[ If it were for any other reason, Iorveth might have told Gale to fuck off; unfortunately for him, it's about the matter of Astarion's condition, and that's more important than anything Iorveth could be doing right now.
So. On goes the pants. A quick combthrough of his hair and a halfhearted attempt to drape the ruined shirt more artfully over his torso, and Iorveth nods at Astarion to indicate that he's ready to brave Gale and his enthusiasm once more.
Down the stairs, back into the sitting room. Gale looks up from where he's sifting his fingers over a particular shelf, a book enchanted and hovering, open, next to him; he's grinning ear to ear until he sees the state Iorveth is in, and wilts like a five-day-old bouquet.
"Well, I certainly hope I'm not interrupting anything," is more than a little exasperated. ]
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So. On goes the pants. A quick combthrough of his hair and a halfhearted attempt to drape the ruined shirt more artfully over his torso, and Iorveth nods at Astarion to indicate that he's ready to brave Gale and his enthusiasm once more.
Down the stairs, back into the sitting room. Gale looks up from where he's sifting his fingers over a particular shelf, a book enchanted and hovering, open, next to him; he's grinning ear to ear until he sees the state Iorveth is in, and wilts like a five-day-old bouquet.
"Well, I certainly hope I'm not interrupting anything," is more than a little exasperated. ]