[Location.... um... various?]
The last of the small red envelopes were sealed. Long took a jar of ink and a brush from the drawer of the lacquered table, and began to methodically mark most of them with the character for happiness. Had a calligraphy instructor been present to witness his handiwork, they would have remarked his technique was precise and technically correct but overly mechanical.
Beneath each character, he wrote the name of each planned recipient in English. The last one, which he hesitated over, he addressed to 'Winifred Burkle'. This envelope was placed in the alcove that had once held his statue and was now slowly gathering dust.
(It was an adjustment, not being able to call on the cleaning staff of the James Herald Hotel. He made a mental note to do something about that.)
The other envelopes he gathered up and put into the pockets of his wool coat. It was bright outside, but Long knew all about deceptively sunny yet still chilly winter days, and it was only February.
Down the elevator, six stories to the ground, and out into..... balmy, sunny, 75-degree weather.
He blinked, suspiciously, at the melting snow on the sidewalks, then gingerly took off his coat and started to walk for the tram station with it draped over one arm.
He absently quoted lines from Herodotus (on the Persian Empire's postal service) to himself as he walked. Did Taxon have a postal service? Perhaps that would be a useful way of occupying oneself and earning money? But then again it would probably be frowned upon to pry into other people's letters. If anyone still sent letters. The tablets were convenient, he couldn't deny, but dreadfully unromantic.
No matter; he went about his self-appointed rounds, stayed by neither snow nor rain nor completely inexplicable summertime.
[ooc: Long is passing out red money envelopes to the following people in the comments: Kaylee, Jayne, River, Jenny, Stefan, Glitch, Cain, Gene, Spencer, Kate, Angel, Willow, B'Elanna, Drusilla, Elisa, Dawn, Godric, Sam Axe, and Michael Westen. Note that doesn't mean you have to tag/play! If you don't respond to this post, no worries, Long will just have left the envelope at your residence and you can choose to acknowledge that or not as you please.]
Beneath each character, he wrote the name of each planned recipient in English. The last one, which he hesitated over, he addressed to 'Winifred Burkle'. This envelope was placed in the alcove that had once held his statue and was now slowly gathering dust.
(It was an adjustment, not being able to call on the cleaning staff of the James Herald Hotel. He made a mental note to do something about that.)
The other envelopes he gathered up and put into the pockets of his wool coat. It was bright outside, but Long knew all about deceptively sunny yet still chilly winter days, and it was only February.
Down the elevator, six stories to the ground, and out into..... balmy, sunny, 75-degree weather.
He blinked, suspiciously, at the melting snow on the sidewalks, then gingerly took off his coat and started to walk for the tram station with it draped over one arm.
He absently quoted lines from Herodotus (on the Persian Empire's postal service) to himself as he walked. Did Taxon have a postal service? Perhaps that would be a useful way of occupying oneself and earning money? But then again it would probably be frowned upon to pry into other people's letters. If anyone still sent letters. The tablets were convenient, he couldn't deny, but dreadfully unromantic.
No matter; he went about his self-appointed rounds, stayed by neither snow nor rain nor completely inexplicable summertime.
[ooc: Long is passing out red money envelopes to the following people in the comments: Kaylee, Jayne, River, Jenny, Stefan, Glitch, Cain, Gene, Spencer, Kate, Angel, Willow, B'Elanna, Drusilla, Elisa, Dawn, Godric, Sam Axe, and Michael Westen. Note that doesn't mean you have to tag/play! If you don't respond to this post, no worries, Long will just have left the envelope at your residence and you can choose to acknowledge that or not as you please.]