Rule them like a Queen

Sophie: "Now... let's see if you're any good at protection services."

You make a call to your workplace informing that you've resigned. Now begins the time-consuming, but not overly laborious task of training the Miles into your little personal army. The larger ones have oxen strength. This combined with their flexibility is an invaluable asset. The smaller ones are very dexterous, and capable of wielding weapons of any type that you can think of throwing at them.

All training happens from the comfort of your home. For about a single week of sustaining on fast food deliveries, you exit the front door, an army of fleshy protrusions following at your wake.

Sophie: "Pizza's gotten real dull. Let's go and eat out."

A single Mile nuzzles the hems of your skirt, seemingly misunderstanding the command. You shoosh it off and explain that you meant dinner.

Your little envoy gathers priceless looks. From bafflement, disgust and awe, you are subject to the entire range of human emotion. One slightly misguided passerby stops to congratulate on your spectacular 'cosplay'.

Problems arise already at the restaurant, as the maître d' is about to faint upon seeing an eldritch tentacle monster trailing a finely dressed woman with a dozen penises growing on her torso enter his establishment.

Maître: "(Mon dieu)..."

Sophie: "I've got a reservation for 'Sophie'."

Maître: "Ah oui, the table for twenty... Eh... Madame, I don't wish to intrude so, but what kind of ungodly creatures are those?"

The head waiter points meekly behind you, to the fleshy monsters heaving up and down like a mesh of skin-colored snakes.

Sophie: "These creatures are my entrusted servants, bodyguards and concubines."

Maître: "I see, I see... But I'm not sure if, *ahem*... if we can accommodate them. One must consider other customers, you see. Not to mention the fire safety hazards, or the... ugh, hygiene issues."

Sophie: "Come on, don't be a bitch."

Maître: "Madame, I couldn't possibly allo-"

In irritation, you cut the man off.

Sophie: "Okay I didn't wanna resort to this, but you're kinda leaving me hanging. Miles: accost this interloper!"

In a slick passing moment, the Maître finds himself constricted from the wrists, and being torn towards the exit.

Maître: "Merde! Unhand me at once, this is highly inappropriate!"

Sophie: "Toss this vagrant out on the street. This restaurant is only for fine patrons like myself and my cock monsters."

The Miles, following your command, eject the gentleman onto the patio. As the Miles bunch up to seal the front door, you can still hear his muffled yelling:

Maître: "(You can't do this! I'll inform the law!)"

Sophie: "That's just how I like it."

Your lopsided entourage seats itself, much to the disgust of other diners. It's clearly just jealous and inconsiderate rabble who whisper hurtful lies at your expense. You snap at an adjacent table who keeps sneering at you dismissively.

Sophie: "Hey, if you gotta problem, you can tell it to my face loud and clear!"

You gesture at the Miles, who all simultaneously direct themselves towards your neighbouring table, to great effect.

Patron 1: "Uh... nothing, nothing! I was just admiring your handsome and, and oh... obedient little... pets."

The Miles lose their tension and shake around in agreement upon receiving this praise, dishonest though it may be. You're not so easily diverted, and slowly, with squinted eyes, turn back to leaf through the menu.

The waiter eventually musters the courage to show his face. His face, weakly holding a faked smile.

Waiter: "A-are you ready to order?"

Sophie: "Hmph, yes. We'll have a single sirloin steak, and nineteen of the most protein-stuffed dishes you've got."

Waiter: "Oi oi, that would be the Egg Benedict. I'll bring you a bread basket post-haste; A large order like this might take a long while. I hope madame understands?"

Sophie: "Naturally."

You sit and wait patiently. Half an hour goes by, as the other patrons slowly, nervously migrate further away from your table. You pay them no mind - sure, you want to flaunt your power and be a bitch, but frankly you symphatize with them. The Miles have quite the 'distinctive' fragrance to them.

After about half an hour of waiting, a bunch of people storm the dining room through the kitchen, and they sure as hell aren't carrying food.