At the mention of laundry, Lev laughs—he's got a little more experience with the old-fashioned way of dealing with a limited wardrobe (cotton or linen layer between one's body and the heavy outer stuff that's tricky to wash and heavy when wet), but he's still found the lack of washing machines to be difficult.

"Nu, it's not too terrible," he says. "Except for like, the part where someone else has to done my laundry for me and then I feel bad about it, since nu, it's not that I'm unwilling, it's the fact I'm too crippled to do it without electricity." He shrugs. "Not the easiest thing to feel useless about, but far from the worst."

When Leon holds the door open for him, Lev's instinct is to giggle, but he just about suppresses it, not wanting to seem like he's mocking his new friend. So instead he smiles, and bobs a shallow bow towards Leon.

"I thank thee," he says, and walks through the door, "where prefer'st thou to sit? The barstools, I fear I may overbalance on them, but some people," he shrugs, "nu, some people, they don't like to be closed in, in the booths."