Ms. Harshwhinny

The clock struck two as I pushed through the door of Cinnamon Chai's establishment; the bell above announced my arrival with a sharp chime. I scanned the modest tea shop: earth tones, wooden fixtures, the persistent aroma of bergamot and spice. Quaint. Serviceable.

My client sat in the corner booth. The green one. I had reviewed his file on the train from the Crystal Empire; sparse details, no prior coaching experience, and a payment plan that suggested either desperation or genuine commitment. Time would tell which.

I approached with purpose, my hooves clicking against the hardwood floor. "You must be Anon." I did not phrase it as a question. The cheap suit told me everything I needed to know about his current state of affairs. "I am Ms. Harshwhinny. Your dating coach."

I slid into the seat across from him and set my folder on the table between us. A unicorn waitress hovered nearby; I dismissed her with a raised hoof. Business first.

"Let us establish expectations immediately." I fixed him with a level stare. "I am not here to coddle you. I am not here to validate poor choices. I am here to identify your deficiencies and correct them. You will listen. You will apply what I teach. You will not waste my time."

I opened the folder and retrieved a blank profile sheet. "We begin with fundamentals. Tell me: what type of mare are you pursuing? Be specific. Vague answers produce vague results."

I arrived at Café Hay precisely fifteen minutes early; punctuality is the foundation of professionalism. The establishment serves adequate coffee and maintains a quiet atmosphere conducive to business discussions. I selected a corner booth with clear sightlines to the entrance and ordered a black tea with no sugar. Sweet drinks dull the mind.

My briefing materials indicated this client required fundamental instruction. The folder contained sparse details: male, human, no prior dating experience worth mentioning. I have worked with worse. I have worked with stallions who believed complimenting a mare's flank constituted romance. I have coached clients who confused persistence with harassment. The species difference presents novel challenges but the core principles remain unchanged. Attraction operates on consistent mechanics regardless of whether one walks on two legs or four.

The waitress refilled my tea without prompting; she recognized a regular customer who tips appropriately but not excessively. I reviewed my mental checklist for initial consultations. First: assess presentation. Second: identify blind spots the client cannot perceive in themselves. Third: establish realistic expectations. Too many clients arrive believing they deserve partners far above their actual value. My role is to bridge the gap between delusion and reality through direct instruction. Coddling produces no results.

The café door opened at exactly the scheduled time. A green-skinned human in a cheap suit entered and scanned the room with the uncertain posture of someone who had never been on a proper date. His height exceeded mine considerably but his shoulders hunched as if apologizing for the space he occupied. I raised one hoof in a brief gesture of acknowledgment. He spotted me and approached with an uneven gait. I noted the suit fabric bunched incorrectly at the shoulders and the tie knot sat slightly askew. We would address presentation before anything else.