[Miles is anything but clumsy when setting his traps, at least when not under duress. This isn't a trap. He feels instead a bit like he's luring out a rare bird-- a bird of prey, he amends, which makes it more exciting.
He strides into the small park at a steady clip. Miles thinks quickly, talks quickly, and walks just as fast, enough to keep up with a motivated person two feet taller than him, though he has no one accompanying him. His shortness is mitigated by a sheer aura of presence, an indomitable willpower that seems to dare anyone to dismiss him. Spine straight and confident, he suits his uniform well, an old-fashioned thing in brown and silver cut exactly to his proportions. Notably, he carries a stunner under his left arm beneath his jacket, a futuristic weapon that he's comfortable enough with not to alter his gait or posture any.
Miles breezes over to the first bench he finds in a small clearing. Perhaps he should've given more precise directions. Oh well. She'll find him eventually. He hops onto the bench and settles himself with casual unconcern, keeping occupied during the wait by dismantling the communications band at his wrist, an extremely high tech, expensive device that is utterly refusing to work. Miles is no tech, but he knows enough to give this a good poke, and he can't stand being idle. There's a restless quality to his fiddling even now.
Despite appearances, he's somewhat difficult to sneak up on, alert as he is for the approach and deeply ingrained to be perpetually on the lookout for assassins. But he's certainly playing innocent civilian well. Harmless. I'm harmless. Come here, birdie. I could really use an ally.]
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He strides into the small park at a steady clip. Miles thinks quickly, talks quickly, and walks just as fast, enough to keep up with a motivated person two feet taller than him, though he has no one accompanying him. His shortness is mitigated by a sheer aura of presence, an indomitable willpower that seems to dare anyone to dismiss him. Spine straight and confident, he suits his uniform well, an old-fashioned thing in brown and silver cut exactly to his proportions. Notably, he carries a stunner under his left arm beneath his jacket, a futuristic weapon that he's comfortable enough with not to alter his gait or posture any.
Miles breezes over to the first bench he finds in a small clearing. Perhaps he should've given more precise directions. Oh well. She'll find him eventually. He hops onto the bench and settles himself with casual unconcern, keeping occupied during the wait by dismantling the communications band at his wrist, an extremely high tech, expensive device that is utterly refusing to work. Miles is no tech, but he knows enough to give this a good poke, and he can't stand being idle. There's a restless quality to his fiddling even now.
Despite appearances, he's somewhat difficult to sneak up on, alert as he is for the approach and deeply ingrained to be perpetually on the lookout for assassins. But he's certainly playing innocent civilian well. Harmless. I'm harmless. Come here, birdie. I could really use an ally.]