“And here we go,” said the unicorn, “one cup of tea for my favorite customer, just the way she likes it.”

Prim Hemline’s gaze did not lift from the wide array of writings splayed out in front of her.

“I wouldn’t be surprised to hear I was your only customer, Mr. Spoon.” Her hoof swiped away a group of papers to reveal a patch of table in front of her. “Set it here if you please.”

The big brown stallion smiled easily and levitated a saucer and steaming cup into place as he moved to sit across the table from Prim. His cream aura picked up a clear canister and shook the contents.

“Sugar?”

“No thank you.”

“Milk?”

“No. Thank you.”

“How about a cheese Danish? Cherry pie? Fried bananas? Chimichangas?”

Prim’s brow twitched and her eyes finally rose above her reading spectacles to regard the stallion.

“Don’t you have a job to be doing, Mister Spoon?”

“Eh,” the stallion grunted, leaning back against the window, “I’m uh, attending to the needs of my customer, y’know?”

“And I can assure those needs have been met. Satisfactorily.”

“Well…looks like you could use the company.”

Prim folded her hooves and leaned over the table, smiling sweetly.

“And it looks like you’re searching for any excuse not to clean this pigsty of an establishment.”

The stallion snorted lightly. “Guilty.” His hoof reached behind him to tap the window. “But nobody’ll be coming in today with this weather we got here, ‘sides the regulars, so why bother, y’know?”

Outside, the rain slammed down hard against the glass, dowsing Manehattan’s buildings and streets into a tableau of muddy brown and gray. Even looking out into the middle of the normally bustling metropolis, not a pony could be seen braving the awful weather.
Prim sighed, lifting her cup to sip the first of her tea. Perfect, as expected.

“I wouldn’t speak so soon.”

As she spoke, the bell above the front door jangled, but its ringing was quickly drowned out by the roar of wind and rain entering from outside. A pony stood at the entrance, large black bags draping heavily over her back and struggling to pull her drenched mane out of her eyes.

Spoon was already up and trotting over in a flash, smiling all the way.

“Hey, I’m Greasy Spoon, and welcome to my place. Anything I can get?”

The mare wiped away her waterlogged bangs out of her bright, cyan eyes.

“Um, yes, table for one please?”

“Oh, I’m sorry little miss,” Spoon’s posture immediately stiffened as his voice took on the tone of a Canterlotian noble, “I’m afraid we have a very long wait this afternoon. It might be a few hours until you can be seated.”

The mare peered throughout the diner, noting that it was completely empty, save a lone earth pony mare reading and drinking tea in a booth by the windows.

“Um, but…there’s a lot of empty tables here,” the mare mumbled, utterly befuddled.

Spoon couldn’t hold up the act and let out a dopey chuckle.

“It was a joke, sweetheart. Sit anywhere you like.”

“Don’t mind him, dear,” Prim intoned, not looking up from her papers, “he likes to think that he’s amusing.”

The stallion took on a faux expression of hurt and muttered, “I am funny though...”

The mare nodded, and grabbed the bags off her back. She turned a questioning glance to Spoon.

“Put those up here if you want.”

“They’re a little wet.”

“I don’t really mind.”

With a loud Whump! the bags landed on the counter, water beginning to spill over the edges. Spoon was suddenly behind the counter with a towel floating in the air as he tossed an extra to the mare, who squeaked quietly before she caught it with both hooves.

“That one’s for you, dry yourself up a bit before you catch a cold.”

The mare hummed gratefully as she ran the warm towel through her light cyan mane.

“Now then,” Spoon said as he wiped the countertop clean, “What’ll you be having today?”

“Um,” the mare reached a hoof between two of the bags to pull out a small, damp purse, “what can I order for…” A meager number of coins spilled out onto the counter. “Three bits!?”

The stallion was taken aback as his customer launched herself into a near breakdown.

“Oh no, how did I spend so much of my money today? Do I even have enough to get home? I knew I shouldn’t have taken those carriages; I should’ve saved my money! How can I-wait, maybe I can walk, but, oh my goodness, how far away is that!? Where in Celestia’s name-“

“Hang on there, calm down!” Spoon interjected his voice into the panicking mare’s derailing speech.

The mare seemed to realize how loudly she had been shouting as her pale coat shifted to a more scarlet hue. Her front hooves fidgeted on the stool below her.

Seeing that his customer seemed to be calming herself, Spoon began to speak low and quiet.

“It’s alright, the first meal is on me, it’s my policy here,” his hoof gestured up to the wall behind him, “See?”

A bronze plaque sat up on the wall, proclaiming, “The Greasy Spoon, Where Our Customer’s First Meal is On Us!” in shiny black letters.

The mare seemed to sink down below the counter in embarrassment.

“Not really my most financially sound policy…”said Spoon, tapping a hoof to his chin before smiling widely, “but I love repeat customers, y’know? And once you get a taste of our cookin’, you’ll be back tomorrow morning for breakfast!” The stallion leaned over the counter, waggling his eyebrows. “Sooo…”

The mare seemed to collect enough of herself to sit straight up on the stool.

“Do you have any pancakes?”

“Pfha!” The stallion guffawed as the mare flinched back. “’Do we have any-‘ of course we have pancakes! The best ones in town, I might add! Just you wait till you get a taste of these!”

Spoon called out over his withers to shout through the large ordering window into the dark kitchen behind. “Shorty! I need some pancakes out here!”

The kitchen remained silent.

“Short Stack! I got a customer here who needs an order of your famous pancakes!”

“Tell him to go buck himself!”

Spoon turned around and leaned his head through the window.

“Short Stack! I got a young mare here that needs an order of your famous pancakes!”

Spoon stepped back as the kitchen lights suddenly blazed on and a cacophony of metal and swearing reverberated through the walls. A large head suddenly popped up from behind the window.

“Sorry miss, don’t mean to offend you none,” the old stallion spoke gruffly. “Gimme a few minutes and I’ll have some of the finest pancakes you ever ate sitting right there in front of you.”

The mare nodded meekly as the head disappeared behind the window as quick as it came.

“Don’t mind him,” said Spoon, gesturing to the window, “he’s a bit of a grumpy foal when the weather’s bad.”

“…that’s okay, it is pretty bad weather out there.”

“Yep.”

Outside, the wind and rain were clearly not letting up in the slightest, as the storm howled its way through the streets.

“So,” said Spoon, “I always like to know a bit about who my customers are, so let me re-introduce myself.” A foreleg extended over the table. “Greasy Spoon.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t mention my name earlier!” She smiled for the first time since she entered the diner, reaching out a foreleg to gently bump Spoon’s. “I’m Coco.”

“Nice to meet you Coco!” Spoon grinned an impossibly honest grin. “And that’s okay. So, what brings you here today?”

“Well, actually, I just moved to Manehattan today. From Pleasant Pastures.”

“Really? This is your very first day? How’re you liking our little town so far? Er,” Spoon glanced out the windows, “what you can see of
it, at least.”

Coco seemed to finally be relaxing on her stool.

“Um…it’s nice I think. I’ve been a little busy moving in to my new apartment. And I had an interview today,” she nodded her head to the bags still sitting on the counter beside her, “so I haven’t done much yet.”

“Oh, is that what these are for?” Spoon eyed the damp and lumpy bags. He began to absent-mindedly polish the countertop. “What kind of job are you going for?”

“A fashion designer!” Coco shouted, smiling, her eyes seeming to shine with a passion. “I’ve always loved clothes, and once I got my cutie mark,” she glanced back to the feathered hat adorning her rear, “I knew exactly what I would be. So I decided to come here after I graduated school, to Manehattan, the fashion capital of the world, and become a respected designer!” She started to sag a little in her stool.

“But, my interview today didn’t go so well.” She sagged a little further. “Actually, it wasn’t good at all. I’m a little worried now.”

“Ahh,” Spoon sighed, “’Manehattan is a mare’, indeed.”

“Um, what?

“Oh, you don’t know that saying, ‘Manehattan is a mare, she’ll make you cry?’ No?”

Coco shook her head.

“Well…uh, pretty much means that the city is gonna be tough on anypony who starts out here. But, y’know, you just gotta stick through with it!”

Coco was staring intently at the ground, her brow furrowed. Slowly, she lifted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

“Yeah you’re right Mister Spoon! I just…I just have to keep staying positive! Yes! I can…I can do this. I just need to believe I can do it.”

“Well if that isn’t the silliest and most childish thing I’ve heard today.”

Coco nearly leapt into the air in fright. Behind her, wearing a deep scowl, was Prim Hemline.

“I’ve been listening to you two rambling on from my table.” She stamped her hoof into the tile. “You do not become a fashion designer through sheer optimism,” Prim nearly spat the last word, “you become a designer through your skills, experience, and just how well connected you are in the industry.” Her eyes narrowed at the young mare. “And I don’t believe you to be any of these things.”

Coco seemed to wither in her seat while Spoon took on an uncharacteristic frown.

“Prim! How could you say something like-“

“Wait, Prim…Hemline?” Coco seemed to perk up slightly. “You’re…you’re the famous fashion critic, right? Prim Hemline?”

Despite her scowl, one of her brows raised itself up.

“Well. At least you know who I am.”

“Y-yes, I’ve read a lot of your articles. Um, I really liked the one you wrote on understanding color stimuli in the fashion world and
applying it to different colored fabrics to influence a ponies opinion on clothing.”

Prim’s other brow raised to meet its sibling.

For a second.

Her face resumed its narrowed and tight expression.

“Well then, let me see your designs.”

Coco gawped at the mare.

“Wait, you want me, er, um, right now…?” she trailed off meekly.

“Yes, right now. Do you think I have all day?” Prim retorted sharply as she hopped up onto the stool closest to the black bags. “These are your garment bags, yes? Open them.”

Coco seemingly snapped out of her stunned stupor as she rushed and fumbled to open the bags. Inside each were dresses swathed in gorgeous colors, a dress for each season, or any specific event one could use a dress for. It was a wide-ranged and well put together portfolio. Prim leaned over the counter, her critical eye judging the entire array within a minute, her hoof trailing along the seams of the outfits. She had only one word in mind as she leaned back in her stool.

“Unremarkable.”

Coco slumped again in her stool for what seemed like the millionth time. The corners of her eyes grew misty as she wondered if this was a beginning trend of negativity towards her designs.

“Spoon, get me a quill and some paper.”

Greasy Spoon stood dumbly behind his counter.

“Uh…”

“Quill and paper now, please!”

Spoon bolted quickly into the kitchen.

Coco turned to Prim, her lips quivering.

“W-w-what?”

Prim turned her head to the young mare.

“Your designs are unremarkable dear,” her hoof gestured over the table, “but your hoof skills are marvelous, and especially so for an earth pony, who would have much less control than a unicorn. Your stitchings are near perfect.”

Spoon trotted back into the room, a quill and paper levitating in front of him and onto the table.

“From what I see here, I would suggest that you start looking for an assistant’s position, or become a seamstress. That is where your current strengths lie, and that is where you will want to start if you are to become a part of the fashion industry.”

As Prim gripped the quill in her mouth and began to write, Coco could only stare at the mare. ‘Is this really happening?’ She thought to herself.

Prim placed the quill down and slid the paper over to Coco. In neat and organized mouth-writing, a list of names stood out on the paper.

“That is a group of ponies who know me. They will be your best bet for employment in this city, if you tell them I have recommended you to them.”

Prim hopped off her stool and began to trot away from the counter to the door. The rain had stopped. Short Stack emerged from the kitchen and placed a steaming plate of pancakes in front of Coco. She didn’t notice.

“I believe you’ll be a good fashion designer, someday. I have great expectations for you. I’ll see you again.” She nodded to Spoon, who was grinning hugely. “Your pay is on the table, Spoon.”