|| Continued ||
@repeatthepast
Gatsby hadn’t gotten to the seminary. Declined it with a gentle no thank-you, along with an apology for wasting his time.
That yellow car of his wasn’t seen– not even for a split second. It took a bit of figuring out to learn where he had gone instead… And it was to a speakeasy. Hidden away– passcode was something hard to remember, but the Reverend was still able to get in, and there he could see the man. He wore a suit that wasn’t nearly as flashy as his other ones, letting himself blend in with the crowd. People partied around him, shaking their hips, dancing, swinging, whooping, hollering– but it wasn’t nearly as grand as one of Gatsby’s parties. It was tolerable.
He was hunched– at first, it was hard to see him due to his choice in clothing and the lack of confidence and poise from before, but there he was. With his eyes settled on an empty glass, distantly, while green lights glimmered above his head.
Felt like a sick joke, didn’t it? When he’d watch that green light from his dock, from across West Egg to East Egg, just to hopefully achieve his dream, but where did that get him?
Left him injured. Left him tired… and left him alone.
The moment he could hear footsteps, and that familiar voice that was easy to tell apart from the crowd, the man only lowered his head in shame, like a child that was about to be punished.
“ I’m sorry, old sport, ” was the first thing he managed to say. Despite how many drinks he’s had– Gatsby still knew ‘how to act’. Not a blubbering mess, not a yelling ass, but just be the calm fellow he was.
Calm, smooth Gatsby. Suave Gatsby. Stoic Gatsby. Oafish, sentimental… Homewrecking, idealizing Daisy-chasing Gatsby.
… oh, Daisy…
“ I– I genuinely appreciated the offer, I really did, but– I-I just couldn’t… burden you with… with all of this, and… ” A falter as he moved his hands about, his eyebrows furrowing a tad bit more… “ I-I… you have every right to be ashamed, old sport… I-I completely understand. ”
Oh, Gatsby had every right to feel like a schoolboy awaiting a scolding. In this moment, he might as well have been. Ezekiel stood over him, arms folded, brows knotted.
“I am surprised at you, Mr Gatsby! I offer you a safe sanctuary in which you’d be free to tend your grief in a healthy manner and here you are, having rejected it in favour of-...” he wrinkled his nose and made an awkward to the place in general, “-of this.”
Knowing that Gatsby was concealing a great upset, one that he seemed ominously reluctant to talk about, Ezekiel hadn’t been able to get that phone call out of his mind. And so, after calling Gatsby’s mansion a second time, only for his butler to pick up the phone and tell him he’d left but with no knowledge as to why or where, Ezekiel had been thrown into enough panic to brave the bright lights of the big city. He’d ran around like a madman, asking anyone who looked even mildly affluent until he eventually found a lead that had brought him here. Though this certainly hadn’t been the first speakeasy he’d had to talk his way into tonight...
“Have you any idea how long I’ve been looking for you? How many of these ghastly places I’ve had to sift through?! You’ve had me worried sick!”
He huffed, sliding the half empty glass across the bar and out of reach.
“And I think you’ve had quite enough of that for one night. And you shan’t be returning to your company either,” he took Gatsby’s cane for him, before making a gesture for him to stand. “Come on, up. You’re coming back with me, whether you like it or not - somewhere you can sleep safely and where I know you won’t misbehave.”
He offered out his arm in preparation for the likely event of Gatsby being unsteady on his feet, while making a pointing gesture over his shoulder towards the exit.
“Out, Mr Gatsby. Now.”
