Manehattan streets were notoriously congested. Stallions and mares trotted shoulder to shoulder and haunch to haunch through a sea of their fellow trendy debtors, each living lives they couldn’t possibly afford. Among them, one pair of manicured hooves sliced through the wave of young hopefuls like credit debt through the careers of budding writers.
The owner of the perfectly polished hooves had been shouting something, but his voiced did little to penetrate the bustle of taxis trolleys, street vendors and unicorns with glowing blue horns making business deals as if no one could bucking hear them. The stallion crossed streets without looking, rounded corners and jumped muddy puddles til he reached the purple double doors of the Needle, a rentable and prestigious workspace for dressmakers and costume designers.
Forgetting himself (and his hooves) the stallion bucked, and within the shop walls his inaudible shout was heard. Turns out, it was an order. “Coco Pommel!” Sweating, he scanned the room. Mares paused their stitching, chilled by their bosses outburst.
Red darted in jagged lines across the stallion’s eyes. They look like cracked mirrors. “If that pony's flank doesn’t find its way into my office in the next sixty-two seconds, I swear I’m gon--” Frustration tied his tongue like a bow. He paused. “Let’s just say, Celestia ain’t the only one who can send ponies to the moon!" Exhaustion racked his voice into a frothing child’s tantrum.
Roused, the stitchers turned from their machines and scanned the room for the stallion’s missing mare--Coco Pommel. The shop spun into an uproar. Dressmakers traded guesses faster than the usual suffusion rate of corporate gossip, while the rampaging stallion paced through rows of cloth and mannequins, screaming colorful variations of "somepony better find that mare!"
"Period, Sir," echoed an unstirred voice.
Period snapped in its direction. "What is it, Hornrim! Can't you see we’re in a crisis?" His left eye spasmed. Hornrim went on as if it didn’t.
"Of course, sir.” The small mare adjusted her glasses. “Coco Pommel is out of the office. She was sent on a coffee run, sir."
"What! And which one of these dead mares is responsible for this?" Period’s temper sharpened.
"She was sent by you personally, sir. You insisted. Said, 'If some pony didn't hand you something fresh and full of caffeine, I swear I’m gonn--’ Then you referenced something about the moon, sir."
Rage often impaired Period’s listening. His eyes darted across stitching tables when a few of Hornrim’s words managed to reach him. "That’s right. Coffee.” Epiphany whirred round his head. “I still don't have my coffee!”
“Period, Si--”
He snapped, turned his flank on the chaotic scene of the shop and fixed his broken bloody eyes on the door to his office. “Hornrim, when Coco is found, send her to my desk immediately. Tartarus! Find a teleporter, order them to flash around the city until they find her, grab her by the mane for all I care, then flash her back this instant!"
"Sir--" echoed a timid voice.
He whipped himself around. "Hornrim, that's an ord--"
Three figures--Hornrim, a proud looking unicorn (Period didn't recognize her) and a mare with a beach blue mane and a sand white coat stood before him.
The timid voice belonged to the mare. "Mr. Period Piece, sir. Hornrim said that you'd been um, looking for me?"
"Coco!” His voice speared like a javelin. Manic as it was, his face hinted at a certain sense of relief. “Waltz that flank into my office immediately. I have a job for you!”
“Oh! Um, right away, Mr. Period Piece, sir.” Excited, nervous and a healthy dose of terrified, Coco dashed into Period’s office.
“And Hornrim! About the unicorn next to you,” The proud unicorn smiled like a knight before her king. “Remove her from my shop. Her mane clashes with her coat."
"Right away, sir."
The unicorn’s pride vanished. "But wait! I found the missing mare! I've been working here for five years!"
"Follow me, ma’am." Hornrim hooked her by the hoof and escorted her to the door. The shop returned to work, the curses of a newly unemployed mare surcharging their every stitch.
Coco stepped into Period’s office, a square room with a window in the back overlooking the city. Like any successful Manehattanite, his office was a shrine to his accomplishment. Posters of his biggest shows patterned the walls, each with lead thespians showcasing his grandest designs. The posters for “My Fair Mare” and “Equestrian in Canterlot” hung in scarlet frames, one on the left and one on the right. His two breakout productions, the mass around which each other work orbited.
Period trailed Coco, circled round his desk and took a seat. The blinds were closed and the lights were dim. Coco sat in silence as Period slurped his caffeine, piercing the room with a wet sucking sound for several seconds. He relished a deep sigh.
Coco pondered in the wet, sucking silence. Caffeine. An essential part of any Manehattanites day. More precious than wine, more useful than water. Vital. And only ponies with scarlet frames on the walls ever enjoyed the luxury of having it hoof delivered.
This was Manehattan in microcosm. Everyone reaching for the same prizes:fame, wealth, respect. But while the stichers labored in shops, the rampaging stallions kicked-in doors with manicured hooves and sat in high towers with windows that overlooked the city, enjoying the spoils.
Period set his coffee at the corner of his desk, turned his swivel chair toward the city and raised the blinds. Coco shielded her eyes as light slashed and cut through the room.
"Let me explain something, Coco." Period’s temper dulled. A small charm glazed his words.
Somehow hearing Period so at ease chilled nerves faster than his rage. Her muscles tensed. "Yes, Mr. Period Piece?"
"This boutique: the space, the equipment, the workers--me. Together, we are all like a sketch." Period spoke with inspiration in his eyes, as if each word were new to him, as if their clarity warranted marveling. Truthfully though, he had heard and in turn given this speech countless times.
He turned to face the mare. "Your portfolio has numerous designs. Wonderful designs really. You are no stranger to the sketch, Coco."
"Thank you, Sir!” Coco sputtered. “I've worked as a stitcher my entire career, but yes, I enjoy designing as well. It’s actually my dre--" Coco hesitated, unsure if her response beyond the given question was necessary. But silence began to snap at her, and Period seemed intent on leaving her to escape the predator herself. She slowly continued. “It’s actually a dream of mine to have a position like yours one day, sir.”
Period shot her a scrutinizing glare, weighing her by sight. He slammed two hooves against his desk.
"Excellent!" Severity vanished and was replaced by a grin. Period bent his forehooves at the knee, bringing his manic face closer to Coco’s timid eyes. "So when you pencil your designs Miss Pommel, do you simply apply pencil to paper and with one hard line make your vision a reality?"
Coco sat wide-eyed. "N-No sir I--"
"Of course you don't!" He sprang off his desk and over Coco’s head, planted each hoof on the landing and began to pace around the room. "A completed sketch is thinly veiled geometry. A circle here, an oval there, a square for build, a triangle for elegance. Like building blocks arranged in cumulative order. For the finished product, all these marks are erased from sight of course. It’s like erasing the bones from a pony's body. So, Miss Pommel, can you tell me what holds the deboned product together?"
Flashbacks of art school seized her. "The outer contour lines sir?"
Period grinned. "Precisely. This boutique is a sketch. The space, the equipment, the workers, are geometry, and I--at the head of it all--am its contour.” The stallion circled round his desk. “That is how things are handled here, Miss Pommel." Then took a seat.
Coco nodded slowly, attempting to steady her reeling head."Why are you telling me all this sir?"
Period’s enthusiasm simmered. He turned his eyes to the city. "As a contour, it is my duty to maintain our shape above all else. For the next year, we're bound by contract to design and produce the works needed for these shows. My hooves are tied.” His swivel chair turned and he crossed his forehooves on the desk. “That's where you come in, Miss Pommel."
A strange force filled the room, a heavy lightness that put wings on her back and weight on her shoulders.
Period reached in his desk and pulled out an envelope with a letter inside. “A certain pony is looking for a designer to give her a new look. In a few months this pony will be going on a musical tour across Equestria. I was called to fill the role, but, as we discussed earlier, I am a contour. My work is here.”
He slid the letter to Coco and his formal expression eased into the terse vernacular of a businesspony. “Miss Pommel, you will go to this pony, design for this pony, lead a team of stitchers, step into the role of contour, succeed, and together we will win acclaim and recognition. You for your designs, and I for my role as your mentor and past employer. You will leave immediately. Your meeting is in an hour. Hornrim will fill you in on any further details."
The volley of words left Coco stunned. A cocktail of excitement and dread swirled in the pit of her stomach. Never before had potential success and fame been so hastily thrust upon her, and never before had opportunity been so near to failure.
"Um, Thank you, Mr. Period Piece. I... I don't know what to say."
Period sipped his caffeine. "Say nothing my dear. Hornrim!” He banged his hoof like a gavel. “Please escort miss Pommel from my office please."
Coco stared at the letter when a question burst through her skull. "Wait sir! You didn't mention who this pony was exactly."
"Did I have to? You'll bring working for Countess Coloratura of course. The number one pop pony in Equestria."
Her muscles tensed. "Did you just say Countess Coloratura sir? The Countess Coloratura?"
A cold hoof hooked around her shoulder. It was Hornrim.
"Miss Pommel. One more thing before you go."
They stopped at the door. "Yes, sir?"
"In the event that your work with Coloratura receives a, perhaps, less than warm reception, stay strong my dear. Glum would look dreadful on you." Coco couldn't recall a time Period encouraged anyone with such soothing words.
"Sir. Thank you. For everything."
"No thanks Miss Pommel. After all, if you fail, you're fired."
"What?"
Coco felt a tug on her shoulder. "Right this way ma'am. You've got a busy day ahead of you."
***
In the interest of keeping things casual, Coloratura requested to meet her new designer at the Starbits branch that skirted the edge of Manehattan Plaza. The sky was a patchwork of blue and passing gray, and the sun played peek-boo with the world below, altering between shine and shade. Coloratura sat at a small round table on the outside deck to enjoy the hum of light chatter and the even lighter breeze. The inside buzz of machines blending beans and cracking ice may have been rhythmic in its own way, but you could never hear a thing.
Gold rimmed shades hid her eyes, a sundress concealed her cutie mark and a straw hat kept her cool. As Coco approached, the disguised pony offered her new designer a friendly smile and waved her over. "You must be Coco. Period speaks very highly of you."
Coco’s hooves began to tremble. “This is really happening,” she said, unaware that her inner monolog had wandered outside. “I-I can't believe I'm meeting with Countess Coloratura!" She paused, tried to compose herself and took a deep breath. No fangirling. “I love everything you've ever done!” She fangirled. "It's my greatest pleasure and honor to be helping you with your brand new image.”
Coloratura had been giggling quietly, amused by her new designers inability to think in silence. "Why thank you Coco, and please have a seat." She gestured towards the chair across from her.
"Oh! Of course." Coco sat. Her cheeks brightened like bulbs when she realized she’d been standing there the whole time. "Sorry for um... That."
Coloratura suppressed a laugh and smiled generously. "Don't trouble yourself Coco. I’m glad to hear ponies are still connecting with my music, especially with the change in direction and all. And please, call me Rara. Nowadays, all my friends do."
She almost bit her lip in half. Her new mantra sprinted laps around her head. No fangirling. No. Fangirling.
A bespeckled pony with a cool stare approached the table carrying a cup of premium caffeine. "Miss Coloratura, the coffee you requested ma'am."
"Thank you, Hornrim.” Rara nodded in appreciation. “Coco, this is my assistant Hornrim. She accompanies me on longer trips and serves as a reliable companion."
Coco glanced at Hornrim. "Nice to, to um,” She hesitated a moment “meet you, Hornrim.” Looking at the bespeckled mare gave her pause. “This may be an odd question, but do you have a twin sister Hornrim?"
Hornrim was expressionless. "I lost my only sister in the womb ma'am."
"Oh."
Hornrim addressed the Countess. "ma'am if you'll excuse, I must prepare your next arrangement. Please take your time."
"Of course, Hornrim thank you." With that, her assistant went to wait inside. Rara grinned as she left."Isn't her candor refreshing Coco?" She slurped her mocha then relished a deep, satisfied sigh. So satisfied, it made Coco question Rara’s ability to think ill of others, even in jest.
She noticed something as she thought. For all Rara’s unManehattan-like sincerity, there were still lines that kept them separate, a pecking order and sense of status. Using Period’s words, Coloratura was a contour, and Coco, like the Hornrims, was just another shape to be kept within the lines, to complete tasks and fetch coffee, only to be erased during the final presentation.
But this job was different. This was her shot at contour status. By the end, maybe she'd even get her own Hornrim, whom she now imagined to be some sort of bespeckled android pony given to big names in Manehattan.
Rara slurped her mocha. "I hope other ponies share your excitement, Coco."
"Of course they will Rara! If, um, you really don't mind me using that name.” Her cheeks brightened. “When I first moved to Manehattan, I didn’t like it here very much. There was a lot of pressure to be this street savvy, smooth talking, yoga pants wearing cool pony. The one you see in the movies or in ads for lotion. But then a pony who thought about others before herself taught me that I didn’t have to get swept up in the fashion show. I could be me, and that’s how I met Period, and in a roundabout way, how I met you. Since I’ve stopped trying to be something I’m not, things have gotten better."
Coloratura giggled, and Coco’s face steam like a kettle. “I guess that was really cheesy huh?” she said through hooves she had plastered to her face.
Her giggle blossomed into laughter. "Not at all Coco. I'm glad to hear you say it.” Composing herself, Rara sipped and the last of her coffee. “I believe in starting fresh, which brings me to something I'd actually like to trouble you with.”
Coco peeled her hooves from her face, still red and steamy. “Anything!”
“If it isn’t a breach in the agreement we made with Period, I'd actually like you to collaborate with a pony I met recently. She's received some scathing reviews in her otherwise successful career, and since I'm reinventing myself, it didn't feel right denying somepony’s request to do the same. Coco, would you be willing to work with a partner?"
The sun’s game of peek-a-boo plunged the world into shade. “That doesn’t sound like much trouble at all. It would be my pleasure.”
“Thank you, Coco.” Pegasus ponies soared through the clouds, stitching the patchwork sky into a quilt of gray. Coloratura continued. "Her name is Suri Polomare. I’ve arranged a shop to facilitate your combined work on the designs."
Flash flood warnings printed on eight by elevens rained down like snowflakes as weather workers glided by. "Did, um. Did you just say, Suri Polomare?"
***
Hornrim gave Coco a map with directions and trotted away, leading Rara to her next appointment. The quilt sky hardened into powdered steel, and the thick clouds set the world dim.
Staring at the map, she felt a drop against her nose, then her flank. Soon there was a small rhythm and the drops made music with strings from her limp mane. Her hair dampened, but it didn’t seem to bother her much.
The news of her new co-designer held a monopoly on her thoughts. Dread stained her excitement, but quitting wasn’t an option. Liberal as he was, she doubted Period would be so understanding. Turning back would be the end of everything, and the job the Rarity helped her secure, would end up a thing of the past.
A strand of wet mane clung to Coco's face, dripping rhythmically from her cheek. She realized she'd been unmoving in the rain since Rara left, a silent prisoner of her own imagination.
She ran to the nearest newsstand and purchased an umbrella. The stand was covered in soluble publications and magazines, but thanks to the owners judicious choice to bring an umbrella, they fared in the rain just as well.
The tabloids were the first to catch Coco's eye. She knew they were nonsense but nursed a soft spot for the contrived creations. For equal parts pleasure and distraction, Coco glanced at the headlines: "Changeling Queen sighted with Royal Guard!," "The Princess’ ‘Partner’: Is the Element of Loyalty More Loyal than we Realized?," "Bat Ponies Are Alien Ponies!"
Coco giggled. Political conspiracy, racy gossip and sensational paranormals. The tabloids. The anxiety began to drain away.
Lightning rattled a smokey gray sky and a thunder voice followed. "Aye, this ain't a library. Buy somethin’ else or get moving," echoed a bang from the stands hollow interior.
Coco gazed at the long wet road ahead. The rain beat everything around her: the asphalt road, the concrete streets, the metal lamppost, all drowning together in a rhythmic downpour. Only the newsstand and the insides of shops offered any sanctuary or escape. Coco unfurled the umbrella and began again. The joy of tabloids faded and anxiety returned, seeping through Coco’s mane like water from the sky.
The thought of Suri’s reviews whipped worry into rage. She hadn't seen them, but she assumed the worst. She imagined headlines in bold letters stretched across front pages like tabloids. They'd read: "Unoriginal, Uninspired and Unacceptable," "The Upstarts Downfall," "Pilfering Pony Caught Red Hoofed." Each exposing Suri for the thief she once was, the thief she still was. On a different day, seeing her unveiled in print might have been welcome.
Suri hasn’t changed a bit. The thought frightened her, and more thoughts frightened her still. Afterall, ponies notice when you copy big names like Photo Finish, like Sapphire Shores or Fancy Pants, but Coco Pommel, no one would bat a shadowy eye. A little charm and slight of hand and the credit would belong to Suri. She might even save her career. She’d be the second chance designer of the second chance singer, while Coco faded into the outline, supporting another's success with her work as usual. With Suri, it was always harsh deadlines, unwarranted criticism and zero appreciation. The recognition was hers alone. And in a fight between Coco and Suri, Suri would win every time.
Hornrim's directions placed Coco within eyesight of the boutique. She stood in front of the door as rain tapped all around her, breathed deeply, then made her way inside.
The boutique had two back rooms, one for each of them. Coco darted through the main entrance and boarded herself in the room behind the door with the ornate C.
Momentarily secure, and now aware of her panted breathing, Coco leaned against the shut door and admired the work room. Shelves of fabric lined the walls above several rows of mannequins, and a sewing machine served as the centerpiece for the room. As a whole, it was not unlike the sewing room she was accustomed too, but the range of materials made it clear that Coloratura had spared no expense.
Coco glanced at the sewing machine and noticed a wisp of steam rising above the spool pin. Concerned, she sniffed the air. No smoke. It was crisp with the scent of fresh linen, and perhaps, a dash of nutmeg. She looked behind the machine and sitting there was a fresh cup of Starbits coffee, the source of the odd yet pleasing aroma. The name Coco emblazoned on its bottom brim in black sharpie.
Caffeine, the blood of this unsleeping city, delivered to her from some unknown source. Coloratura. The thought pushed a smile across her face. She took a sip and pondered. Perhaps this was still her chance to succeed, to become somepony, to be a contour.
Slowly, the door shrieked opened behind her. Suri, the purple pony with the purple mane, stood in its frame looking hesitant to enter. The shrill sound of grinding hinges sent sparks through Coco’s spine like volts from a surprise taser.
.
"Guess the odds of me working with a different Coco Pommel were pretty slim." Suri said, talking more to herself than to Coco. Her voice was smaller than Coco remembered but just as strident. "Coloratura told me who I'd be working with, mkay. Just my luck."
Coco looked at her coffee, her name still inscribed on its bottom brim, and set it next to the machine. "Suri. Coloratura told me I'd be working with you too." Her eyes drifted to the window, avoiding the confrontation in front of her. "Co-designers. Sort of different from our last arrangement huh?" She looked back a Suri.
Suri replied with neither voice nor gaze. Her head drooped slightly and stray hair from her purple mane cloaked her eyes. She brushed it back and raised her head, proceeding to admire the sewing room in silence.
"So, um, how have you been Suri?"
"You know what they're saying about me," said the mare, still refusing to return a glance.
"I hadn't read the reviews yet actually."
A mix of skepticism and simmering rage jerked her eyes askance in Coco’s direction. "Hick pony should have stayed in Ponyville. Least inspired work of the season, maybe the year. Wouldn't even dress a foal in these! I mean, that one doesn’t even make sense! What kind of hoity, bourgeoisie, buckface puts a foal in a dress?" Her small voice rose.
The roar was familiar. Suri’s voice continued to rise, lashing on like it always did. Her words struck in every direction at nopony in particular. Still, Coco felt herself tensing, recalling when those words and that roar were aimed at her. She felt herself shrinking, cornered by her imagination. She pushed back, and a hard glaze of biting skepticism coated the sympathy and understanding of Coco’s normal cadence. "Least it wasn’t your work right?"
"What?" Her voice crashed with more force than cymbals in concert. Suri cast a glare the way soldiers cast protection spells. "Of course they were mine, mkay."
Coco started to burn. "Look Suri, I-I'm sorry this happened to you, really. And I hope this job will help you get back on your feet, but I won't let you push me around anymore. Coloratura hired me, and I refuse to let you take that from me."
Suri advanced, stopping just short of butting heads. The two stood almost mouth to mouth."Do you understand how humiliating this is! Losing everything then being forced to work with the one assistant who walked out on you. I'm supposed to be somepony, mkay. And I am being forced to work with nopony's like you."
Coco shrank but quickly regained herself. "You haven't learned a thing have you? You haven't changed at all!" Her legs quaked. "You know, I felt bad at first. When I heard you’d hit hard times I wanted nothing to do with you, I thought you deserved it! I thought I was being cruel, but you know what? I don't feel bad anymore because you're the same awful pony you were when I worked for you. The same selfish, ungrateful, manipulative, egotist you were back then.” Suri shrank with each word. "Coloratura said you wanted to change. Was that just another lie to get your precious career back?"
Suri's lip stung, teeth marks lined her inner bottom lip. Her head dropped and her eyes were again obscured by stray hair. The rain clanked clumsily outside of the boutique window. “I don't have to take this from you.” Her roar was only a low growl. "Enjoy your stupid coffee. I don't even know why I got it for you."
Coco turned to the machine, the wisp still rising, then back to Suri who was making her way out "That was you? I thought that was from Coloratura."
"Of course you did."
Coco glanced at the coffee. For a moment, the cup resembled what Suri never said, the only words strong enough to bring Coco to her senses. She stared at her still-etched-name on the cup’s bottom brim.
Coloratura wasn't the only one trying to change after all.
"Suri." The sky cracked with a boom and the heavens poured down. The divine roar was jolting and fierce, stealing Coco's composure. Her voice’s hard coating dissolved in the rain. She chased after Suri. "Suri! Oh, what am I doing? Suri, please wait."
"What do you want?" The mare stopped in her place, refusing again to turn and meet Coco’s gaze.
Another boom. Suri felt a weight on her upper back and shoulders and a pair of hooves wrapped around her torso. “W-What are you doing?” Suri stuttered.
"I’m thanking you. You’ve never gotten me coffee before."
A subtle red seeped into her purple cheeks. Her head tilted and stray hairs covered her eyes "It’s just a stupid cup of coffee, mkay. Now let go of me."
Coco loosened her grip and dashed round to Suri's cloaked face. "Let's be contours together Suri!"
She raised her head "Let's be what?"
"I mean this job. We're like a sketch made of a bunch of shapes!"
"You're not making any sense." Suri avoided eye contact and calmly tried to head to her room.
Coco was at a loss for words but decided to say what she felt whether it made sense or not. “Um, what I'm trying to say is. Let's work together Suri!" Suri looked back. Meeting eyes with two seas of turquoise. "I mean for Coloratura. She deserves a second chance right? Doesn’t everypony?"
Suri couldn’t keep her head from falling. Her reputation was in shambles, and yet, Coco wanted to work with her. She'd had more assistants than she cared to remember, but partners were often few and far between. She raised her head. "Now I'm sure you're losing it. Just drink your coffee before it gets cold." Suri turned and continued to make her way to her room, not looking back as she walked. "Oh, and Coco." She stopped, glanced over her shoulder and looked at nothing in particular.
"Thanks.”
