(no subject)
The bar was a funny thing. Since arriving, Gatsby probably hadn't spent more than a couple of hours downstairs before once again retreating to his room upstairs. That, or make his way outside to the edge of the lake. Gradually, a sense of despair had settled over him, which was in all likelihood a sort of cabin fever, but nothing he was willing to accept. He'd read Nick's last present to him several times since receiving it, as if each time he'd pick out something he'd missed before (he did).
That particular evening, his room proved to be stifling, as opposed to the usual haven it was for him, and he made his way downstairs to the main bar, claiming an empty table and ordering a whiskey.
Despite having nothing to lay claim to -- nay, nothing to prove -- Gatsby still dressed like a gentleman. Tonight was no exception. In a cream suit jacket and matching trousers, he was a relatively unobtrusive figure, odd only on this side of the bar door in exactly how normal he looked. As much as blending in had always been a priority, his old standards weren't going to change any time soon.
[ tiny tag: jay gatsby ]
That particular evening, his room proved to be stifling, as opposed to the usual haven it was for him, and he made his way downstairs to the main bar, claiming an empty table and ordering a whiskey.
Despite having nothing to lay claim to -- nay, nothing to prove -- Gatsby still dressed like a gentleman. Tonight was no exception. In a cream suit jacket and matching trousers, he was a relatively unobtrusive figure, odd only on this side of the bar door in exactly how normal he looked. As much as blending in had always been a priority, his old standards weren't going to change any time soon.
[ tiny tag: jay gatsby ]