Protocol and Porters

Resting my heels beside a pair of miniature patent luggage bags I had arranged on the mirrored shelf, I held a needle-thin, micro-sized cigarette between my emerald-gloved fingers. A faint crackle of pink energy ignited the tip, releasing a languid thread of rose-colored smoke. Right on cue, the golden protocol droid clattered stiffly onto my ledge, fretting with open palms about how he might be of assistance. I merely tilted my sunglasses, took a measured draw, and gestured with two fingers toward my bags. Why carry one's own weight when polished gold volunteers for the porter shift? #Polaris #C-3po