The manifest boredom with which the older man greets Elliot's jibes betrays something of his history, of considerable time spent in the company of insufferable young men, sneering wastrels with a similarly high opinion of clothes, coin and their own importance. Not infuriating, merely wearying, and his words have the air of one who waves listlessly at an irritatingly persistent fly.
"What is it you do? Tailor's dummy, perhaps?" Certainly the boy isn't sufficiently well-bred for a life of preening foppery to come naturally, though he's rising admirably to the challenge. "Surprising, with a slouch like that."
A sniff, and the lout is dismissed from his thoughts once more as he turns back to the elven woman with a small shrug.
"All that matters is that they can haul grain sacks and follow instruction. Hands are hands." Her offer to stay with Cherny is met with a small shake of his head, however, polite but firm. "That will not be necessary, sera. I'm grateful for all you've already done, but I'm sure you have your own concerns that demand attention, hm?" He does not glance again for the impudent youth lounging against the wall, but then it's not as if that's even necessary.
"The boy is my responsibility. He will be looked after, be sure of that."