It started simple.

It had been a long, long time since Grooves had had a ten p.m. flash of inspiration like this one, and it came when he thought he heard gunshots from down the hall.

From behind his huge studio desk the penguin jumped a solid few inches into the air when the air split with a CRACK. Then came another, and another! His flipper reached for the phone set beside him to call for security, when there were a couple timid crashes and a low, booming hit, and Grooves realized what it was. One of the Conductor's Wowl owls must've moved his drumset into one of the rooms and started to practice.

Grooves had nothing against percussion. Sure, it was a little loud, but having seen the Conductor's owl band perform before, he knew that they had more instrumental talent than he could ever possibly hope to shake a stick at, and thus, deserved a little respect. Maybe the background track would help him focus, he thought as the drummer busted out a couple basic rudiments on the snare. He waited for the trumpeter, bassist, and pianist to join their bandmate, but those signature warm-up scales and long tones never arrived - making the drum sound oddly lonely, out of place. And loud. Seriously, why hadn't they invested in soundproof walls when they bought the studio all those years ago?

He stood slowly from his chair to go investigate the drummer. It wasn't difficult to play hot and cold with such a noisy, repetitive instrument. The drummer picked up a smooth, almost drunkenly lopsided groove that varied its pattern every so often, returning to the base kick-hit beat after a few measures. Eventually, he passed by a door opened just a crack and was distracted by a flash of red and gold - the drumset, set up in one of the prop storage rooms.

Uh...Was that a kazoo?

Grooves peeked through the crack in the door, and, well, he hadn't been this startled in quite awhile!

Sitting behind the drumset, bopping his head a little and holding sticks that flew across it, was the Conductor, with a professional-grade kazoo between his teeth. He was completely and totally absorbed in whatever he was doing, oblivious to Grooves' presence; if he had eyes, they would be glazed over with how hard he was zoning out. The lights were on, but nobody was home. In the short minutes since he'd began, the Conductor had become completely and totally lost within his private rhythm.

A small melody leaked from the kazoo, nothing that Grooves had ever heard before, but charming nonetheless. Soon enough, the DJ found himself nodding his head along with the steady beat.

Until the Conductor accidentally hit the rim of a drum, and and otherwise cute song devolved into enraged cymbal crashes and improvised kazoo screaming.

"Darling, darling!" Grooves exclaimed, bursting into the storage room without a care to the Conductor's reaction. "That is enough! You're going to break something!"

Conductor ceased his tantrum abruptly, his gaze flitting up to meet Grooves' eyes as he removed the kazoo from his mouth and set it in his lap. It wasn't quite hostility radiating from the old owl, but it wasn't goodwill, either. Grooves stayed carefully on guard.

Then the Conductor sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Ye didn't see none o' this, got?"

"...Right."

"Guess ye discovered me li'l side hobby." Absently the Conductor started drumming lightly on his left knee, huffing indignantly. "...Ah woulda appreciated a knock, ye know!"

"Sorry," Grooves offered. "You were loud."

Tactfully Conductor hit a single shot on the snare, a snap so loud it caused Grooves' ears to try and implode in on themselves. "Gah!" He reached up and clapped his flippers over his ears.

The Conductor tched. "Wuss. See these?" He gestured up to his own ears, parting the feathers ever so slightly to reveal a piece of plastic, gold so it blended in with the rest of him. Hearing aids. "It's not jus' because o' action films that me ears are shot. Ah started damagin' them when I joined marchin' band in high school. These are gonna be loud, they hafta be."

Grooves shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again. "Fair..." Still nervous that the Conductor would pull that again, he cleared his throat. "You are talented, though."

Conductor brightened like an excited child, an expression that lifted Grooves' spirits. "HA! Ah'm nae jus' some percussionist! Ah was section leader for six years and drum major me senior year o' high school!" He put a hand proudly on his chest. "The Wowl drummer, Ah taught 'im everything he knows. Ah remember the wae I stunned me director when Ah went to college, outshinin' the rest o' the drumline right off the bat!" He began to cackle lowly, smugly. "Those wind players were always fulla hot scared the peck out o' them. Me nickname was Teeth!"

Teeth. A snort escaped the DJ. As usual, the Conductor's sense of self was way overinflated, but unlike his moviemaking skills, Grooves actually acknowledged and appreciated this new talent. "So you played all throughout high school and uni?"

"Yes!" Wow, it was rare to see Conductor this fired up about anything other than maybe his train. "I wouldnae have gone where I did if the uni didn't have a marchin' band!" He pumped his fists a few times in elation. "Scholarship central!"

"I dabbled in band a bit," Grooves murmured. "Ended up quitting after two years, though."

Conductor ran his eyes up and down Grooves, sending shudders down the penguin's spine. "Ye look like the alto sax type," said the Conductor.

Grooves laughed a little. "Tenor, actually. I was never that good, always fourth or fifth chair."

"Chamber or marching?"

"Jazz."

"Nerd." The Conductor giggled. "Real men do marchin' band."

Never before had Grooves encountered anybody who radiated this much positivity, except maybe Hat Kid, nevermind the Conductor of all people. Maybe he didn't know that much about marching band, but the owl looked so happy when he talked about it...

"Ah was always gettin' inta fights with pit, even when I was drum major," the Conductor continued. "All kindsa arguments. 'Further ta the right! No, the marimba needs ta be on the 50! Oi, why arent'cha starin' at yer mallets like yer supposed ta?!' I was ne'er in pit, always stronger on drums than I was on mallets-" He caught the look on Grooves' face. "Yer have no idea what any o' that meant, do ye?"

Ruefully, Grooves chuckled. "Not a clue, darling. But you seem to enjoy talking about it, so don't stop."

The owl happily obliged. An easy comradely, one that they had thought died after they graduated from university, settled between them as they traded jazz band stories and laughed at Conductor's "this one time at band camp" tales. Grooves hadn't been this comfortable around anyone in a long while.

Watching his fellow director retell fond marching memories, a plan slowly took shape in Grooves' mind. He'd known he'd wanted a sequel to The Big Parade the moment the Conductor burst into his office days after its release with a couple loud critiques - not about the loudness or plotlessness, but about the impossible choice of marching double basses and lack of percussion. Would he agree to...a collaboration project?