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>Do all those things.
Hermione simply enjoys the warmth for a few more minutes, before sighing and straightening up. It’d likely be best if she were proactive.
“…Miss Hermione, a bag with some of the supplies you requested for is ready. It has been set at the foot of your bed.”
“Excellent.” The girl raises her arms as a maid helps her dress. “Has the library been prepared?”
“The directory has been opened to the specified page and set by the armchair, my lady. Your light snacks and refreshments will be freshly available as soon as you sit down. Though, I must remind you that your mother prefers you reserve your appetite for dinner.”
“That’s of no concern.” She slides her arms through the proffered sleeves, slipping into her comfortable house-dress. “It’ll only be a few oysters, after all.”
As she walks down the hall, she glances at her sister’s room. The door was shut, as it rightfully should have been, considering she was presumably still sleeping. Hermione ignores it and continues on to the library. When she sits in the same leather chair from the morning, one of the butlers brings out a compact dish with three prepared oysters, along with a small glass of lemonade.
“Rockefeller line, huh. Haven’t had a call from you all in a while. How can I help?”
Hermione takes a quick sip of her lemonade. “I would like a custom rifle with good stopping power, perhaps four bore, similar to the one my grand-uncle used on his last expedition. Sandalwood, of course, as is tradition. I would also like another custom revolver.”
The old man on the other end of the line grunts irritably. “You Rockefellers and yer custom guns. I’ll have you know, that rifle I made all those years ago was a real one-of-a-kind beauty, a true masterpiece, and where is it now? Lost in some random African jungle during its first and only hunt. You Rockefellers have no appreciation for the fine craftsmanship that goes into-”
The red-haired girl just eats another oyster as she lets the gunsmith ramble on. Normally, such impertinence would be grounds for immediate dismissal, but he was grandfather’s old friend and his work was of undeniable quality. When she feels the rant begin to slow, she interjects. “So how long will it take?”
“Ehh, probably around a year, maybe, if I toss out all my other jobs and really put my mind to it. But I get the feeling you’re an impatient lass, like your granny was, so I could use the frame from the ol’ prototype and get it to you in a week, maybe less. If you want a second revolver too, which is heresy, mind you, it’ll take longer. Up to you.”
>A classic American tradition, having more guns than you have hands for. How would you like the gunsmith to go about it? After this, you should probably start heading over to mother, unless you have some particular burning urge to do something else.
