The Midsummer Theater Revival
In the newspaper that morning, the weather forecast had used the word “hot”.
That was nowhere near accurate.
It was the kind of day where the pavement nearly burns your hooves, the air feels like your bathroom when the shower is turned all the way up, sweat pools in places rather unmentionable, and sunglasses switch from being a fashion accessory to an absolute necessity.
“Hot” didn’t begin to cover it.
Which meant that it was a terrible day for Coco Pommel to get utterly distracted by a shop window and stand there for approximately ten minutes.
Her mother tapped a hoof impatiently.
“Coco, dear, whatever it is, it’ll still be here tomorrow. Or next fall.”
Coco didn’t respond, her face firmly pressed up against the glass.
Her mother glanced up at the sign above. Another fancy clothing boutique. She made a mental note to never walk her daughter down this street again.
She sighed loudly.
“Come on, Coco.” but Coco didn’t budge. “I’ll... I’ll buy you an ice cream if we leave now.”
Coco’s eyes lit up as she pulled away from the window.
The two carefully crossed the street, where an ice cream cart was strategically positioned outside the local park’s entrance. There was a sizeable line in front of it, understandable given the weather that day. As they took their place in the back of it, her mother sighed.
“Well, at least you have time to pick out what you want.”
But Coco wasn’t exactly listening.
Coco did fine in school, except for two areas that were always marked with ‘needs improvement’: her participation and her attentiveness. And this affected way more than just school.
Which was why her mother spent a lot of time waiting for Coco. So she didn’t exactly notice when her daughter seemed fascinated by a flyer stapled to a tree.
But Coco didn’t just seem fascinated. “Fascinated” didn’t begin to cover it.
The words “MIDSUMMER THEATER REVIVAL” were printed very big at the top. And just that was enough to have Coco utterly hooked.
The Midsummer Theater Revival was quite possibly Coco Pommel’s most favorite thing in the entire universe.
Her parents had first taken her a few years ago, and the moment the curtains opened, that was it. Coco was in love.
Nothing compared to sitting in that darkness and being transported to a world of bright colors and dancing and stories that always ended happily.
For her next birthday her favorite present was a wall calendar and a large red pen, for marking off every day until the next Revival.
So the first line of that poster was enough for Coco. But it was the next lines that intensified everything a thousand times over.
Help wanted!
Foal Apprentice Program
Help with the Revival and learn valuable skills!
No application necessary
Coco had lost track of the number of times she'd read it over by the time her mother prodded her, snapping her out of her daze.
“Tell the stallion what you'd like, Coco.” she repeated.
Coco pointed a hoof at a fudgesicle.
As they were leaving, treats in hoof, Coco pointed out the poster to her mother.
“Is this something you'd like to do, darling?” she asked, with an air of surprise in her voice. It made sense, since Coco did love the Revival. But she wasn’t exactly the type of filly to go out of the way for an extracurricular activity.
Coco nodded very enthusiastically. Her mother smiled and plucked the flyer off the tree it was stapled to. Just like that.
And after a short conversation at dinner that night, Coco had a new date to count down to. Just like that.
The morning that Coco had no more days to cross off on her calendar, she was awake and ready long before her parents were.
She could barely keep from fidgeting in her seat as she scarfed down her breakfast.
She could barely keep from sprinting all the way to the park, far ahead of her mother.
And she couldn’t exactly keep from bouncing in excitement as some unicorn with a clipboard looked her up and down.
She didn’t even mind the stifling heat of the day that had already begun. And she certainly didn’t notice the disdainful look that the unicorn gave to her noticeably blank flank.
“Well, I guess we’ll put you on costumes. Nopony else is there yet.”
She hugged her mother and trotted happily, yet silently, beside the clipboard unicorn as they weaved in and out of the various ponies and groups working hard at whatever they were assigned to.
Coco tried her very best to not get distracted by the clouds of sawdust thrown up by the saws, the sounds of tap shoes on the wooden stage, or the bright splotches of paint haphazardly littering the ground.
Finally, they arrived at a disheveled wooden structure that could only be described as a shack. “COSTUMES” was sloppily painted on the side.
The clipboard unicorn swung the door open, and as Coco’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light inside, she could make out a pony hunched over at a desk, hooves at a sewing machine.
The clipboard clattered to the ground.
“Miss Kindheart!” she yelped. “I am so sorry, I had no idea-- I should’ve knocked, I really am sorry.”
Miss Kindheart looked up from the machine and smiled.
“There’s no need for that, Sunbeam.” she stood up and walked over to the doorway, where the two of them were still standing. “Now, who have you brought with you?”
“This is...” Sunbeam glanced at the clipboard. “Coco Pommel. Coco, this is Charity Kindheart.”
Coco already knew who Charity Kindheart was.
The first time her parents ever brought her to the Revival, before the show had started, a mare came out onto the stage and thanked everypony for being there.
“That’s Charity Kindheart.” her mother whispered to her. “She’s a very famous costume designer for Bridleway, but she does this during the summer. She created it.”
Coco was awestruck. In those stage lights, with her mane illuminated like a halo, she barely seemed real. Larger than life, even.
And here she was, in a dusty wooden shack, her mane frizzled and her glasses smudged, smiling down at little old Coco. Just like that.
“Thank you for bringing her.” Charity said, turning to Sunbeam. “You may go.”
Sunbeam nodded and left, closing the door behind her.
For the first time, Coco took her chance to absorb the room around her. She could see dust swirling around in the sunbeams cast by the open windows and kicked up by the multiple rickety fans that were strategically placed to give some hope of a bearable temperature.
“So, Coco.” she snapped out of her trance and looked up at Charity. “How much experience do you have with sewing?”
Coco broke eye contact and tilted her head down to the floor. Charity quietly tutted.
“Well then, I guess I have a lot of teaching to do.”
She led Coco over to what was most likely a table, but was too covered in fabric scraps and ribbon for one to be totally sure.
“Alright, today we’ll be working on hats. We need one for every chorus member of My Fair Filly, which makes 20, so we’ve got quite a lot of work on our hooves.”
Coco tried her best to mask the trepidation on her face but was clearly unsuccessful, as seen by the warm smile Charity gave her.
“Don’t worry, dear, it’s much easier than it looks.”
It turns out, all Coco had to do was glue ribbons, lace, and pretty silk flowers to the hat forms that Charity had already made. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Coco was so content with this job that she found she wasn’t even noticing the stifling heat inside the shack. She was perfectly happy to sit and work silently beside Charity.
But that safe silence was broken when Charity looked at the clock on the wall and jumped up.
“I am so sorry dear, I nearly forgot. I’m supposed to be meeting with one of the directors right now. Can I trust you to finish the hats?”
Coco smiled and nodded, the past hour or so having instilled new confidence in her. And besides, the task was much more fun that she thought it would be.
And then, Charity was gone and Coco was solely responsible for finishing the hats. Just like that.
She continued doing what she had been, plodding along, until she finished. And Charity still wasn’t back.
She looked at all the hats. They reminded her of all the pretty ones she always stared at in the shop windows. Except she had made them.
She quickly counted them. ...17...18...19. Nineteen. That was it. She quickly recounted, hoping to have made a mistake. But she hadn’t. There were definitely only nineteen hats there, and Charity had definitely said they needed twenty for My Fair Filly.
She looked around the shack, hoping that there was another blank hat form she had missed. But no.
Coco wasn’t sure what to do.
Of course, she could just wait until Charity got back and ask her what to do. But she didn’t know when Charity would be back, and it was so miserably hot with nothing to distract her from it.
Her ever-wandering eye caught sight of some patterns sitting on top of the heavy felt she knew had to be what the hat forms were made out of. She walked over and took the thin paper in her hooves, the shapes printed on it confirming her suspicions.
All the materials were there: pattern, fabric, scissors, pins, needles, thread. There was nothing stopping her from making one herself. Aside from the fact that she’d never touched a needle and thread in her life, of course.
But that wasn’t the type of thing to stop Coco Pommel.
And so, when Charity Kindheart walked back in, not long after, to see Coco putting the finishing touches on her pièce de résistance, her jaw dropped so fast the sketchbook she was holding loudly clattered to the ground, scraps of paper and fabric splaying everywhere.
Coco jumped up, expecting Charity to be angry with her. But she wasn’t. Not saying a word, Charity walked over and guided Coco to the full-length mirror against the back wall of the shack.
Through the layer of grime and scratches, it was still perfectly clear what Charity was trying to show her.
There, on her flank, where there had just been just been cream-colored fur that morning, was a hat. A simple, yet perfectly elegant, red and purple hat.
The only time Coco could remember being nearly this happy was her first time seeing the Midsummer Theater Revival. And even that came nowhere close to this.
“Happy” didn’t begin to cover it.
Of course, everypony else was elated at her new mark, too.
When she was lying awake in her bed that night, miles away from being able to sleep, she blamed it on the excitement to go back tomorrow.
She was so caught up in her own thoughts that at first she paid no mind to the muffled sounds of her parents talking on the other side of the wall. Until she heard her name.
She sat up and pressed her ear to the wall.
“Well she seems happy, and that’s all that matters, right?”
That was her father speaking. She heard her mother sigh.
“I know, I know. It’s just... she’s so young, and it’s just so unexpected—”
“It’s unexpected? Really? Tell me, Ivory, how many days has she been late to school because she got distracted by window displays along the way?”
“She’s just easily distracted. Those displays could have whatever in it.”
“That’s not my point...”
They must have moved away from the wall because their words turned into muffled sounds again. Or maybe Coco just fell asleep before she could hear the rest, because the next thing she knew, her mother was knocking on her door to wake her up.
She was excited to go back. Of course, she was excited.
When she flung the door to the shack open, Sunbeam, the clipboard unicorn from yesterday, was the only pony present, running a hoof over the hats. She spun around when she heard the door open.
“Oh, Coco! Just the pony I wanted to see.” she grinned at Coco, who hesitantly gave her a weak smile in return.
Coco glanced around the shack, looking for an absent Charity.
“Charity’s just taking some measurements right now, but she’ll be back.” she turned back to the row of hats and picked one up. “Are these yours?”
Coco nodded, then walked up to them and nudged the one that she’d done all by herself. The one that got her her cutie mark.
Sunbeam picked that one up and examined it.
“Charity told me all about what happened yesterday and I just had to come down here and see it for myself... although now I realize her words don’t even begin to describe how wonderful this hat is.”
Coco blushed. Sunbeam very gently put the hat down.
“Well, I better get back to work. But you’ll see me around, don’t worry.”
And with that, she trotted out of the shack. Leaving Coco alone. Not wanting to possibly mess anything up, she just stood in the middle of the shack and looked around.
Luckily, it wasn’t long before the door swung open again and Charity waltzed in.
“Good morning, Coco.” she said with a smile.
Coco smiled back, then went to grab the felt for the hats.
“Oh no, we have quite enough of those now.” Charity said, stopping her. “Today, you’ll be making patterns.”
It turns out, making patterns is practically as boring as watching paint dry. Actually, it’s worse than watching paint dry, because at least with that, you can let your mind wander. But with pattern-making, you have to pay just enough attention that it makes the task even worse, especially for a filly as restless as Coco. So she was miserable.
Now that she’d gotten a taste of designing, she found herself itching to do that. Or at least be making costumes, since she’d liked that part too. Anything but this useless grunt work.
This was so far from what her first day had set this job up to be. But she wanted to please Charity, so she sat down and complied.
As she worked in silence, the room got noticeable hotter and hotter. And the pressure inside Coco’s brain built and built until finally, she stood up and walked out.
Charity didn’t seem to mind.
Outside it was thankfully much less stuffy. But it was still hotter than the surface of the sun, or at least that’s what it felt like. So as Coco approached the water pump that sat behind the stage, she could make out Sunbeam’s distinctly lime green mane. As she approached, Sunbeam smiled at her and waved.
“Coco! How’s your day been?”
Coco sighed deeply in response and Sunbeam’s expression appropriately turned to worry. She sympathetically patted her.
“Well, sometimes you have to do things that aren’t very fun in this line of work.”
Coco shrugged and sighed again, not seeming at all comforted by her words.
Sunbeam paused and thought for a moment, then broke into a smile.
“Well actually, if you’re really looking for some hats to make,” Coco’s eyes lit up. “there’s a, uh, new musical going up at the end of the season, and um, there’s a scene at a fancy party after a—a wonderbolts race! And I, I mean, they need some really fancy hats for it. I mean, obviously Charity was going to design them, but she does seem awfully busy, and I can vouch for you if you’d like...”
Coco thought about this for a moment. She wasn’t sure if Charity would be okay with that, and it did seem like it might be a lot of extra work, but Sunbeam looked a little desperate, and it sounded like it would be more interesting than what Charity had assigned her to.
Her mind made up, she nodded enthusiastically. Sunbeam smiled even wider and assured her she’d give her the details as soon as possible.
And just like that, it seemed as if the day wasn’t so unbearably hot after all.
True to her word, Sunbeam didn’t take long to tell Coco everything about the project, including that it was a good idea not to tell Charity, because then the two could surprise her on opening night. Sunbeam had apparently just told Charity they were reusing the hats from My Fair Filly, and that was a good enough explanation for Coco.
So every day, Coco would finish the work Charity gave her as quickly as possible, then sneak off to work on the hats. Sometimes she’d even stay late to get extra done, much to the annoyance of her mother. After all, Sunbeam had given her a very strict deadline and very strict guidelines.
Coco really wanted to please Sunbeam, and especially wanted to surprise Charity. So what if she and her mother had to walk back in the dark, or some of the grunt work she was doing for Charity got just a little sloppy? It was worth it.
And the other thing that made it worth it was how much she found she liked it. She would wake up excited to sit in that awful heat. It was really, truly, fun designing those hats.
And by the time the deadline hit, Coco was very proud of the collection of hats she brought to Sunbeam. And the look on her face when Coco presented them reinforced that even more.
“Thrilled” didn’t begin to cover it.
Sunbeam even asked to borrow the original sketches, to show the director and eventually Charity, to which Coco happily complied.
So Coco fell asleep as soon her her head hit the pillow that night, exhausted and satisfied and so darn ready to have an actual day off from the Festival tomorrow.
Unfortunately, her mother had decided that her one day off would be the perfect day for a manecut. So she didn’t exactly get to sleep in.
When Coco stopped in front of a shop window on the way there, it was par for the course for her mother. So she patiently waited. Until it got to be long enough that she wasn’t so patient anymore. In fact, it seemed as if her daughter was completely frozen. She stepped up to the window herself.
Inside, there were hats. But not just any hats. They were hats she recognized. She recognized them from the sketches Coco brought home every day. She recognized them from the long list of materials Coco had her buy. She recognized them from the look on Coco’s face.
Her eyes found the sign in the window. “Designed and fabricated by Sunbeam”, it said.
And past that, in the back of the shop, was Sunbeam herself, setting up ‘her’ hats.
Even if she had known what to say, it wouldn’t have mattered. All she had to do was say her daughter’s name, and instantly, Coco was a blubbery mess being swept up into a hug.
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” her mother whispered over and over. “We’ll make this right.”
And she waited, oh so patiently, until the flood had lightened to just sniffles.
“Coco, you need to say something to her.” her mother finally said. Coco shook her head and her mother sighed. “You need to stand up for yourself. I’m not always going to be around to fight your battles.”
She pulled away and pushed her daughter to the door slightly. Coco knew there was no way she was getting out of this. So she took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
As she walked up to Sunbeam, she could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She found herself having to concentrate on not hyperventilating. She almost decided to turn around and run away, since that would be so much easier than saying anything. But that didn’t seem like it was an actual option.
So she opened her mouth and cleared her throat.
“You lied to me.” she announced, her voice clear and definite. Sunbeam turned around, surprised to hear Coco actually speak. But this expression quickly morphed into an unnerving smile.
“Of course I did, how else would I have gotten you to do it?”
Her blatant admittance caught Coco more than a little off-guard.
“Well that’s—you’re not supposed to... I mean—”
Sunbeam chuckled.
“It’s really your fault for being so naive, honestly. Think of it as a life lesson. I’m just teaching you about how the real world of fashion works.” she leaned in closer, her expression decidedly smug. “It’s eat or get eaten, and it looks like you’re the prey.”
“Well... I-I’m gonna tell!”
Sunbeam laughed.
“This isn’t third grade, sweetheart. It’s my word against yours, plus I’ve even got all the original sketches.”
“You can’t do this!”
As Coco raised her voice, the shopkeeper galloped over.
“Is anything wrong, Sunbeam?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just a silly little foal trying to get in my way.” she said with an extraordinarily fake smile.
“She stole my hats! I made them!” Coco said to him, stomping a hoof on the ground.
“Sure you did, honey.” he said, trying his best to stifle a laugh. “Now, why don’t you go home and leave this fashion designer alone?”
He firmly placed a hoof on her back, and although she could have thrown a tantrum to stay there, all of a sudden it didn’t seem worth the effort.
She’d lost. There was nothing she could do to prove that she’d created the hats.
So she very calmly walked out of the store and didn’t say a word to her mother as they walked back home.
She didn’t even cry herself to sleep that night, just instantly fell into a dreamless slumber.
The next morning, she went to work as usual, sans the usual spring in her step, though.
Inside the costume shack, Charity was staring at a dress sketch she had made.
“It’s definitely lacking something.” she said. “What do you think I should add, Coco?”
Coco simply shrugged and started her regular work. Charity didn’t even comment on Coco’s changed demeanor. Or maybe she really didn’t care about Coco after all.
Before she could leave for the day, Charity stopped her, and presented her a brochure.
Coco looked it over. It was for some fashion and design boarding school. She cocked her head to the side and Charity smiled at her.
“You’re very talented, Coco.” she said softly.
Coco wasn’t quite expecting that, but she smiled at her anyway. Charity’s response to that was to look Coco in the eyes very directly.
“You have so much potential. And what scares me—what really scares me—is that all of that potential will get wasted. And you are a lovely filly, a sweet filly, but this world is a cruel one, a dark one. And I don’t want you to ever have to go through what I went through. I didn’t have the kind of opportunities you have. I didn’t have that potential. I don’t want you to waste any of it. So I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise me that you won’t. That you’ll do great things, and you won’t get lost in this dark maze of a world. Whatever it takes.”
Coco, not knowing how to process any of that, just nodded. And maybe she was imagining it or maybe it was just the light, but she could have sworn she saw tears welling up in Charity Kindheart’s eyes.
Charity smiled at her again, then carefully took the flower out of her own mane and delicately clipped it into Coco’s.
That night, after another quiet dinner with her parents, Coco took some time to read and reread the brochure.
Every time her mind was about to slip into a fantasy about going to that school, or even becoming a famous designer, it was promptly blocked by the memory of Sunbeam’s words.
She wasn’t cut out for this. She knew she wasn’t cut out for this.
Going to that school would mean having to pay more attention and doing boring things, too, and always being in competition with the other students, and having to actually talk, and not having her mother there to hold her when she cried.
She couldn’t do it. She knew she couldn’t do it.
She grabbed the brochure and brought it over to the trash can. As she was about to throw it out, her eye caught what was above it: her bulletin board, with her calendar with which she’d been counting down the days to the Revival.
So she pinned the brochure to the wall.
Just like that.
