He held up a hand: plain, longfingered, well-calloused. There was nothing in it and nothing on it until what looked like sand gathered around it and solidified into a heavy leather-looking glove.

"If it's not on me, it doesn't come with me," was all he said as his other hand did the same, much quicker, and his mask shifted out to cover his face. His voice, when it came out, was different. Darker, deeper... almost eerie.

"If you're ready to go, I'm ready to go."