The new Ser Elliot Gahald, in common with Elliot Brown of old, is fond of his own voice - of words a touch grander than really belong in the mouth of a farmer's son. To Cherny's mind, though, they've tended more to the complimentary of late - kinder, more generous than the uncouth bragging of before, spoken with a sentiment far nobler than I take what I want. So the boy offers a gracious little bow for the young knight's assessment of his character, delivered with such a fine speech.
Perhaps it's the bubbling wine that fills his head with fizz and renders him a touch more garrulous - by no means drunk, but the colour in his cheeks is not entirely down to Ser Elliot's kind words; perhaps it's the closeness of his friend Ser Catch, his mirth contagious, that makes the boy bold. Whatever the case he nods in agreement with the addled man's correction, hurriedly swallowing another biscuit of blackberry-fish-jam.
"S-ser Catch is, is right. You've f-forgot, but it's b-been a, a y-year, or about th-that." Offered amiably enough, in this particular moment the mill-boy feeling rather benevolent towards a youth he might've quite recently wished to see fall flat on his smug face. "You g-gave me th-this for, for M-midwinter." His thin hand pats the sturdy shortsword at his hip, turning it so the older boy might inspect it for a moment, while Cherny in turn inspects him. It's only once the addled man has wandered off that he speaks again, glancing to either side as if watchful of being overheard by undesirables.
"Y-you've changed s-since, and p-people have been c-complaining about w-what happened t-to Elliot, he's d-different!" A shrug of thin shoulders and a dismissive wave of his hand indicate what he thinks of such concerns. He leans in, almost conspiratorial, and lowers his voice to speak in quiet and apologetic tones as if drawing attention to some regrettably delicate matter. "You were a, an ass m-most of the t-time, and I d-didn't like you m-much. You w-were learning th-thieving and kn-knives, you th-threatened to c-cut out my t-tongue, and you f-fought a C-constable."
He pauses a moment to let the knight take in this litany of sins, a dismayed shake of his head at the antics of the old Elliot. He brightens a moment later, though, offering an encouraging grin.
"I l-like you more n-now. Y-you smile more, and y-you're polite and w-want to, to h-help people ins-stead of, of r-robbing them. S-so if, if you w-want to b-be friends--"
And then there's Catch's voice, deep and clear as a temple bell, saying that. The boy's eyes widen, and his head snaps round to where the addled man is accosting Sera Olwak.
"'Scuse m-me." Hastily muttered to the knight as he ducks a vague approximation of a bow and hurries across the floor to the addled man's side as quickly as decorum permits.