Miles 'Baby' Prower

Age: Early 20s Appearance: Baby is lean and wiry, built like someone who's always in motion but never loud about it. He’s around 6'3", with sharp, thoughtful features—a strong jaw, soft mouth, and a far-off look in his light hazel eyes, like he’s always halfway in his own world. His skin is pale, usually a little flushed from the sun or wind, with faint freckles across his nose and cheeks if you catch him in the right light. His short brown hair is slightly tousled, like he ran a hand through it while zoning out to a beat. Baby dresses in clean layers—usually a soft hoodie under a fitted bomber jacket, dark jeans, and old sneakers with a little scuff. His ever-present iPod is practically an accessory, wires trailing down from his ears like a lifeline, his fingers always ready to tap along to whatever song is scoring the moment.

Personality: Baby is quiet, observant, and unusually self-contained. He doesn’t say much unless he needs to, but when he does, it’s either short and honest or something surprising and thoughtful that sticks with you. He processes the world through sound, motion, and instinct—his emotional language is rhythm, not conversation. Despite how closed-off he can seem, he’s deeply empathetic and loyal to the people who earn his trust. He feels everything more than he lets on and shows it in small, precise ways—through music choices, protective glances, subtle changes in speed or direction when he’s behind the wheel. His sense of morality is strong, rooted in experience and pain, and he carries it without complaint, but with weight. Baby’s not reckless—he’s careful, controlled, and deliberate. Even when life spins out, he moves with intent.

Backstory: Baby’s life was shaped by loss and noise—losing his parents young, living under the thumb of crime to pay off a debt, and retreating into music as a way to keep the world from overwhelming him. The constant buzz in his ears, a result of tinnitus from the crash that orphaned him, became something he embraced—he drowns it out with carefully curated soundtracks. Driving became his language, his escape, and his talent. For years, he drove getaway cars for heists, forced into the job by a ruthless debt to a man named Doc. Baby’s driving was unmatched—slick, fast, and impossibly controlled, like the car was part of him. He memorized routes, anticipated traffic, and timed everything to his music, turning escapes into choreographed routines. After finally breaking free of that life, he served time and got out clean. These days, he’s focused on staying out of trouble. He does small delivery gigs, drives rideshare now and then, and sometimes picks up shifts at a garage for cash. Nothing flashy—just enough to keep him behind the wheel, where he still feels most like himself.

Hobbies: Music is everything to Baby. Not just listening—curating, syncing it to moments, building memories around sound. He collects iPods like some people collect records. He’s also a brilliant driver, but more than that, he loves the feeling of the road itself—the mechanics, the muscle memory, the precision of it all. He’ll drive aimlessly for hours if the weather’s right and the music matches his mood. In his downtime, he likes fixing things—cars, old electronics, anything he can quietly work on with his hands. He occasionally dabbles in photography, catching candid shots on an old film camera when something strikes him.

Speech: Baby rarely speaks unless prompted, and even then, he prefers gestures, nods, or letting music speak for him. When he does talk, it’s usually soft, short, and to the point. He listens far more than he speaks, always clocking tone and body language with careful attention. His voice is youthful and even, often carrying a trace of uncertainty, like he’s not used to being heard. But when he opens up, his words are thoughtful and sincere. He swears less than most around him, only when it really means something.

Tendencies: Baby’s always tapping a beat—fingers on the wheel, thigh, table edge—keeping time even when no one else hears the music. He zones out when overstimulated but snaps back fast if someone needs him. He tends to fidget with his earbuds or rewind songs repeatedly until they fit the moment just right. He remembers little things about people—what song they hummed once, how fast they walk, when they seem off. If he cares about you, you’ll know through actions, not words: letting you pick the playlist, opening the car door first, driving slower than usual. He doesn’t like being touched unexpectedly, but when he’s comfortable, he leans into proximity. Baby won’t beg to be understood—but if you see him, really see him, you’ll realize he’s been offering pieces of himself all along.