"Thank you for coming on such short notice, Rarity," Coco said, relief plain on her face as she greeted her friend with a hug. “I was nearly at my wit’s end!”
"Think nothing if it darling!" Rarity replied merrily. "You know I'm always a sucker for a good mystery, and your letter has me just dying with curiosity. What is this about trouble on Bridalway?"
"Well,” Coco started, biting her lip anxiously. “Remember that costuming job you helped me with? Well, the theatre manager was happy enough with my work that he’s hired me on full time." She blushed. “I’m more or less the lead designer.”
Rarity gasped in excitement. "Why Coco, dear! That's just wonderful news," she gushed.
"T-thank you," Coco said, turning her head abashedly to hide her reddening cheeks. "Um, the thing is that the theatre is putting on a big Hearth’s Warming play this year. The owner, Curtain Call, says it’s going to be big enough to rival Canterlot!"
"No!" Rarity gaped, bouncing excitedly on her hooves. “And you get to be a part of that? Ooh, fantastique!” She pulled the shorter pony into a hug. “I’m so proud of you, darling!”
"Eep!” Coco squealed. “Y-yes, it’s amazing, really! Or, well, it should be. But things keep going wrong with the production." She managed to wriggle free before leaning in, her voice low, "they say the play is cursed. Props are going missing, and the stagehands keep finding faults in the set. Half the cast has called in sick in the last week. Oh, the whole show is just a wreck!”
"How dreadful," Rarity gasped. "And what do you think? Are you alright? What do you think of all this?"
"Well," Coco trailed off. "It could just be bad luck, but…"
"Bu~ut?" Rarity pressed.
Coco shuddered. "I- I've been there late, after everypony else has gone. Working on costumes. And sometimes, it feels like there’s somepony there. Like they’re watching me. A-and I hear footsteps, behind the stage and in the prop rooms, when I know nopony is around.”
“My, how terrifying!” Rarity balked, fixing her friend with a concerned look. “Coco, darling, are you sure you’re alright?”
“I-” Coco started, then paused. “I don’t know. I’m a city girl, Rarity. I grew up here. Manehattan is a rough city, but I know how to take care of myself. But I’m scared. I don’t know what’s happening. Some ponies are saying it’s a ghost. That the theatre’s haunted.”
“Oh, pish-posh, darling, I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation!” Rarity patted her shoulder reassuringly.
“I- I hope you’re right…” Coco sighed. “W-well, that’s why I wrote you. I was hoping you would come to the theatre with me tonight.”
Rarity blinked, surprised. “You want to go back, after all that?”
“Of course not!” Coco squeaked in protest, “But- but I have a job to do. Mr. Cross is counting on me! I just… I’d feel better with you there, is all.”
“Very well, I accept!" Rarity said with a cheery nod. “You had only to ask!”
"Thank you Rarity," Coco said with a sigh of relief.
The cold winter’s wind bit at their fur as they looked up at the looming theatre. The large, unlit lettering of the building’s name seemed to jut out raggedly, cutting into the night sky. The Gershwhinny Theatre.
Rarity tapped her hooves, barely suppressing a grin. “Oh, how exciting!”
Beside her, Coco started, casting her a shocked glance. “W-what?”
Rarity’s grin widened, and she all but danced in place, motioning to the theatre. “Think of it, Coco! A real-life theatre haunting! It’s just like a play! Like the Pony of the Opera!”
“Rarity!” Coco whimpered, “we’re just here to finish the dresses, not to investigate some mysterious theatre pony! Besides, I thought you said there’s some kind of rational explanation?”
“Y-you’re right, of course, darling,” Rarity blushed, having the decency to glance away, abashed. “I apologize, I simply got carried away in my own fantasy for a moment.”
“It’s fine, really!” Coco protested weakly. “I’m glad you’re here. I just didn’t wanna be in here alone all night again.”
“Of course!” Rarity said, nodding her assurance. She gave Coco a mock salute. “Lead the way, darling!”
“Right,” Coco nodded, producing her key. Rarity followed her up the front step to the massive double doors of the entrance. “Careful, these doors are pretty heavy.” She turned the key, the doors unlocking with a weighty thunk. She threw her shoulder into the giant slab, and together with Rarity’s help slid inside.
The door slammed behind them with a bang, and Rarity jumped. “Oh my! Quite the old place, isn’t it?”
“Very,” Coco agreed, grabbing an oil lamp off the wall. “Oh, um, can you?”
“Of course,” Rarity nodded, lighting the wick with a flicker of magic. The lobby lit up in the dim glow, and she looked around. “This is lovely!”
“More like creepy,” Coco muttered. “It’s so different during the day.”
“Oh, but it has so much charm, doesn’t it?” Rarity asked, taking in the intricate moulding near the ceiling. “Oh! What’s this here?” she pointed, trotting over to a humble alcove behind the ticket counter. Between a pair of elegant candelabras was a tall, lifelike portrait of a pony.
“Oh, that’s Gilbert Gershwhinny, the pony that built this place,” Coco explained. “Apparently he had a deep love of theatre, and is largely responsible for establishing Bridleway as we know it today.”
“Fascinating,” Rarity said, looking up at the jovial looking pony in the portrait. “I salute you, good sir, and your taste!”
Unlike the grand foyer and the massive theatre space, the back of the building was a maze of passageways and storage rooms. Coco knew her way well, however, and it was only the work of a few minutes for her to show Rarity to her workshop.
“Ooh, this is a lovely space, darling!” Rarity noted approvingly as her friend led her inside.
“It is,” Coco smiled fondly. “There’s so much space to work with! And the windows let in plenty of daylight, when the sun’s up. It is… was… really comfortable.”
Rarity gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’m sure it will be again, before long. Every production has its troubles, I’m sure things will be much easier once the show is finally under way.”
Coco sighed, leaning into the touch. “Thanks, Rarity. I hope-” she froze, her words catching in her throat. “Did- did you hear that?” she whispered hoarsely.
“What do you mean?” Rarity whispered back, “what do you…” Her inquiry was interrupted by a faint noise, distant but unmistakable. A low, warbling note, coming from somewhere in the labyrinthine passages.
“OOooooOOOooooOoo…”
“I think…” Rarity began, ears standing at attention, “there!” she exclaimed, darting for the door.
Coco squealed as her companion suddenly abandoned her. “Ah! Rarity!” she cried, dashing after the unicorn. “Rarity, wait for meee!”
“OOOoouUUuuuu!”
“Hurry, Coco! This way!” They stumbled through the darkened corridors, Rarity following the sound, and Coco following rarity, until they burst through a narrow door into a room of absolute pitch black. “Aha!” Rarity cried, horn blazing with righteous radiance. “Show yourself, fiend!”
“Is that… a pony?” Coco asked, catching up to Rarity, slightly out of breath.
In the middle of the room, just barely illuminated by Rarity’s light, stood the figure of a stallion shrouded in black. It recoiled from the light, retreating into a shadowed corner. A painful sounding howl echoed through the room.
“OOoowwwooooHHOOooohooo hoooooo…”
“I- it looks like a pony,” Rarity said uncertainly, trotting forward slowly. “Ahem! Sir? Sir may we help you with something?”
“BWOOOOOHOOOhooohooouuuuuuu!”
“Sir!” Rarity shouted. “May we help you!”
The cry cut off suddenly, as the figure turned to face her. “Egads!” the figure burst, stumbling back. “Who are ye? How dare ye intrude upon my sorrow?”
“Intrude!?” Rarity exclaimed, “Good pony, I believe it is you who are trespassing.”
“A tresspasser!? Moi!? I am Gilbert Gershwhinny! This is MY theatre!”
“Um,” Coco interjected, “Begging your pardon, but the theatre belongs to mister Curtain Call.”
“That child!?” The figure said, aghast. “Neigh! Nay! Is it his name on the front of the building! I think not! I built this theatre with my own two hooves, I’ll have you know! Oh, but alas, nopony will deign to acknowledge a miserable old stallion as myself. Truly the stage is unkind to poor fool such as I!”
“I do not believe it is for unkindness that ponies ignore you,” Rarity said matter of factly, “But rather the small detail that Gilbert Gershwhinny is deceased, almost a decade ago, so you cannot be he.”
“That’s right,” Coco nodded. “The theatre has been run by Mister Call for years.”
“Deceased? Dead? Dearly departed? How dare ye cast these slanderous accusations! For do I not stand here before ye?” The figure stepped into the light, and Rarity and Coco gasped. For the pony indeed bore a striking resemblance to the portrait they had admired in the lobby. But where the pony in the picture was hale and jovial, the stallion standing before them was wan and distressed.
Rarity and Coco stumbled back, shocked by the sight of him. “That- that’s impossible,” Coco stuttered.
“O’ course it’s impossible, do I not stand before ye, clear as day?” the pony claiming the Gershwhinny name demanded, stamping a hoof on the floor.
“Before us you may be,” Rarity countered, “But Gilbert Gershwhinny is undeniably dead.”
“Then what do ye take me for, a fool or a liar?” the stallion demanded. “I’ll not take that from ye, mare or no!”
“S-sir, I think she means, um,” Coco interjected, “If you could just follow us for a moment?”
“Fer what purpose, filly?” the stallion questioned.
“Just… follow me…” Coco swallowed, but she was somehow in the spotlight now. She waved her hoof, and began leading the way through the darkened halls.
“Coco, darling,” Rarity whispered, sidling up to her friend, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Coco shook her head. “Of course not!” she whispered back. “I- I think we’re either dealing with a ghost or a crazy person! I’m just trying to figure something out!”
“Okay, darling, I trust you,” Rarity nodded, falling back. “I’ll back you up however I can.”
Despite the dark, the party soon found themselves back in the grand lobby. The stallion trotted out into the middle of the floor as if… well, as if he owned the place. He took a spin, taking in all the elaborate architecture. “Oh theatre, my theatre! My great masterpiece, how I adore thee!”
“Um, ahem,” Coco cleared her throat, drawing the strange stallion’s attention.
“Yes, lass?” the stallion demanded shortly.
“I… think you need to see this,” Coco said softly, motioning to the alcove with the portrait.
“What, what is so imp- oh.” The stallion froze, upon seeing the portrait. “That- that’s me.” He fell to his haunches, staring up at the image. He raised a hoof, waving it in front of his face. The black cloth slid back, and Rarity and Coco gasped. For even in the dark of the unlit theatre, they could just make out how the hoof seemed… less, somehow. As if it were fading away. “I see.”
Gilbert Gershwhinny, for it was indeed him, stood to his hooves. “Well,” he said, turning to the mares, “I suppose that’s that.”
“We’re very sorry to break the news to you,” Coco said quietly.
“It- it’s alright, lass. I don’t blame ye.” He hung his head, looking defeated. “I guess it’s… about time I moved on, then.”
“One moment, Mr. Gershwhinny,” Rarity interjected, “Don’t go making a hasty retreat just yet, I have a question for you. Is it you who has been terrorizing the production these last weeks?”
Gershwhinny sighed, hanging his head. “Aye. I was… angry? Actin’ out, trying to get somepony, anypony to listen to me. It won’t happen again.”
“Wait, just a moment, sir!” Rarity continued. “I- I have never had opportunity to send a ghost off to their afterlife, but it is my understanding that spirits such as yourself are often held back by- by some sort of regret, or unfinished business.”
“Aye,” Gershwhinny muttered dejectedly. He raised a hoof, running it down the elegant paper on the wall. “This place, it were my great love. But not my first. My first were the stage. But alas, I never had the chops for it. Never was in a play myself. ‘S why I became a patron of the arts.”
“Well,” Rarity said, sharing a glance with Coco. Coco nodded, and Rarity sidled up to the spectrely stallion. “We are in a theatre, sir. Who could say no to a bit of play acting?”
The stage is set. A lone pony stands center stage. A spotlight focuses on her and we see that she is dressed in fine clothes and jewels- a lady.
"Coco!” Rarity cries, throwing her head back as a fan snaps open in her aura, “Coco! Where art thee, my handmaiden?"
"Here, my lady!" Coco curtseys as she steps onstage, bowing to the well dressed mare. "What manner of ailment troubles my mistress?"
Rarity rears up, laying a fetlock across her brow. "An ailment most foul indeed, fair Coco! For you see, this night is the eve of yon Hearth Warming ball, and I am with naught to wear!"
"Fie, this cannot be!” Coco gasps, placing a hoof across her heart. “For thee, my fair lady, to be aught but the fairest lady at the ball would be a sin most heinous! I shall correct this injustice by mine own hoof, and create for the a fine garment the likes of which none have ever seen!”
“Oh Coco, my Coco!” Rarity swoons, and places a kiss on each of her handmaid's cheeks, “Thou art the most loyal of servants. Were it not a matter of station, I would take thee as mine own!”
“My lady!” Coco gasps, “To say such scandalous things! What would the gallantry think to hear such promises?”
“Fie on the gallantry!” Rarity declares, turning on her hoof, “and fie on the courts! Were not love ought to be the greatest force in yonder world? If I had my way-” she pauses dramatically, as a stallion trots onstage.
"My ladies!" Gershwhinny cries. He is dressed as a guard of the court of the Sugar Plum Breezie. "I bear ill tidings! The Wizard of Winter hast declared a curse on the ball. The venue is frozen and the guests are petrified within icy shell! Thou art the last lady of the kingdom."
"Fie! This cannot be!” Rarity gapes. She extends a hoof to Coco. :Come, my handmaiden, fetch me my sword! We shall storm the Winter Mount and beg an explanation from yon wizard."
Coco drops into a deep bow. “As you will, my lady! You know that I am thy shield mare, and shall be by your side, across mountain high and cavern deep.”
“Then come, my loyal mare!”
Scene two. The mountain looms above them. A powerful fan blows from offstage, tugging at their manes. Rarity wields a sword, an elegant rapier of wrought silver. Coco bears a shield, gleaming in the stage lights.Rarity brandishes her weapon, pointing up to the figure at the mountain summit.
“Oh wizard of the Mount, answer me!” she cries against the whipping wind. “For what cause do you bring this blight against our fair kingdom?”
“My cause is my own, little mare!” the wizard answers. He steps out of the shadows, onto the high platform of the set. It is Gershwhinny, now dressed in magus’ robes. “Thy kingdom doth offend me! Ought I not bear my will upon them?” He raises his hoof, and a snowy boulder rolls down the side of the mountain toward the mares.
“Villain!” Coco cries, leaping in front of her lady. She raises her shield, and knocks the oncoming missile aside. The foam prop bounces away, rolling to a stop against the first row of seating. “Thou shallt lay not a hoof upon mine mistress!”
“‘Twill not me by hoof, but the icy blade of winter which ye ponies taste!” Gershwhinny cries. From the ceiling drop windigos. They are pony-shaped props wrapped in gauzy fabric, suspended from a moving track. They begin to circle the mares.
“Your dark magicks will not defeat us!” Rarity cries, running one of them through with her blade. Another approaches from behind, and Coco batters it away with her shield.
The wizard descends the mountain, wielding a blade of ice. He thrusts at Rarity, who parries with her own weapon. They duel, and Coco guards her back from the encroaching windigos. But the wizard gains the upper hoof. He knocks the rapier aside and rears, poised to cast the coup de grace.
“No!” Coco cries, throwing her shield aside. She pushes Rarity away, imposing herself before the falling blade. The tip strikes her, laying her out with a mortal wound.
“Villain!” Rarity spits, taking up her sword once more. “I shall make thee pay for that!” She thrusts, and runs her opponent through. The remaining windigos fall, cut loose from their master’s power. The fight is over. Rarity lets out a wail, and grips her fallen handmaiden tight.
Scene three, at the ball. Rarity is dressed in black, the color of mourning. Figures dance in the shadows, but she stands alone.
A stallion approaches her, light on his feet. It is once again Gershwhinny, now dressed in the finery and trappings of the Sugar Plum Breezie. “My fair lady,” he says, dipping into a deep bow. “The day is saved, the villain slain, and though are the fairest belle of the ball. Why do you weep?”
Rarity turns away, covering her eyes with a forelock. “Speak not to me of happy things, for tonight is a night most foul. For you see, though I hath slain the villain, mine own sacrifice was great. My dear handmaiden has been taken!”
“Fie, this cannot be!” Gershwhinny declares, straightening. He strikes a pose, declaring to the empty audience, “For there may be no tears at this, the greatest of Hearth Warming balls! Look there, to yonder stairway! Doth mine eyes deceive me?”
Rarity turns, and lets out a gasp. The lights shift, and illuminate a figure on the elegant steps. It is Coco, now bedecked in regal finery. A pair of wings spread from her back, and a horn stands proudly atop her head.
“For one who gave all to defend mine kingdom, I grant my favor: the gift of the Breezie King’s life,” Gershwhinny bows, backing away to cede the stage to the mares.
“Mine handmaiden?” Rarity asks, voice weak as she takes a step, “is it really you?”
“‘Tis, my mistress,” Coco says, dipping into a curtsey. “Bedecked in finery, and given the King’s favor, but your very own nonetheless.”
“My Coco,” Rarity sighs, leaning forward to rest her brow against Coco’s.
“My lady!” Coco gasps. She steps away, turning away in shame. “‘Tis not proper. You shall only stir up ill rumors.”
“To Tartarus with rumors!” Rarity cries, “and to Tartarus with the gallantry! I owe thee mine own life, and my life you shall have. Please, if though shall not accept my gratitude, then at least accept mine boon!”
“A boon, my lady?” Coco asks, turning to look at her, a sparkle of hope in her eye.
Rarity bows, dropping almost to the floor. “Whatever you may ask, mine handmaiden.”
Coco blushes, and holds out a hoof. “Then, my lady, if I may be so bold… may I have this dance?”
"Oh,Brava! Brava!" Gershwhinny cheered, clapping his hooves ecstatically. "Magnificent! Delightful! My, what fun!”
Rarity laughed, wrapping a hoof around Coco’s shoulder and taking a bow. “Thank you, Mister Gershwhilly. I had a lovely time as well.”
“Me too!” Coco giggled, eyes bright and starry. “I haven’t done anything like that since I was a filly.”
“Och, ye have a special talent for the stage, lass,” Gershwhinny smiled. He sighed, a deep note of satisfaction. “Oh, would ye look at that…” He raised his hoof, and passed it in front of his face. The limb that was formerly slightly transparent was slowly fading away. He dropped his hoof and grinned. “Well, my good mares, it seems my time has come.”
“Are you so sure?” Rarity asked, placing a hoof at his shoulder. It went through. “There is always magic, you know? Maybe we could-”
Gershwhinny shook his head. “Nay, lass, it is past time. I am content. I thank ye for indulging an old stallion.”
“I’ll never forget you!” Coco cried, as he faded away.
“Aye, lass,” his voice drifted past, as the last traces of his form disappeared. “It’s the best a dramatic old fool like me could hope for.” He laughed, a hearty laugh that lifted the spirits and seemed to linger long after he was gone.
Rarity turned to Coco. Outside, the sun was just starting to rise. Soft light poured in through the front doors, painting the rich tiles and intricate moulding in a golden glow. A beam of light fell across the portrait of Gershwhinny, and for a moment his eyes seemed to dance. Rarity yawned, and Coco hid her mouth behind a hoof as she followed suit.
“Oh my, it is quite late, isn’t it,” Rarity chuckled.
“I think you mean early,” Coco giggled her agreement.
“Quite,” Rarity smiled. “Well, my dear, I’m afraid that we’ve fallen quite behind schedule. What do you say to a cup of coffee before we put our muzzles back the the grindstone?”
Coco leaned against her, a deep exhaustion gripping her to her core. “I think… that sounds lovely.”
