[He'd almost forgotten he'd been holding the thing to be honest. But when Peggy does reclaim her pistol, Rip in turn picks up his neglected cup of tea, lukewarm now and still bitter without the benefit of any sweetener added to it. He takes a sip and briefly frowns, almost a wince at the reminder of what can happen to such a good drink if not tended to properly.

Shame, that.

But seemingly one never content to leave well enough alone, Peggy tries to needle him about his profession by playing both sides of the coin; suggesting at first that he's got no mandate to uphold, and then in the next breath appealing to Rip's professional ethics by suggesting he might help unleash some great horror if she were to attempt to recreate his revolver on her own.]

The Time Masters are finished, but I've taken up their task in the aftermath. [Point the first. Another sip of tea, another moment to brace himself afterwards, and Rip continues on.] And you, Miss Carter, cannot replicate a bottle of decent whiskey from memory. I somehow suspect you won't have much luck trying to recreate a pistol that you don't even know the inner workings of--much less anything worse.

[Maybe she'll end up with a showy laser pointer at best. Rip almost hopes to see her face if that is the case.]