cowgoesmoo: (quiet - considering new info)
Vash Saverem ([personal profile] cowgoesmoo) wrote in [community profile] nomans_land2023-09-28 10:56 am

Near July, before all the chaos

Nai's missing, the smashed-up city that Rem had put her house next to keeps changing, there's people nearby, human people, more and more of them all the time, gathering... it's been an eventful few days for a tiny plant!

It's not healthy to sit inside all day, hunched over the radio, waiting desperately for any sign of his brother, and so Vash is out wandering the dunes and cliffs near the station, a small two-way radio clipped to his belt that lets him keep listening to the radio inside, just in case Nai is able to call again. Some of his day is taken up training, working on focusing his plant powers to summon feathers that sprout in tiny downy tufts all along both his arms. Some of his day is just walking, exploring and re-exploring the space around the station, finding holes, bugs, interesting rocks. Some of his day is lying flat on a cliff, watching the human refugees below as they gather around the ever-changing city of July. Sometimes he finds a quiet space where nobody can see him, and cries for awhile. Sometimes, when Rem's been out late working hard, he's inside the station, cleaning and cooking and helping out as best he can. And, late at night when he can't sleep, he climbs up on the nearby ledge and watches the stars.
lacreatura: (10)

[personal profile] lacreatura 2023-10-01 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
In on of those quiet, sad moments when he cries, a small paw reaches out to pat-pat Vash's head. It wasn't there a second ago, but now a weird cat-sized creature made of golden feathers and wings sits next to the little plant.

It has cocked its head a bit to the side, as if both questioning and sympathizing with the current sad vibe.
insectlike: <user name=ponponpon> (11)

[personal profile] insectlike 2023-10-02 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
Zazie is, as ever, watchful of the people on their planet as they mill about, in and out, around and around the ever-now changing planet that, previously, never changed a bit.
Having so many new and exciting things to focus on was nearly a sensory overload sometimes, for the usually so lazily-milling-about hive of insects, but.
It was a clear day, nothing was really going on, and he could hear the sound of a tiny little Vash doing his best to hold everything together on his own.

Ah, left on his own again.
ᴴᵉ ᵍᵉᵗˢ ˡᵒⁿᵉˡʸ ᵠᵘᶦᶜᵏˡʸ. ʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴊᴜsᴛ ɢᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ғʀɪᴇɴᴅs sᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴇʟsᴇ. Why does he depend on just one companion. ₙₒₜ ₐ ᵥₑᵣᵧ 𝓰ₒₒ𝒹 ₛᵤᵣᵥᵢᵥₐₗ ᵢₙₛₜᵢₙ𝒸ₜ.

Zazie could just leave him here, but.

What if he leaned into the window of the station, one day, while it was open. Arms folded over the open part, chin resting on their arms, a smirk on their face.

"You're a pretty big busybody for someone so, so small."

graveresemblance: liv (Default)

[personal profile] graveresemblance 2023-10-02 06:00 am (UTC)(link)
He's been back and forth, somewhat keeping mental math (and a literal one stuffed in his poncho) on whatever landmarks are left, where he's found friendly faces and not-as-friendly ones.

He runs into a little guy in the desert. Not as surprising, this is a bit of deja vu.

"Hey...you okay out here?"
whatevermaycome: (v04)

So I'm just hijacking this to use from when Vashlet pops up in Octovern.

[personal profile] whatevermaycome 2023-10-23 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
Octovern! City where nobody wants to be!

Or well a lot of people do want to be there and some are even beginning to spread back out into small outlying towns, many people not willing to go that far from the last bastion of humanity AND the strongest concentration of plants on the planet. By the main road through Octovern, perched up on the top of an abandoned caravan once pulled by now missing tomases, Vash watches people come and go with alert interest, cross-legged and fairly comfortable. If the suns got unbearable he'd go inside for a while but for now, watching. Sooner or later someone would actually lay claim to the wagon, and he wouldn't put up a fuss, but for now it keeps him well above the crowd, which is content to ignore yet another stray dirty kid. He won't look anything like his posters for another several decades, and an utter lack of even a speck of telltale Stampedeish crimson means he could be anyone.

He'd spotted what he thought were other independents in the city but lost track of them a while ago. Just looking didn't help, smart independents would be wearing disguises, unlike himself, but usually he could tell when another plant was nearby. He just has to wait, right?