Hasibe tilts her head to the side at that, expression lightening--it was still, not somber but possessed of a perfectly and curiously doll-like blankness, when Deacon looked her way. She smiles, again, and when she does tip to the side, it has the not remotely inadvertent side effect of resting her head, briefly, on Mitchell's shoulder.

"I don't think that's exactly it," she says, and then Deacon and his cigarette inspire her to find her own. Her brand, currently, is Black Devils in rose. Even her hedonism is imported.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots someone being fed on--willingly, it looks like, but it's hard to tell, isn't it?--by not one, but two vampires. Hasibe transparently watches for a moment, tongue briefly touching the back of her teeth (the gesture thoughtful, a little distracted) and then refocuses on her current company.