A slow, unbidden smile, not a programmed one, spread across its face, causing the bioluminescent lines on its cheeks to brighten. It gave a hesitant, almost jerky wave back, then, with a flourish that was entirely its own, it performed a low, elegant bow, its movements fluid and precise. A soft, melodious whirring sound, like distant wind chimes, emanated from its vocalizer. It then turned, its body seeming to shimmer, and with a swift, almost theatrical gesture, grabbed a "Plasma-Puff" Bread from a glowing rack and tossed it playfully into the air, catching it with an exaggerated flourish before placing it on the counter, as if to say, 'Anything for a satisfied customer!' The gesture was an unprogrammed act of joy, a small, vibrant show for the being who had just acknowledged its craft.
