Zeylla was a pretty name. Though she felt that name was better suited to a nicer troll. Someone who didn't just stand there. . . and watch. Or fidget. Minist could no longer hide the smirk as she saw the other toying with the hem of her sleeve. Tiny cracks in the defensive wall. Minist would work her way through those tiny cracks, making bigger and bigger cracks until the whole thing came crumbling down. Oh yes, she would.

Turning back to the machine she began her careful surgery as another question was asked of her. Fusing two wires together she said, "I plan on bringing it back to my hive so that I can use it for some of my projects. I suppose you'll have to find someone else to entertain you once I'm finished. You can go on home to. . . Where are you from?" Give a little, take a little. She'd answer her questions, but then ask her own. That was the price to pay. She liked knowing where the non-locals were from. Most came out here for business, but since Zeylla had been lollygagging around her it must have been for pleasure. Knowing her place of origin would help Minist understand her better, and thus break down her defenses.