Gatsby spins on his heel, taking in the young woman as she approaches. He really ought to not be in the hall when there are students roaming around, but he simply couldn't help the nostalgia running through his veins. "Yes, hello," he greets, clasping his hands together as he walked towards her. "I hope you don't mind the intrusion but, you see, I was in the area and I thought what better way to spend my time than to return to the place that had given me a roof for a brief burst of time, incandescent and all too short at the same time," he says, gesturing to the starlit skies above them.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite an alumni," he says. "If you couldn't tell by my accent, I'm a foreigner, but I possess the deepest of respects for your country and its sweeping cliffs," he says. "And my manners have escaped me. I'm Gatsby. How do you do?"