He raises his brow, inundated by the words which wash over him like the barrage of the cove on a stormy day, when the winds pick up and assault his beach with heavy waves. At least, it had, back when he'd owned property and his own affairs weren't so heavily mandated by a strange hotel in the middle of nowhere. "I'm afraid I don't understand half of what you're saying, by no means of rudeness but merely due to the fact that I'm not from a time that has these..." He twirls his hand, as if to elaborate. "...video games."

"And no, my name certainly isn't Lewis," he assures, offering a polite bow as he taps his walking stick twice on the ground beside him. He's dressed in his own clothing, having been reliable informed that it would be costume enough. "It's Gatsby."