Hasibe's tell comes in the form of simply a look, and a raised eyebrow, as she is ninety percent certain she just watched that man (whose face is sometimes like a human's but sometimes not, depending on the angle of how she regards him, like one of those cheap, stupid holographic postcards or something) pick someone's pocket and put it in someone else's. She is somewhat familiar with demons, though not precisely of Balthazar's stripe, and as she stands, quietly, at the edge of a crowd, she is watching for reasons less malevolent but no less inclined toward observing human nature. Or not so human, as the case may be.

The tell quickly becomes a lot less subtle, as she crosses the distance between them, hands tucked into her coat pockets, since she's left her gloves at home.

"I have to wonder," she says, conversationally, "I mean, I can speculate, but--what purpose did that serve?"