"That they do."

Above the lip of his teacup Nikodemus eyes them shamelessly, great marvellous thing that they are, and drinks up both. It isn't the only thing the Lindwyrm transcends, he's heard. Law is a human invention, a bid for control so easily circumvented without observation. Nik's curious about other, more inescapable, unephemeral things - power, strength, age, time. The cards dealt et al.

"The jurisdiction of mortals tends to becomes moot point once you've escaped that of mortality itself." he says, knowing, a creature just as ancient, ambitious and audacious beyond his mettle. Transcendence is rare and slow and it's so awfully sad they should meet, respective ascensions gone piteously unwitnessed, in such civil circumstances.. As civil as his shop could be, miasmic with curses and malefactions. 17th century Italy carries on beyond its door, none the wiser. "But it's not the only jurisdiction you've encountered, I wager.."

There's a theatric quality to his coffee-stirring, a fortune teller's flourish.

"Your soul speaks to me, O Great Wyrm.. It tells me that just like I, you mislike consequences very much."