(--) We could prolly end this here with the assumption they cleaned out the house pretty well, learned a bit about each other maybe? 
Vasiliy is by me!
The table wasn't particularly heavy, but it was awkward to carry, and the Russian was glad of Hotaru's sidestepping. He shuffled past her, flicking a dark-tipped ear toward her as he moved by so he might still hear. The dark male nodded his agreement, then remembered he was in the company of one who could not see such gestures. Embarrassed, he spoke up quickly, perhaps a little loudly. Aye! he barked. Trash, I do not do, the Russian added. People made trash, not Vasiliy Zinoviya Russo. His declaration was plain, but not particularly defensive -- he hadn't thought she was implying he made garbage, and the advice was something he might have offered to another himself.
The dark-furred Russian placed the table down and returned quickly, grinning toward Hotaru. You must be good, he started, hesitating. Your hands work like eyes when you make things, he said. Vasiliy, of course, imagined her lack of sight must be a hindrance on occasion, but what he'd seen of Hotaru thus far indicated she was not the sort to allow the disability to dictate her lifestyle, either.
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