"And now! For my next tri--" Both of Miles' hands, fingers spread, in mid announcement as they were and raised high in the suspension of their embrace of the air, paused with the same uneasy confidence with which the rest of him followed suit. The only hint that there was something amiss, or rather, something noticeably being analyzed within that consistently and constantly cynical mind of his, was the fact that his upper lip, thin mustache and all, was curled.
He let out the breath that he was holding in, though he did not quite yet retreat his arms. They lay there still raised, barely burning, barely yearning to be put back down. It was too much of a shock, what had just so suddenly happened... but for someone already slightly having their toe in another realm entirely, why, it hardly seemed too much of a hassle. This was a dream? Yes. And perhaps this dream had diet coke.
Miles Glass, magician, illusionist, maverick. His nightly engagements include performing magic shows in which ever venue he so feels like choosing, performing magic tricks in the street to collect money for his "hobbies" if need be, and/or granting favors for those less fortunate, those less intelligent, or those with less than their means. But tonight, he was um... well well, he'd thought, as he'd looked down at his nice suit, tonight he was apparently quite lucky! He was as well equipped with cigarettes, odd, hadn't he quite long ago?
Finally lowering his arms, he'd smiled the way a wolf does when it sees a baby lamb unsupervised...
This was just his cup of diet coke!
"Apparently, you might as well steal, too." he'd suggested, offering her the lighter he'd gathered up within his pocket.