Lennox and Peisinoê about an hour into the Gala Lennox had volunteered to photograph the event and in spite of the challenged he had accepted to Peisinoê he was doing his best to fulfill the obligations set when he stepped up to aid. Pictures were his life - they spoke volumes that his lips could no longer - and trying to survive in a world without picture was too much of a curse to tantalize. His attire was hand selected for the occasion, he had been to many an event on par with this one that by now he had the logistics of it down pat.
The mask that he chose played upon a lot of themes. It covered the lower half of his face unlike many of the other masks designed to conceal the top part. It was a symbol of his affliction, that long lost ability to sing or really communicate the way he once could and considering the fact that it covered his mouth he could dart silently around without being pulled into much of a conversation. It also freed up his eyes for pictures, which he took at every possible chance.
Eventually he made it to the Gazebos, structures he’d become familiar with many decades ago before humanity claimed them as glorified lawn ornaments. The need to take a break, step back from the gathered crowds was the intent, and so Lennox let his camera hang gently upon his chest as he ascended the few steps into the gazebo proper. It was there he saw her, the woman in silver with the black mask. She was tall, picturesque, radiant. Silently he stepped up next to her, bright eyes peering out at the world beyond the stillness they were sharing.