Long glances up quickly, from his arm and the sight of the needle to Mick's face-- not to see any fangs, but merely because the quote catches him off guard. He smiles, a very white smile in his dark face, pleased as a child to be told a secret.

"You've read Emerson?" he asks, delight shading his tone. And then realization kicks in-- the sight of Mick looking away, the convulsive swallow-- that perhaps right this second is not the best time to try and discuss literature and comparative religion.

"....perhaps later."

Long looks back down to his arm, pensive. "One does wonder what karma we acquired in our past lives to be here in this position now, though..."