like.

Characters: Emile Picani (main); Virgil, Logan, Roman, Patton

Warnings: mention of scarring, implied minor character death

Tags: @callboxkat @ironwoman359

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Everyone had a purpose before the end was ushered in. A job, a career, an occupation, a calling, a need to fill. From the tall to the small, there was something to be done.

But then The Pulse forced in a new era by wiping the minds of a still unknown percentage of the population, resulting in what the unaffected who found each other began to refer to as The Drove: humans whose sanity disintegrated during The Pulse.

People unwittingly exchanged drive for depravity, purpose for panic, and surely enough, what they knew as a working society came to a screeching halt.

Stores without stockers; restaurants without waiters; schools without teachers. Things slowed down, and in many places came to an end altogether. The normal state of affairs were too unmanageable without those who used to be here, or people just didn’t see the point anymore and stopped coming to work.

But not him. Never him.

Emile Picani loved his job more than anything in the entire world. It was all he had before the world fell out from beneath their feet, and it was all he had now that they’d landed back on weather-torn ground. His purpose never left him, and that was how he had survived: providing knowledge to anyone who still craved it.

Emile Picani was his town’s greatest, and now sole, librarian. The old title caused a twinge in his heart now, for he could only think of his fellow librarians, those who were now gone but had in the past bestowed the title upon him: World’s Best Librarian. Whether it was reading to children, helping teens or college kids with papers, or pointing adults to the best reads or self-improvement resources, Emile could do it all with grace and a big smile on his face.

These days, that grin didn’t make much of an appearance, but Emile kept his spirits up with the surviving pieces of his past. At present, he was lost in memories again, and he ran his hands over the laminated spines of his memories, sighing each time he came to the end of the too short span of shelves. So many times had been completely ravaged in the chaos or eaten by those who were starving out of their minds and couldn’t find food.

Thankfully, the days of depravity were behind them here, and Emile could focus on his work. Or...at least ignore what was going on beyond his walls. He chose to believe the former.

This particular day was quiet, the daily pack of human shells not having stormed past his library that morning; he assumed they had finally moved from the remains of the city to the suburban or rural areas to find what they desired. What that was...was still a bit of a mystery, honestly. Emile found himself pondering such mysteries as the silence of the day wore on, the dingy grey of morning fading into a brighter grey of midday. “Time for rounds.” He quietly reminded himself as he pulled his hand from the grounding sensation of lamination. He made daily rounds, though things hardly moved, for the occasional animal guest would eat through a book or kick over a chair.

He was just inspecting the discoloration on the edges of an old volume of Thomas Hobbes’s work when he heard a tentative knock on the bulding’s back door followed immediately by a more assertive pounding. Brow quirked and steps metered, he made his way to the barricaded entryway; he’d had to lock himself in after the aforementioned incident with the mindless, starving Drove. The dark alleyway between the library and former convenience store next door was the only safe way to get in; Emile knew immediately that these must be friends. A smile broke out across his lips when his eyes absorbed the youthful quartet waiting outside. He quickly pushed away the battered shelved that could no longer hold books and ushered in his guests.

“Hello hello, my friends. I am Emile Picani, your friendly neighborhood librarian, and welcome to the Thomasville Public Library.” Emile welcomed the group with an equally warm tone and smile.

“...What’s left of it.” A young man in a tattered hood muttered, provoking a shared grimace in the other three.

“Maybe not now, Virgil.” The tallest of the group grumbled before shaking his head and instantly matching Emile’s bright smile, a hand outstretched and posture poised from years of evident practice. “Hello. We are in need of your help. We require a medical text if you have such a book. Our friend here,” he gestured to a young man in a faded light blue sweater and thick glasses. “Was injured recently, and we want to be certain that we are treating him properly.”

“Of course! I am afraid many of my volumes have been injured, as well, due to guests much less polite than yourselves, but let’s see what we have.”

“Thanks, Mr. P.” The hooded boy looked up from beneath the worn fabric, and Picani’s breath caught in his throat.

“Are...you Virgil Hayward?”

Something in the boy’s grey eyes softened, and they shined as he nodded. “Glad you remember me. Wasn’t sure I’d be recognizable after everything.”

Emile held back a wince and pushed out a smile, forcing his eyes to stay locked into Virgil’s instead of traveling over the inflamed skin and scarring on the left side of the boy’s face. “Of course I remember you. You and Scarlet were my frequent flyers.” The sharp flash of pain that overtook Virgil’s features immediately made Emile regret bringing up the younger Hayward sibling. Emile noted how the other three shot Virgil confused looks, and he swallowed and pointed toward the boy with startlingly straight posture. “You mentioned you all need medical texts, yes...?”

“Roman.” The boy offered, cutting off immediately before the last name.

“Roman.” Emile smiled and offered a hand to him while carefully placing a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze and greeting and apology. “What a good, strong name. Like Roman Royce, the son of that business tycoon.” Emile turned toward the silent pair of the group, missing when Roman’s façade temporarily shattered.

“And you two?”

“Oh, Patton. Patton Vargas.” The shorter of the two offered up a smile more bright and sweet than any Emile had seen in years. “I’m from the next town over, so you wouldn’t have known me.”

“But I know you now, and for that I am thankful.” Emile patted the other’s arm as tears welled in his eyes, and he addressed the final boy. “You seem familiar to me. Have we met?”

“Likely not, but I am the spitting image of my father in his youth.” The young man’s voice was surprisingly deep and rough for his appearance, something exhausted and beyond his years weighing on every word. “You have likely seen him on the news, the diplomat Matthew Antwerp. I am his oldest son, Logan.”

“Oh, wow.” Emile balked a little and shook Logan’s proffered hand, noting his strong, firm grip. Definitely the son of socially active people. “Yes, I do know of your father. The resemblance is remarkable.”

“I am often told so.” Logan’s face remained impassive, and Emile pulled away.

“Thank you all for humoring me with introductions. I am more often alone than not, so it is nice to at least playact normalcy sometimes.” Emile’s smile took on a sad hint before he clapped his hands and turned toward the aisles. “So. Medical texts. You mentioned that Patton was injured. Thanks to my good friend Dewey, I know that Medical texts in general are in our 600s section,” Emile arched his arm and pointed toward the back middle section of shelves. “Technology or Applied Sciences, and medical has its own subsection, 610-619 labeled ‘medicine and health.’ If you want injuries...613 or 614 will be your best bet. One is ‘Personal Health and Safety’ and the other is ‘Forensic Medicine,’ relating to injuries and such. Let’s see...This shelf should be our target.” Emile scanned the bookshelf and removed multiple volumes, handing them to a waiting Logan. “Feel free to sit wherever you would like.”

“Actually...we were hoping to check them out?” Patton smiled timidly when he absorbed Emile’s conflicted expression. “To have and keep as reference just in case. Though if not, that’s okay. We can write down what we need and come back!” He quickly amended.

“Yes...I have paper and pens. That will work fine. I am sorry, but with things as they are, I cannot risk losing any of these.” Emile apologized quietly. “Just in case anyone else needs it.”

“Of course. We apologize for being presumptuous.” Logan nodded and led the group over to a table. “Roman,” Logan’s voice quieted, softening just a bit. “Just worry about reading. If you find something, we can transcribe it easily.”

Roman nodded mutely as he settled into his seat, and Emile felt his heart lurch in his chest when Roman set his left arm on the table to stabilize his book; his left forearm tapered off midway down. He snapped back to himself before the boys caught his stare, and Emile cleared his throat. “Well, if you should need anything, let me know.”

“Thank you!”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Thanks so much!”

“Thanks, Mr. P.”

The boys were not unfriendly, but they certainly seemed to want their space, having seemed to have established their roles within the tiny group. Roman as the figurehead leader with his social skills and charisma, and Logan as the actual brains of the operation with his sharp eyes, quick thinking, and quicker tongue. Virgil and Patton seemed to settle easily into letting the other two take charge, but the other three definitely had a respect for Patton, interwoven with a protectiveness that Emile knew he didn’t want to know the source of. Virgil...he couldn’t quite place Virgil in this group. The underdog, the quiet lookout, perhaps? Emilie could see that in the way his eyes snapped between his surroundings and the page; ever the anxious kid Emile had known years ago, but a certain stony exterior had settled over the boy that wrenched at Emile’s heart. Yet a softness caressed the boy’s face when he addressed his friends, and the word instantly popped to mind.

Family. Emile thought to himself as the time ticked by, and he watched the four work with their heads bowed in concentration, the silence frequently disturbed by a finding or a question aimed at Patton. In the crumbling, uncertain time that they existed in, these kids had fought and eventually found a small, safe haven within themselves and each other to keep them going, and in a way Emile envied them. He loved his library, the knowledge, the decorations still hanging on to years passed by, but when the days were especially silent, he’d give almost anything to have the community that used to thrive within these walls.

When the group left later with a series of farewells and waves, Emile gave a teary smile of his own and turned to the tomes left on the table.

Always a job to be done.