A/N: Hi! I'm Jay! Okay I wrote a couple of drabbles after watching Django Unchained, so I suppose I'll put them up here! Don't forget to read and review. :D
"Baby, there's no way I can make that shot," Broomhilda said.
Her finger curled firmly around the trigger of the rifle. A glossy bead of sweat made its way down her temple as she aimed her gun at her blurry target. Broomhilda cursed under her breath; the target would only blur more as she tried to focus her field of vision on one far-off splotch of grey.
Django placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "Stand up straight. Keep the butt of it pressed against your shoulder, now," he added, eyes keenly set forward.
She used her other hand to steady the barrel, closing one eye in the process. Django swiped a hand through her field of vision and gave quick chuckle.
"You'll see better with both eyes open."
"I knew that," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. "The problem is I can't even see at all."
"…You'd look great in eyeglasses," Django said with a smirk, stopping to peruse the idea of Broomhilda in a dainty pair of spectacles.
After a moment, Django took a couple of steps back. "That rifle is pretty powerful, so remember to stand your ground and keep it steady."
Broomhilda looked down the barrel and aligned the sights toward the target, which was still slightly obscured by the midday haze. Briefly, she wondered if the breeze would affect her aim, but pushed the thought out of her mind as she squeezed the trigger.
First, there was a powerful bang, and immediately after a shuddering recoil pushed her back. Broomhilda kept her balance, albeit barely, but Django rushed to her side and kept her grounded.
She blinked. "Oh. So that's what it feels like." She looked to her husband and burst into a fit of laughter. (One that he struggled to avoid joining, but Hildy's laughter was contagious his lips couldn't help but twitch.)
After regaining their composure, they took a brief walk to the makeshift target; a stump between a few reddening trees. A few torn scraps of metal were all that were left of the tin can Broomhilda had been aiming for.
Broomhilda gave a bewildered little "Wow," picking up a piece of the destroyed can. "I guess that was a lucky shot, though," she added with a giggle.
He sauntered up to her, hands in his pockets. "Naw, that wasn't luck." Suddenly, Django pulled her into a tight embrace.
For a moment, he said nothing, preferring to revel in what stood before him. Broomhilda's freshly powdered scent, the warmth of her body, and even the rough fabric of her blouse comforted him. They reminded him that this was real.
After a few minutes he let go, only to find Broomhilda's eyes tearing up. His calloused hand caressed her cheek and she gave him a small smile.
And he knew they were going to be okay.