They couldn't hide his horns of course. There was no way to keep that all from showing. Instead, they'd been painted black, the whole of him shrouded, his normal makeup dark around his eyes as it is. Still, he smirks right along behind the cloth, shoulders doing a shake for his quiet laughter.

It has been so damn long since he got on a mission like this. His hands open and close, habit of wanting clubs merging on with his excitement what some of the fear has bled into. A subjugglator and laughsassin both. He was made for this.

He doesn't dare speak, his voice always apt to give away. Instead he gives a nod, and falls into that old predatory crouch he used to have.