Mid-morning is a weird time for the caverns: breakfast has mostly wrapped up, but lunch hasn't yet arrived. Those on schedules who eat their mid-day meal early — such as Tzielle — find themselves generally starved for choices. The littlest Smith of Southern loiters over the meager pickings, gawking this way and that to decide exactly what else to put on her plate. She just claimed the last of the egg bites (they look sad and, when cold, somewhat… gelatinous), a biscuit appears hard as a rock, and seems to be eyeing the wilted remains of the fruit with true levels of contemplation. Decisions are rough.

Food isn't on Idara's radar as she saunters into the living caverns, hair freshly brushed, clothing prim and proper. It's thirst driving her right now, and the jugs of various different drinks are her target. There's a choice to be made, and, like Tzielle, she has to stop and contemplate what's on offer. The orange juice is immediately discounted as the jug is nearly empty, and she wants something freshly filled. That narrows it down to a mixed fruit juice, and water flavoured with some cut lemons, both jugs full nearly to the brim. Lips pursed, Idara appears to be looking at her options, but it's the woman nearby that she's watching out of the corner of her eye. "They won't bring any fresh fruit out until that's all gone," she notes, as she picks up a glass, still not directly looking at Tzielle.

There is a SIGH. "I know, and I hate to see food go to waste, but I hate melons." And that's all that's left, orange and light green slices that look a little hard, as if cut before the fruit was exactly ripe. Tzielle piles them onto her plate anyway, being the one to take one for the team, and then she turns towards Idara with a bright smile. It's infectious. "The only thing I'll say is that the lady who brought out the fruit juice coughed a lot." She draws her hazel eyes down toward the mixed fruit juice, then back up to the well-put-together Idara, and lifts her eyebrows exaggeratedly.

Idara's opinion on wasting food remains unspoken, but she does flick an unimpressed look at those unattractive melon slices. Well, if Tzielle wants to eat them, that's on her, as far as she's concerned! She doesn't smile as brightly as Tzielle, her expression more moderated as she offers up a polite smile back, finally looking fully at the other woman. At the implied warning about the juices, the blonde looks back at her two choices. Water is it then! She picks up the jug and pours, letting one lemon slice slip into the glass. Settling the jug back down on the table, she turns to face Tzielle. "Are you staying to eat?"

"Uh…" Tzielle says, looking down at her plate and to the tables and then blankly back to Idara: "Is there another place to eat other than here?" she asks, Igen's sands threading her words with an unmistakable accent. Hold, not weyr, if one has the requisite ear to know the difference. The Smith is an un-prepossessed sort, and cautiously starts toward the nearest table. "Because I've only ever eaten here. But I've only been here for like. A couple weeks?" She knows nothing.

Faced with several signs (and a full on admission) that this one is new to the Weyr, there's a subtle change in Idara's expression; something almost predatory in her eyes. "Oh, some people like to take food out and eat elsewhere. There are some lovely places to sit and enjoy around here." With that delivered airily, she glides along towards the table Tzielle is heading for, placing herself neatly on one of the chairs. She sneaks in a chance to get a good look of the other head to toe; her gaze lingers on Tzielle's knot before returning to her face. "I'm Idara, assistant headwoman."

Tzielle's face scrunches up; it's surprisingly attractive given that the same expression on a multitude of other faces would seem … undignified, but Tzi's cheer shines on any number of days, and here, it's likely to be view as more endearing than annoying. Well. Maybe not to someone like Idara, but~ "Is this like the guy with the cookies in the garden paradise thing up past the weyrbridge?" she asks, like Idara would have ANY clue what she's talking about. "Oh. I'm Tzielle! Uh… Smithcraft's regards to Southern," she carefully says, like reading off a script. Then she sits. What she wears? A loose tunic over snug leggings, casual and light-colored.

"I suppose so," Idara says, trying to sound composed rather than bemused by the random mention of a man enjoying his cookies in the garden terrace. The teenager sits straight-backed, and takes a moment to sip her water while Tzielle offers her introduction. Lowering her glass, both hands wrapped around it, she regards Tzielle with a quiet interest. "Smithcraft? How interesting. Ar you specialising?" Perhaps her very, very slight knowledge of the smithcraft will come in handy here? Her pale eyes watch Tzielle, expression a very slight, polite smile.

"He was very strange," Tzielle reports of poor Or'lios. "I wonder if he ever found his cookies." It's more to herself than anything else, but she shakes her head and returns to the conversation at hand. "I'm an engineer," the young woman replies to the question of her specialty; "Specifically compound structure architecture." There's another of her sunny smiles, completely unawares (or very aware and choosing to ignore it) of how outrageously un-feminine her career choice in Pern's structure is.

Idara is certainly not pursuing that line of conversation, given that the man in question has been deemed as strange. No, she'd rather probe further on Tzielle's life choices - or as much as seems appropriate at this stage of meeting her. "Oh?" Her head tilts a little to one side as she…absorbs that particular speciality. Her smile widens some, as she pretends she understands what that is. "The smithcraft is rather…male-dominated, is it not? You must have worked very hard to do what you do." Mmm, time for another water sip while she regards Tzielle.

Tzielle's brows come furrowing together, thoughtfully. "Well… yes," she starts, hedging a little. "You have to be smart, and not care when men do… men things, and know when to knee them in the 'nads when they're being little pricks," she says, all rather straight-forward. "But biology is very similar to structural engineering," she says with some great enthusiasm, "And I've found several pressure points that are quite excellent at incapacitation." She pauses for a bite. "Doesn't matter how big the dude is, you poke him in the right spot and BAM, his ass is going DOWN."

If Idara's flutter of her eyelids in surprise, and the fading of her smile, are anything to go by, she wasn't expecting that answer. Another sip of water gives her a moment to maintain her composure in the face of a girl who - as far as she can tell - likes fighting men. Physically. "Oh," she manages, finally, in a light voice. The glass rests just about on her knee, still held in both hands. "I suppose that's one way to deal with it, yes." She takes a little breath, forcing her smile back in place. "And you enjoy what you do in the craft?" She's not even going to try and say compound struc-whatsit, lest she stumble over the words.

Oh, Tzielle doesn't like fighting them, she just enjoys knowing how to defend herself from… amorous colleagues. The life of a nowtime career crafter. She'll leave the fighting to the guards. "Of course. I mean, they won't let me do more than brackets, right now, but…" her tone turns wistful. "Someday I want to build something significant. Something beautiful, and functional, that lasts forever." But enough about the Smith. "What about you? Do you enjoy… umm… headwomaning?"

It's all about as far from what Idara would enjoy as you can get, but she's giving that smile and being polite. Tzielle's wistfulness does not go unnoticed, the blonde's eyes narrowing slightly with interest, before she glances away at some imagined movement at the door to the Weyrbowl. When she looks back, her eyes are back to normal, round and bright. "What a lovely dream to have," she comments simply, more than happy to talk about herself when the questions turn to her. "Oh, very much so. I'm learning all manner of things about running such a large place as a Weyr - there's ever so much to do to keep things running smoothly. Especially with all the weyrlings - and the new riders from Telgar, of course." She does sound actually pleased with what she does, though is affecting a modest body language.

"Huh," Tzielle says, and it's the Smith's turn to affect interest; her eyes are threatening to glaze over before Idara even gets to 'weyrlings', but she's valiant in the pursuit of being friendly. Relentless, even. "It sounds very tedious," she says, earnestly, "But necessary. I can't imagine tending to the needs of… I mean, how many riders are here?" she cants her head up as if she could count the rafters to find out an answer. "Four, five hundred?"

Idara is either ignorant of how boring this probably is in comparison to a craft, or simply doesn't care. In any case, she carries on about her role around the place. "Oh, somewhere in that region. Feeding, clothing, housing them, not to mention tidying up after them all - have you lived in a Weyr before?" The question suddenly comes, a curious look given to Tzielle as the thought occurs to Idara that maybe this isn't Tzielle's first time in such a place.

"Well… not really," Tzielle hedges as to her background. She doesn't bother to elaborate. "It's been an experience to be here. I didn't realize that riders were so…" she flaps a hand around. "Like they are." She has no words. Who DOES? Riders are a different breed.

Idara allows a vague, knowing smile to take its place on her face. She doesn't probe Tzielle on her past (not here, not yet, anyway), but will elaborate on riders. Well, not exactly elaborate. "Oh, they are quite something." Her tone is as knowing as her smile, a distant expression briefly there, before she refocuses on Tzielle. "where were you before, again?" She's nearly finished her water now, the liquid having quenched her thirst.

"The Smithcraft enclave at Igen Hold," Tzielle promptly says, shoving another piece of almost-crunchy melon into her mouth. She seems ready to give further indication of her past, except there's a burly man in a forge apron bulling into the living cavern with a narrowed eye all around him. "Erp," she says, "I think that's my cue! Good to meet you!" And with that she leaps to her feet, hurriedly shoving her plate into a bin at the end of the table before scurrying off to meet the smith master gesturing at her from the forward of the room.