The image of Mystra's profile laying projected in the palm of the wizard's hand made your skin crawl. Her locks of hair done in glorious strings of wavering blues alongside her serene expression made your blood boil on a way beyond words. She was his patron, sure. She was a goddess, sure. But you wielded unspeakable power as well. Well, at least until the Illithed ship and you'd found yourself back to behavior you'd akin to a minor deity. Something small and insignificant. Something you'd used to mock or harass simply for being low enough on the hierarchy to be laughably weak.

Gale didn't seem to care much for your distaste, he would cast his gaze to a conjure of Mystra wether it displeased you or not. His will was his own now and he intended to make the most of that. You were a deity of something, sure. But he had done nothing to warrant your wrath in a way where your other companions would not immediately turn to face you down afterwards. As such, he counted himself safe for the moment. Safe from whatever threat and terrible fate you always alluded to but never actually seemed to execute.

Regardless, he figured he had proved his worth enough times over to override the annoyance it seemed to bring you when he invoked Mystra's name in vain or conjured an image of her to reflect upon. He hadn't cared to call upon you as his patron beforehand and he had no intention of changing his ways simply because you slept a few feet away from him. If anything that would show a lack of faith overall, switching practices on a dime. That wasn't who he was and he intended to stay true to that.

So as he stood in his tent with a small image of Mystra conjured in his palm and the crickets chirping quietly, he held little care for your figure which he saw practically storming over. Instead he simply prepared for whatever rant or argument you planned on starting. In spite of his own annoyance at your aggressive behavior, he spoke in good-nature "What can I do for you?"