It’s easy to tell which door in the complex is Vega’s, namely because there’s a small whiteboard velcro’d underneath the peephole with Vega written in big, bubble letters. Also, stars. And a small doodle of Saturn. They really are a space nut.
The door opens after about thirty seconds, revealing Vega in all of their roughed-up glory. Most prominent are the scratches on their cheek, long, scabbed over marks from their nightly excursion, but there’s also a considerable bit of bruising right above their left eye (presumably where they smacked themselves on a branch) and a split in their lip that looks fairly painful. They grin though, looking down at Vassa with a dopey smile on their face, and limp aside to let her into the apartment.
They really have mucked up their ankle, haven’t they? It’s bandaged up, but honestly, from the looks of it they ought not be walking on it. Good luck telling them that though, as they hobble back over to the kitchen counter. “Just in time, I need that oil just about now.”
Vega’s apartment has… character, from the eclectic mix of photographs lining the walls to the layer of lived-in clutter that permeates everything. Scenes of different landscapes - the desert, the mountains, fields of flowers, outer space and hey wait is that one of V’s photos - hang on the walls, and there’s not a lot of blank space… anywhere, really. Beer cans are stacked up in a perfect pyramid on the coffee table, which seems baffling, honestly, if they’d gone to the effort of stacking them why not throw them away, but whatever it’s Vega. Various other sorts of alcohol dominate the rest of the surface area, and, tucked away in the corner, there’s a guitar case.
It’s a condensed place, with only the main room and the door which, ostensibly, leads to the bathroom. Vega’s ‘bedroom’ is on a loft, with a ladder by the fridge which leads the curtained off area, and it seems like they’ve got their desk up there as well. The smell of curry - and good curry, at that - permeates the small area, making it impossible to escape from the scent of food.
“You seriously didn’t have to come over, y’know.”
