Hanzo's eyes flick from the boy, to the string improbably holding the boy's weight, to the collection of clothing wrapped in webbing and...who even knew what else. But he appears to be here browsing, just the same as he is. Not a threat, whatever strangeness is afoot here.

"Hn."

The mercenary's eyes narrow briefly at Peter, before his attention turns back to the rack of shirts, none of which can be readily understood. Likely as not, 'You laugh because I'm different, I laugh because you're all the same' is equally as banal in this strange Martian language as it would be in English.

As he rummages, it's possible for Peter to notice the bow strapped to his back...and a pair of serpentine eyes peering out from the gathering of fabric at the collar of his coat.