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Luka all but ran off the stage the moment they'd wrapped up the song—a verse, and a chorus short. Not surprising, considering…
Dingo exchanged glances with James. The bass player shrugged, his knuckles white where he gripped the neck of his instrument, and worry tightened his gut. Penny had cut Marinette's feed, but they had all heard her. Whatever happened, there wasn't much he could do from the stage, and Marinette would kill him if he dared step foot in the bus. He knew better than to try, if by some miracle Marinette let him live, Brielle would destroy the remnants.
He glanced out at the packed stadium. Confusion seemed to have won out over anger for now, but that might change if the rest of the band left.
When a couple minutes passed and the murmuring audience shifted from curiosity to restlessness with no sign of Penny and no word from anyone else, he stood, pulled a ping pong ball from his pocket and bounced it off his snare. Penny hated it when he left them in his jeans pockets during performances, but being able to fiddle with them was soothing.
One of the light techs must have been desperate, because next thing he knew, the spot was on him. Experimentally, he bounced it couple more times, catching it between each bounce.
Titters sounded through the crowd, but one guy, sitting at the front, yelled up him.
"Quit clowning around!"
Dingo arched an eyebrow and grinned. He knew exactly what to do until Lu got back. He might not have clown paint on him, but he had something even better.
With a crazed smile he stood, pulled the lipstick he'd stolen from Bri out of his pocket, and coated his hand with the deep plum just to press it against his face war-paint style. He rubbed his hand off against his jeans and twirled a drumstick before sliding it into his back pocket. Loading his hands up with the rest of the hidden balls he shouted at the crowd.
"I'll show you clowning around!"
Another spot hit him, shifting colors. James thrummed a single low note that reverberated across the stage. Dingo nodded at him and the bassist nodded back, James would keep up with whatever he laid down… or bounced around.
What happened next would be his greatest accomplishment. Even if Marinette was back there showing them all up by bringing a whole human into the world.
Juggling was a newer hobby. A little something to do in the bus while the kilometers slipped underneath them hour after hour. Ping pong balls were light—lighter than drumsticks—and when one got away from him, no one threatened murder if the featherweight balls hit them. He'd been struck by his own sticks—and worse, seen them break—when playing around with them in close quarters with grumpy travel companions.
Dingo rolled his shoulders and shifted his weight before sending a volley of balls into the drums in a quick alternating pattern, the balls changed hands and he looked at the crowd expectantly. Some of them cheered, most laughed; no one sounded bored or worried. He tossed another volley, catching and releasing in a rhythm you could almost dance to. James followed him, giving the display a deeper feeling that traveled across the crowd.
The angles were tricky, so he captured all four balls and adjusted his seat slightly before sitting. To make sure he had enough room, he lobbed the ping pong balls up, juggling in earnest for a few seconds before redirecting them towards the drum set. He wished they were heavier. Something with a little more weight would be better, but for now, he was having fun and no one had jeered or boo'ed.
The balls landed softly before coming back at him, ready to be caught and redirected until he had found the perfect pattern and some of the audience were stomping along.
Dingo laughed, nearly forgetting the why of it all. He sent on of the balls towards the cymbals—it impacted with a gorgeous ring, but it careened in the wrong direction finding a new home with a lucky fan who shouted when they caught it. Thinking fast, he juggled the balls against the floor tom and snagged another ball from his pocket as quickly as he could. He had one more to spare if things went sideways again.
Which they would. Dingo King had been told more often than most that he had that effect. But Lu was a loyal friend and had always stood by him—even against his better judgement—and Dingo would do just about anything for his mate, not to mention Marinette.
He shifted as he sent the new fourth ball into play against the drums, he wanted to be able to access his sticks easily as soon as he finished whatever wild madness it was he was doing.
By applying more force, he got the lightweight little spheres to speed up, creating an almost dizzying staccato against toms and snare. James kept up and the low bass kept him grounded as his fingers and eyes flew to intercept and redirect as needed. The longer he maintained the ping pong drum solo, the wider his smile grew. This was a different kind of fun.
Of course, he could also feel the moment the rhythm started to get away from him. His hand slipped just a bit, sending the ball towards the wrong drum and he knew he had only seconds to pull off a finale without flopping.
James felt it too. He held the last note and let it ebb, giving Dingo the room he needed to alter the pattern or rhythm as needed.
Dingo sent the next ball to follow the errant one, to keep them in concert. Then the next skipping off the hi-hat into the laughing, cheering crowd. Drum, cymbal, drum, hi-hat, pocket! Drum, cymbal!
Out of balls and breathing hard, Dingo whipped out his drumsticks with a wild whoop and flourish to play his trademark meet-the-drummer solo.
The crowd went wild. With a carefully practiced sweep of his leg, Dingo swept his stool out of the way, managed a spin, and crashed his cymbals with a grin before taking a bow.
He panted, watching the crowd as James took up a solo of his own. His earpiece crackled to life and his hands tensed around the drumsticks once again.
"I don't know what you're doing, but keep it up if you can." Penny's voice was calm, but Dingo could hear the strain behind her words. "It's going to a little while yet."
He'd forgotten why he was juggling ping pong balls on his drums for a moment.
A couple minutes of clowning around wasn't going to be long enough for a baby to be born, and he was all out of balls. He looked across the stage at James, who was coming to the end of his walk. With a drumstick salute, he joined him and they kept the rhythm going and the energy up just enough to hold the interest of the crowd. Most were sitting now, and there was a hum of chatter, but they were still there. Giving Luka the benefit of the doubt.
Dingo whispered a few words of luck for his best mate's wife. He laughed suddenly, because Marinette was hardly short on luck.
Life was an adventure, and Dingo King wouldn't be Dingo if he didn't laugh in the face of it.