Sirana surprises Drasta by actually showing up with her promised machine...and making it work

Drasta waits in the clearing, having taken a position on an outcropping of rock. She's not sitting; rather, she is in watch mode, scanning the area for the promised visitor. As always, she has Owen with her, and a few other...friends...waiting in the brush beyond the clearing. Just in case.

Owen is sitting and waiting, actually. He's cross-legged on the same rocky outcrop, but on a ledge a little below where Drasta has taken position. He is actively scanning the woods, however, waiting for some sign of Sirana--maybe a squeak of wheels, or a rustling in the bushes. The former colonist thinks the later is far more likely than the former; having expressed that opinion loudly and often enough got Drasta angry, so he's been quiet since she told him off.

There seems to be little sign of Sirana so far, which doesn't bode well for the trickster rat. Has she failed to live up to her end of the bargain and has made off? Certainly that would spell doom for her, either way. However, a weird creaking noise seems to be audible, the source slowly wending its way towards the clearing. Into the area comes Sirana, struggling as she pulls something very heavy behind her. It is a monstrous thing, large, crube, but somehow very deadly and effective, its finely carved wooden parts efficiently matched to each other. It seems, indeed, to be some kind of catapult, complete with a locking mechanism and the classic throwing basket. "Hello there, hunters!" shouts Sirana, looking a little worse for wear. "I've...brought the...thing!"

Drasta's eyes widen, looking rather surprised that Sirana turned up at all! "Well! The long awaited moment is here, then. By all means, then, miss. show us. I am....impressed that you turned up."

"So you're here. That begs the other question--does it even work?" snarks Owen, though he somehow maintains his usual emotionless tone of voice and lack of expression.

Sirana doesn't seem to hear Owen, or much else, really. She's obviously very tired and groggy, and not just from pulling the machine, either. Her fur is more frazzled than usual and she smells distinctly of woody sap. "Impressed! Don't be; I keep my word. I...hmm..." She leans against the thing, seeming to rest. "I've had terrible, /terrible/ fun putting this thing together; you'd be surprised of what one can do starting with just a couple of rocks." She smiles tiredly at all of them. "You...wanted a demonstration, I presume! Well, er...I have one ready." She motions them all to come closer, starting to regain some of her clever attitude again as they do. "Behold the magnificent catapult! Just load some barrels full of poison and you'll have those colonists choking it all in no time. Allow me..." She pads over to the switch, indicating the already loaded barrel in the basket. Majestically she lifts her arm and then hits it. The loud twang of the spring is almost musical, the barrel hurtling through the air and disappearing several yards ahead, disturbing several bird's nests.

Drasta looks overhead, following the path of the barrel as it flies through the air. "Hmm, interesting. So far, I'm satisfied." She looks to Owen, curious as to what he thinks--there's an amused expression on her face.

Owen is, as ever, impassive. Inwardly, though, he had been so very much looking forward to watching Sirana die a messy and painful death today. It took quite a lot of willpower for him to betray utterly no emotion.

Sirana grins as she spies Owen, knowing exactly what he must be feeling underneath his emotionless visage. "Huntress, there is...much that you can do with this device. The load doesn't have to be just poison barrels. It can be...rocks and other things much suited to tearing down those pesky colony walls. I'm afraid that...well, that this is the only one I'll will able to make for now. It took me a long time to gather and prepare all the materials...unless your tribesrats are willing to learn from me." She takes a good look at all the Staggs surrounding them. Thick, certainly, but could they be made ot learn? Hm...probably not.

OOC> You say, "Ultimately, my intent is that Sirana cozies up to the Staggs enough that she can talk to them more personally, and therefore undergo character development."
OOC> Drasta thought she was gonna get to do some torture...dunno why I thought that
OOC> You say, "c.c"
OOC> Drasta says, "Just a little? *puppy eyes*"
OOC> You say, "We'll see :P"

Drasta hmms under her breath. "Very impressive." She effortlessly steps off the rock, dropping to the ground with hardly a sound. She walks toward Sirana, her eyes narrowed. "I wasn't entirely convinced you'd follow through...but /this/ changes things--a little. How long would it take you to create more of these?"

Briefly Sirana displays an expression of surprise and fear. Briefly. "More? I...well, this single machine took me over a month to make! That's far too long to be useful...unless you really want me to teach your tribe how to make these. It's...not easy, though, really. Even one is enough to turn the tide; the olonists don't even have any seige weapons. But...if you want more..." She blinks, almost at a loss as to what to say, but just because she was tired doesn't mean she's not clever anymore. "I think I can manage to pull it off, if you all cooperate with my tutelage," she says, smirking. "Many hands make light work, after all."

Owen, for his part, gets to his feet and makes to return to the Stagg camp. What he was hoping to see, well, it's not going to be happening today. Especially not with Drasta requesting more of the weapons, and Sirana apparently ready and willing to teach the Staggs how to make them. She's too valuable to die. For now. 'But good things come to those who wait...' Owen tells himself.

Drasta leans down, and reaches out with one viciously long fingernail to stroke Sirana's cheek. It's hard enough to make an impression, but not /quite/ deep enough to draw blood...yet. "Very well then, small one. You know very well what will happen should I become...dissatisfied with your work. She smiles, but there's nothing pleasant in it. Drasta's personal plans for
Sirana haven't changed...though she knows Owen probably isn't thrilled with the outcome. She'll have to see about getting him a 'pet' of his own.

Sirana raises her eyebrows but makes no further expression as Drasta has her way with her. "I...will not disappoint you, Huntress. Your tribe will rule this valley with the aid of my machines." She backs off, her tail having stiffened somewhat. "But there's hard work ahead of us, if we're to get there!" she declares, smirking once again. "Now...I think some of your lads can help me pull this thing? It's, well, rather heavy..."

Drasta nods, and straightens up to her full height. "Yes, of course. Boys?" she raises a paw, and the two nearest Staggs come to help transport the machine. "Take that, will you?"

As the Staggs carry away her latest invention, Sirana permits herself to retreat into her true sentiments. She had never expected all this to happen this way. Surely she had underestimated the brutality of these ferals, their lust for violence and domination. A part of her was dearly afraid, for now she was dependent upon their weak mercy, their capricious whims. But then again, she was subject to the capricious whims of the Wild almost every day, so why worry? Certainly, the superior intellect of a NIMH rat would persist in the end, or so she hoped.

So much for /that/ plan, eh?