It was only a mask. If its expression seemed to change, it was down to shadows etched into the face by the limelight. But the illusion of life was uncanny. Guignol was the theatre's third mask, rudely pushing between the Tearful Face of Tragedy and the Laughing Face of Comedy.
The Gloating Face of Horror.
April O'Neil: So, what's with the mask? I mean, it's not like the turtles don't know who you are.
Casey Jones: Same reason people have worn masks throughout history... 'cause it looks cool.
Casey Jones: Same reason people have worn masks throughout history... 'cause it looks cool.
Klaue: You're not telling me that's vibranium, too?
Killmonger: Nah, I'm just feelin' it.
Killmonger: Nah, I'm just feelin' it.
Covering the right side of Alexei Alexandrovich's face as always, nearly entirely hiding it, was a mask of steely silver, descending from brow to chin with only enough metal cut away to allow his nose and mouth full functioning. While Alexei's left eyebrow could and did twitch sardonically, and while his left cheek could and did rise in wry humor, the corresponding parts on the opposite side were hidden behind an unreadable sheen of metallic cold, laced with dark veins of pure groznium - not tempered or alloyed by the Ministry's metallurgists, but the raw scarlet-black ore itself. Where his right eye once had sat was a large aperture, a cyborgist's reinvention of a human eye socket, from which emerged a telescoping oculus. It was with this rotating orbital that Alexei Alexandrovich was now scanning the crowd, looking for his wife.
Madame Salvadore: How much do you think that mask he wears is worth, Klemp?
Madame Salvadore: (sighs) Mysterious and wealthy. I am so looking forward to getting to know our Mr Seta...
Catwoman: Who are you under there? (strokes his mask with her Femme Fatalons) What are you hiding? Or are you just...hideously scarred?
Batman: Yeah.
