The enthusiasm his new officer displayed only brought a ball of mixed emotions in his canine gut. He pushed himself away from his seat and went over to the waitress to pay for his own part of the meal, all while the cogs in his mind spun and tinkered; clearly she was a rookie, she had very little clue on how to treat a K-9 unit, but that did not mean she wouldn't learn from her colleagues. The enthusiasm she portrayed endeared him, but also concerned him, knowing that this sort of energy would fade abruptly once she would hit a hard wall. It would be that hardship that would determine who she really is, and quite unfortunately, Miles was convinced that it would not end happily.

[i]Might as well enjoy it while it lasts[i], he thought bitterly, [i]once she learns that she's got a leash and a whip in her hands, there'll be nothing to stop her from turning me into Kommissar Rex.[/i]

The canine adjusted his belt as he got out of the locale, immediately throwing his gaze left and right to scan the area for any possible threat; his augmented senses helped him to identify any odd smell floating in the air, but thankfully, there was no peculiar odor to attract his attention. The same as always: sweat, gasoline, farts, smelly underwear, nose-chapping [i]eau de toilette[/i], but no dubious substance. He could hear activity from quite a distance, but it would mostly be the usual racket a bustling city would give off. Finally, he had to rely on his eyes to look for anyone especially dubious; thanks to his experience, the ones who either smelled particularly bad, or of very cheap cologne, were the ones he would have to identify by their looks. Again, nothing particularly out of the order. None of these were done in a conscious manner, Miles had trained enough to do everything out of reflex, while hiding it all with an inconspicuous demeanor.

To keep this demeanor, he completely refused to take the passenger's seat and instead, hopped on the back seat. Before Christa could complain about it, the canine made sure to interrupt her mid-sentence, knowing that he could still be bold enough to talk over a police officer:

"This isn't your patrol car, darling." Miles commented, sighing as he stretched his legs across the back seats. "Someone else will take this enforcer, and once they do and find strands of my fur on the shotgun side, they'll search for you. Then, they'll get to me."

"Now I know, we can forget about the mutt, he'd get away with a beating and some off-time pinned next to the kennel. But, you will also get sanctioned, and believe me, you don't want to be viewed as a sympathizer. You'll be dead within a day, then reemployed at McDonald's the day after."