[X] Give it a simple folding stand, to help support the weight
You toy with the idea of carving inlays into the stock, but this isn't really that kind of gun. You're not making a presentation piece, to be stuck on a shelf and admired in a hundred years, you're making a gun to be shot by The Empress, today.
Well, in a couple of weeks. Spirits, is it that soon already? But you haven't sorted out the ammunition! Wait, Yadake did that last week. The presentation stand! The one you're literally standing in front of. You shut your eyes and concentrate: If you're this panicked, there
has to be something you've forgotten.
---
When Ikeda comes in to turn off the lights you're working feverishly at the drill press, boring out lengths of wood. You're surrounded by sawdust and misshapen tripodal contraptions. The idea had been simmering in the back of your head ever since you were at Hotakas'. One of their display telescopes was perched atop a folding tripod which held it steady and allowed it to be aimed at a consistent spot. It's the perfect solution to reduce the burden on Her Imperial Majesty, and it'll help reduce the issues with aligning the sights! Really, you're a complete idiot for not thinking of this before.
"Remember thirty minutes ago, kid?"
"Hmm?" you mumble, not looking up from your precision work.
"When I said work was out and you said you were going to pack up while I did the rounds?"
"Yeah, I just needed to finish something real quick—"
"You've finished five things real quick and are just about to screw up the sixth."
Not paying proper attention, you shift the wood slightly and put the drill bit out through the side of the piece in a shower of sawdust.
"Spirits, kid," Ikeda says as you begin to pack up, "I only came back here because I thought you'd forgotten the lights. Were you planning to go home tonight at all?"
You weren't, really, and Ikeda can see it on your face. She scrags you by the back of the neck and frog-marches you to the street car.
---
You turn up for work the next day, your head brimming with ideas for the tripod, only for Ikeda to ambush you with a pile of paperwork.
"But I need to—"
She's having none of it. You are confined to your office while Shiragiku and Kashiwa work on ideas for a tripod. Every time you want to go out there and take control, Kusunoki appears as if by magic, handing you a new bundle of papers Ikeda has dug up to keep you busy. As they leave you glower at their back: Traitor!
On day two of your exile from the workshop floor you start to suspect something's up:
"Ikeda, this is an invoice for late payment from 2485!"
"Well, we can't let them keep getting away with it."
"This guy died in the Koshien War!"
"Yes, fighting for the Shogunate. It would be unpatriotic to let him off the hook. Do you need a calligraphy brush?"
After a week of going home on time Ikeda finally lets you back to your workshop floor, but everything is done. The rifle sits on its firing stand, gleaming in polished wood and brass. It looks elegant, simple, modern. Perhaps fast.
As you head home for the night, Ikeda fixes you with a look.
"What are you thinking of wearing for the presentation?"
"What?" you say.
"That's what I thought." Ikeda scoffs.
"But I'm not invited?"
"Spirits, kid, the Empress personally requested you make Her a weapon, of course you're going to be there alongside Akutagawa."
You gape at her.
"Right." She rolls up her sleeves "We're lucky we have a week."
---
You pick at the borrowed, western-style dress surreptitiously, trying to make the unfamiliar garment hang more comfortably. Nothing you own could possibly be worn within several kilometers of Her Imperial Majesty, but between Ikeda and Rumi it turns out you have friends with friends whose friends have court wear that is almost respectable enough. Kusunoki contributed a lovely silver hairpin, telling you that you could keep it as long as they never saw it again.
A week ago you imagined you'd spend the day outside, enjoying some festival delicacies. Maybe you'd have managed to convince Clara-Rose to find you someone for a double date. Instead, you've been trapped inside the Imperial Palace since dawn, waiting with the nobles and politicians and business owners for the Empress to finish waving to the crowds. For holidays like this the palace is open to the public, and if you hadn't arrived in the morning you'd never get through the heaving mass of people. Their cheering carries through the walls and the light chamber music, making you feel even more anxious. The strange aftertaste of tarragon from lunch follows you as you trail behind Viscount Akutagawa. He's moving through the party like a shark, from old friends to important allies and back.
The man you're being introduced to right now is "Arata, you old rogue!", who you would call Admiral Hamasaki. Before you can figure out a way to have a conversation with someone who has enough influence to ensure no firearm of yours is ever adopted by the Imperial Navy again, Akutagawa has found "Takki, spirits, haven't seen you since New Years!", whose personal fortune is best expressed with scientific notation.
You manage to offer up a canned pleasantry while you curtsey, and when you straighten up you can see in his face the way your Northern Hondo accent scrapes against his ears. Everyone here speaks with perfect, refined Tokei accents, even the Ambassadors, and you decide that from now on you should probably just not speak.
"Madame?"
You start a little and turn around. One of the palace functionaries is looking at you with a solicitous expression.
"Would you like to come with me?"
Oh spirits, are they throwing you out? You haven't been that bad a guest. Maybe you have been that bad a guest! You follow the man, trying to inventory all of your curtseys and work out which one was insufficiently respectful.
"I can show you to the Imperial Arms Collection," the functionary continues.
Okay, so it was probably Prince Nashimoto, where you stuttered out—wait, the Imperial Arms Collection?
"Yes!", you shout, then cover your mouth with a fan. "I mean, yes please."
They lead you away from the noise of the party and through a bewildering number of corridors. After crossing an alley off a courtyard you arrive at a building you recognize from paintings at Imperial Matchlocks. It's the Old Arms Room, which is adjacent to where the old Imperial Matchlocks Building used to be. Now it houses the actual
Imperial Arms Collection? That's a lot to take in. It makes perfect logical sense, but you still have to fan yourself.
"Welcome to the Imperial Arms Collection," the functionary says as you both step in, "the curator apologises for being occupied at this time but I am at your disposition to answer any questions you might have. This floor houses the main Exhibition, while Her Imperial Majesty's recent expansion can be found below us in what used to be the Gunpowder Room…"
You tune them out and marvel at the weapons on display. In an attempt to not look impolite you stare at the wall of swords for a little bit before turning to the collection of matchlocks on the opposite wall. They're magnificent, and it's hard to believe some of them are nearly three hundred years old. One in particular catches your eye: "Excuse me, is that a wall gun?"
"Yes Madame, astutely spotted," they say as if you could somehow miss it: it's over two meters long with a barrel you'd struggle to wrap a hand around. It would make Kashiwa look small. "One of yours once upon a time, I believe."
You fawn over a bit more, and try to figure out how to crouch in a western dress so you can peer down the barrel. To even load this you'd need a ramrod longer than you are tall. You imagine yourself in the Koshien War, on the wall of your husband's castle while he's out campaigning, picking off an enemy general at 500 meters.
"Madam may be interested in some of the pieces in Her Imperial Majesty's new collection," the functionary offers and shows you down into the basement. The weapons down here are of the modern variety: smokeless breechloaders of lineages still in use: That's a Ritterin sporting rifle on the wall right there.
The functionary picks another wall gun off the wall with casual ease and hands it to you, as if they're not aware you're surely going to drop it or otherwise ruin it somehow. You are, in fact, holding in this very moment a rifle from Her Imperial Majesty's personal collection in your hands. You're glad you're wearing gloves.
"A Cathay wall gun," they begin, but you mumble over them:
"...fifteen milimeter calibre, interrupted screw breech," you turn the immensely heavy piece over in your hands, "Katzen-style extractor and trigger, black powder, probably captured by our troops in the war, produced… 2500s?" you say, looking up at the functionary with a slightly proud, slightly embarrassed smile.
"Very impressive," they say and bow, and weirdly it stings: why is it impressive that you're competent at your job? Because you're just a woman? But you were showing off, so it was meant to impress. Never mind, there's a collection of machine guns here!
You hand the Cathayan wall gun back and indicate the machine guns, which they show you. It's the first time you've seen a real Naylor Gun up close, and the functionary even removes a side cover so you can see the moving parts in action. It's fascinating, so different from having to imagine it based on a drawing.
----
Eventually, the fun ends. It's time for the gift-giving ceremony, and the functionary leads you back to Akutagawa's party. Were you stupid and stained your borrowed dress with gun oil? Doesn't seem like it. You try to straighten out everything, and your mother's admonition to stop fidgeting echoes in your head, from every time you'd tried to get your kimono straight as a teen. Still, it doesn't look right. You look for a woman who wears a similar dress to compare with, but before you manage a sudden quiet falls over the crowd and you freeze in place. The ceremony is about to begin.
Somehow, without any verbal communication, the crowd parts into two sides, forming a corridor up to the Empress' Receiving Throne, where you can see She is seated in stiff-backed splendour, beautifully made up in the traditional style. The large doors at the opposite end of the hall are flung open by flunkies and a herald loudly announces "The Fishermen of Kanegawa Prefecture!"
You watch in rapt attention as a team of men carry in a large and ornately decorated tub. Water splashes from the top of it and you think you catch the flick of a fin or a tail as the fish is carried past you. The tub is placed before Her Majesty and the Kanegawa fishermen's delegation bow deeply. Her Majesty thanks them for the fine gift before the tub is carried out of a side door.
Then the herald announces the Fishermen of Utsunomiya Prefecture and you watch in slightly less rapt attention as a team of men carry in a slightly different large and ornately decorated tub with an equally lively fish in it, which is placed before the Empress, who thanks the fishermen for their fine gift.
By the time the herald announces the Fishermen of Uchina Prefecture you've lost track of how many prefectures are left, and possibly how many prefectures there are in the first place. As you try to kick your sullen brain back into life, the slightest suggestion of a touch upon your arm alerts you to the presence of the palace functionary again, who directs you and Mr. Akutagawa through the crowd, out of a discreet door and through a set of corridors to the opposite end of the doors. You can see the last tub and the last fish being prepared, a slightly smaller, slightly poorer affair being hoisted onto the shoulders of some Joseonese men. A palace functionary raps the side of the bucket with a padded club, the fish panics and splashes around, and the fishermen are off down the aisle to the presentation.
Mr. Akutagawa and yourself are manhandled into the appropriate position, after the oldest swordsmith still operating. You take a moment to admire their beautiful gold plated cutlery set before they too depart for the presentation. A Special Policeman hands Mr. Akutagawa the rifle, having ensured that it isn't loaded, and you are given the box containing the folding tripod and other accessories.
A functionary receives some wordless signal and sends you off down the aisle, where the eyes of every noble and head of industry follow your every step. Your knuckles are bone white around the box and your legs feel stiff, but somehow you manage to get to the other end. Bowing before Her Imperial Majesty comes as a relief: You've practiced this part in front of the mirror enough to know what to expect. From the corner of your eye you can see Mr. Akutagawa hold the rifle—
your rifle—up to
Her Imperial Majesty. You can't help but beam with pride as you place the box at Her feet.
What should happen, what Ikeda had you practice, is that Her Imperial Majesty says "Thank you for this fine gift," you pick up the box, and you're whisked off out a side door so everything can proceed at the necessary pace. What instead happens is that Her Imperial Majesty says "Thank you for this fine gift." to Mr. Akutagawa, and then
turns to you and says "Why did you design this particular gun?"
[ ] Clam up! You can't get in trouble if you don't say anything!
[ ] Apologise!
[ ] Get halfway through an apology and then clam up! Best of both worlds!
[ ] I heard Your Imperial Majesty enjoyed target shooting, so I designed it for Your Imperial Majesty.
[ ] I wanted to give Your Imperial Majesty something unique and cutting edge.
[ ] I wanted to really push the envelope and show what Akitsukuni firearms technology can really do.
[ ] I wanted to really push the envelope and show what Imperial Matchlocks can really do.
[ ] I wanted to really push the envelope and show what women can really do.
[ ] I wanted to really push the envelope and show what I can really do.
