It's a precarious angle, the sort where a few degrees either way could lead to a toppling, but the Man is as languid as a cat and hopefully has decent reflexes-- all that fake sword fighting they do with those metal toothpicks has hopefully left something behind.

He's informative, at least, and hasn't thrown around rabbit yet. Two points in his favor.

"May I guess the game?" The elven child is already gone, and the swirl of the crowd is back as it should be, no path left from his run to freedom. He gestures as he speaks- tight, controlled, still illustrative- and the green shard in his hand should also help place him as a Rifter. "The child is in the employ of a minter, or a shop owner in the city, to whom he will return the coins- and the Man will sell them again tomorrow."