Re: Ernest/Abi
Abi had a lot of fun with Gatsby, but they both had to admit that it wasn't the same. He was a sweet kid, but her mind and her eyes kept wandering over to Hemingway. He had downed a lot of whiskey and was trying actively to not listen to him too intently. Gatsby dipped and twirled with her in a completely respectable manner to her mind, though by the twitching of his jaw, Hemingway didn't think it at all respectable.
As the song ended, Abi's hair was loose and her feet hurt. She thanked Gatsby immensely for the song and followed the feeling Hemingway, grabbing a bottle of liquor as she went.
The house was incredible, really, though she couldn't live in a place like it. Abi adored her small apartment, messy as it was. There were too many memories there for her to ever imagine living somewhere so showy and perfect as this house. It had been lifted from a book, not reality. She heard laughter and music coming from downstairs.
As she walked past a half-open door, she could smell books. It was her favourite smell, of old paper and ink bound in leather. She snuck inside and wandered the shelves, looking at the tomes. Even the heavy wooden desk was so perfectly fitting of the man downstairs. Now this room she'd love. She picked up one of the books and perched her backside on the edge of the desk as she started flicking through a copy of Ulysses.