Lips curled with distaste as the talk reached her ears. Why these people thought that the mental breakdown had affected her hearing she hadn't yet discovered. Unfortunately, every time she left the house she was forced to listen to the same nonsense about her state of mind. She already knew that she was 'off her rocker', thank you, and didn't need people reminding her of the fact. And what business was it of theirs anyway? Rory contemplated the probable fate that awaited gossips, busybodies and damn nosy old biddies. The various ways they could be punished in the afterlife had the desired effect, easing the rising urge to lash out at people who thought to judge her.

The limping pace quickened, in a hurry now to get to the club. Her faded old backpack was shrugged into a more comfortable position though that did nothing for the complaining of her leg. With the amount of pain she'd been in today she should have gotten a ride - bus, taxi, one of the family - but Grandmere didn't drive anymore, Izzy was busy with some paper for school, and she'd rather have teeth pulled than ask Uncle Raoul or Addy to drop her off at André's. So she'd just be sure to take an extra painkiller when she got to the club.

Eventually, she slipped into an alley and headed for a rust-colored door. Hand lifted, knuckled rapping in a distinct pattern - three taps, pause, two taps, pause, three taps again, another pause, and finally one last tap. She didn't need to use the silly knock code, but it was a way of ensuring that she wouldn't have to wait long before someone let her inside.

When the door finally opened she looked up and up some more at the big man looming there. Rory couldn't remember a time when André Fonteneau hadn't made her feel small. Where she was a roughly 5'2", skinny little white girl who maybe weighed a hundred pounds soaking wet, André was a 6'6" black man with more than two and a half times her weight. At least ten pounds of that weight she suspected came from his heavily beaded cornrows. The man made more clicking sounds than Fifi running across the hardwood floors before her nails got trimmed.

"André." A nod of her head was given when he stood aside for her to limp in. "The others here already?" A glance over her shoulder caught Andre's nod.

"Got here 'bout ten minutes ago, cher. We were startin' to wonder if you were goin' make it."

Breath left her in an aggravated huff as she pulled the backpack around in front of her. While she spoke, she dug out a half-empty bottle of water and a pill bottle. "I had to cook. Grandmere's got company tonight. And 'Princess Addy' was listing every possible way I have inconvenienced her over the years." Three pills were popped into her mouth, chased down by a swallow of water.

"That girl needs a good ol'-fashioned spanking. I don' know how you or your grandmother have managed to keep from killin' her. She'd try the patience of a saint."

She graced André with one of her rare smiles, grateful that he sided with her against 'Princess Adelaide'. Reaching the stairs that would lead her onto the stage, Rory paused to shove a lightly-tinted pair of sunglasses on her nose. A precaution against the stage's brighter lighting. Quickly, a significant look was bestowed on the big man, a finger extended toward the backpack wedged between the stairs and the wall. "That better not grow legs and wander off." Then, without waiting for the familiar reply, she limped up the stairs and onto the stage.

As she passed by Michelle, who was tuning her guitar, the long-legged brunette sent her a brilliant grin. Joy, with her brilliantly blonde crop, bounced over to give her a quick hug. By then, Rory had safely reached the shiny baby grand. Sitting, she adjusted her sunglasses, then carressed the keys - ebony and ivory - to reaquaint her fingers to the feel of the instrument.

As if that were some sort of signal, Michelle's guitar broke the silence. Then entered the voice, Joy, a husky contralto that blended well with their different styles. And finally, Rory melded the piano into the mix. It seemed rehearsed, the ease with which they moved from song to song, sometimes the piano the melody other times not. But rehearsal had never been needed, not when you'd been friends long enough. If they could finish each other's sentences when speaking, they could do the same with music.

The piano gave her a certain freedom, a release for the pent up jumble of emotions. This was a safe way to let go. It sure beat the hell out of throwing things at people, fun as that might be on occasion. Besides, this way she could let go of those emotions that would otherwise break out in embarrasing ways: bawling like a baby or curled in the fetal position to hide from her fears. Yes, this was a much safer and it helped others to at least enjoy something.

--------------------

Rory's teeth clenched as she made her way to her backpack, rummaging in it for the bottle of pills, dumping two more into her hand. Rather than take them with water, she headed for the bar to get something with some flavor to it. André's glare freed up three stools for her to choose from. Hopping awkwardly onto one, she glanced around then nodded a little. "That fruity stuff and ice. No alcohol though." The pills were flashed at him as explanation. The moment the glass of red liquid was placed in front of her, she chased down the pills and waited for them to take effect.

Steel blue gaze moved over the patrons without much interest. No one bothered her here anymore, not once they'd learned that she was not someone they wanted to get riled. So for the remainder of this first break, she'd sit here and sip her drink while waiting for the pain to lessen. After the next set, she'd be done for the night and could just enjoy the music rather than worrying about creating it.