Who? Jay Gatsby Where? His mansion. When? This evening. What? A party, old sport. And a confrontation. Status? Open, or narrative. Feel free to sub-thread other parts of the house/times of night, or write your own scenes, obviously. Rating? Medium? Language, possible violence, racism.
As usual on a Saturday night, the party at Jay's mansion was well underway. Drinks were flowing, music was blasting from a live band, people were dancing, some were arguing, some were gossiping, other were playing silly games- it was a drunken mess of the upper-classes.
Jay wasn't feeling it. It seemed so empty and pointless, especially since he was no longer trying to impress Daisy, he knew he was going to die soon, he knew that none of them gave a damn about him, and since he'd been to see his father. At least his will was sorted out, now. Most would go to his father, and a healthy sum would go to Nick Carraway. The only decent man he knew in this world.
Still, even if he didn't want to impress Daisy anymore, she obviously had no idea what was going on with him. He had been minding his own business, the best he could at his own party, when Daisy had come running up to him, her face damp with tears, closely followed by- oh God.
Jay stood up, and backed off, having forgotten quite how tall and muscular her husband was.
"Uh- are you all right, old sport? Whatever is the matter?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and collected, so as not to draw attention to the matter.
"Oh, Jay! No, let's just go! Please, take me far away from here! Please!" she was exclaiming- his heart racing with anxiety as she seemed to cling to him, right in front of her fuming husband, who was turning redder by the second.
"What the hell kind of a row are you trying to cause? I don't know what you've said to her, how you've worked your dirty way into her head, but- she is not going anywhere with someone like you-" Tom was yelling, pulling his wife back into his grasp again.
"He's not causing a row, you are! You're a brute, Tom! I should- I should never- have-" Daisy was gasping, trying to pull away from him.
"Now, see, let her go if she wants to go, let's just calm down here- why don't you both- come into the other room so-" Jay was saying, trying to guide them away from the main party.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you, huh? Don't want all of these people to see you for what you really are," Tom was sneering, holding onto Daisy's wrists as she seemed to sedate herself into subdued sobs.
"Now, there's no need to get personal, old sport-"
"Personal? Oh, it's personal! I'd like to know... who exactly are you, Mr Gatsby?"
Jay didn't have a good answer to that. He knew where this was going already, having read his own novel, and the last thing he wanted was the lose his temper now.
"You're one of Meyer Wolfshiem's lot, a filthy kike who ought to have been beaten down long before now. If you think I'm going to let some scum like you anywhere near my wife-"
"Stop it, Tom! Let me go!" she was screeching, and Jay gritted his teeth, trying not to react the way that he wanted to, so badly.
"Mm, and you're here to beat me down, are you? Put me in my place? In my own home, at my own party?"
"You're damn right I am. I suppose the latest thing is to let these other races think that they can do whatever the hell they want, but not when it involved my neighbourhood, and my wife-"
"I think you should leave," Jay responded, as calmly as he could.
"Do you? I think you should leave, back to whatever fucking backwards place you sprung from."
"Where's that, North Dakota, Tom?" he growled, realising with horror that far too many people were now listening to their exchange. "Get out of my house. Get out."
"This is my neighbourhood, these are my friends, my sort- you will never be like us, it's how you were born, it's in your blood-"
"Get the fuck out of my house, and take your wife with you," he told him, calm, cold- and never so determined in his life.