[ Iorveth can't imagine how or why (mostly why) Astarion got Gale started on talking about the arcane, but he feels a little sorry for the wizard for being so summarily dismissed. Not sorry enough to keep himself from gravitating towards Astarion and combing through his hair, though. ]

Better now that you're near. [ Matter-of-factly; not even a line. Like noting the weather, or saying that water is wet. One more gentle pet, and he relinquishes the touch. ] I take it that Gale knows?

[ A question that improves Gale's mood, and lets him monologue grandly about how wonderful this all is, truly, and how deserved it is, and how it really is impressive that the cloak works, and how―

―Iorveth interrupts him, hand in the air and leaning against Astarion's armchair. ]

Astarion might have mentioned that he isn't pleased with the cloak's appearance.

[ Gale, stumbling over his unfinished statement, looks slightly taken aback. "You're worried about how the cloak looks? Truly?" ]