"Pull!"
Tseng watched evenly as Rufus fired. The young man cursed as his shot went wide, then stepped out of the marked box.
"That's my second shot," he all but growled. "Both missed. At the rate I'm going through ammo, I'll be able to bankrupt my father by the time I turn twenty."
"I think I'm beginning to see the problem," Tseng said coolly. "It's nothing that can't be fixed. The main thing is, you're not allowing for the kickback, which throws your arm off at the crucial moment. That's why all your shots are going wide. Second, you're too tense. Relax a little, and your aim will be smoother and the kickback reaction won't be as hard."
"That's easy enough to say," Rufus snorted, reloading his gun. "The question is, how do I do all that?"
"It's not as hard as you may think," Tseng said. "It's mostly just a matter of hands. You need to shift your hands so that the gun rests easier on your shoulder and the movement isn't so stiff. Try again."
Again, Rufus stepped into place and brought the gun up to his shoulder. Again, his shots went wide.
"Here, let me show you." Before Rufus could protest, Tseng had slipped one graceful hand over each of his own. He drew a quick intake of breath as he felt the other man's slender, well toned body against his own, caught the sent of cloves and silver, and the faintest traces of dusky smoke.
"Put this hand here, not so far down the barrel. This one should shift like this, so the weight isn't so heavy on the wrist." Gently, Tseng moved Rufus' hands into the correct positions, manipulating his smaller fingers with his own. "Now keep both eyes open when you track the target, move the barrel smoothly, all at once, don't jerk it around. Steady, always stay just ahead of the mark; these shells are heavy, made for power, not speed."
"Pull!"
This time, with Tseng's hands guiding his, Rufus pulled the trigger and heard Tseng's grunt of satisfaction as the clay disk shattered into dust.
"Pull!"
Again, the well kept grounds were showered with powdered clay. Grinning broadly, Rufus started to turn and face Tseng.
"Rufus, boy!"
Abruptly, Tseng released his hands from Rufus' and stepped back. From around the corner of the gun shed, President Shinra strode into view, his hands slowly clapping together.
"Well shot, boy." The older man clapped a hand on Rufus' shoulder. Tseng noted how the young man flinched under his father's touch.
"Thank you, sir." Rufus' voice was cold, his words clipped.
"Think you're good enough to outshoot your old man?" It was obviously a challenge. Tensing, Rufus chose his words carefully.
"I don't believe so, sir. Those two shots were lucky, I don't think I could repeat them."
"Come, now, let's not stand for protests." Shrina shot an unreadable glance at Tseng, who stood, head bowed, three steps behind the President's son. "Or do you think that your abilities will fail to carry through without the help of your...teacher?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Rufus saw Tseng wince, almost imperceptibly. For some odd, unknown reason, the young man felt the heat of anger fill his blood, flushing his pale face.
"Come," he practically snarled, snatching his gun from Tseng's hands. "Two shots, two pigeons each. We'll see who needs a teacher."
"Rufus, sir, if I may-?" Tseng began, stepping forward.
"Keep your place, Turk," Shinra snapped, turning fiercely on the dark man. "It's time to see what you've really been teaching him." Again, Rufus caught the minute flinch, the split second twist of the otherwise perfect face. Checking the shells, he snapped the barrel up sharply, he raised the gun up to his shoulder and sighted. Nodding with satisfaction, he turned to his father. Shinra stood easily, eyes fixed on the task of loading his own gun. Long moments of silence passed until the President looked irritably at his son.
"Well?"
Seething with repressed fury, Rufus spun and stalked over to the box which marked the shooters' place. He took a deep breath, trying to relieve some of his tension, and brought the gun up to his shoulder.
"Trying so hard to be a man." Shinra's voice drawled lazily over from somewhere at his left. Narrowing his eyes, Rufus held his tongue, refusing to be baited.
"Sixteen years old, thinks he's ready to take on the world. Sixteen years old, and still just a boy. Too young to leave his mother's skirts, but she left him first." Shinra smiled thinly as his son's knuckles whitened on the barrel.
"Pull!"
Tseng winced as Rufus failed to allow for the kickback and missed. He watched as his muscles tensed beneath his white jacket, an angry flush to his cheeks. Concentrate, Tseng thought fiercely. He's just trying to bait you, don't rise to it. Just shoot!
"Pull!"
Again, Rufus' shot missed, flying wide and low. Eyes hard and mouth taunt, he turned silently to his father as he stepped out of the painted box. Giving his son a patronizing glance, Shinra took his place in the shooter's box, lifting his gun.
"There's still a lot you have to learn,son," he said past his cigar.
"Pull!"
A solid hit. "Don't get too hasty now, to grow up, to be a man. Get too impatient and other people start to get a little worried. Don't trust you not to get too ambitious, they start to get apprehensive. If it keeps up, you can't be sure they won't end up doing something...drastic."
"Pull!"
Shinra turned and started to walk away as the pigeon exploded in midair. "Looks like you shoot that mouth of yours off better than you shoot a gun." He brushed past Rufus and walked back the way he had come. "Oh, and I'm glad we were able to have this little talk, son," he added as he disappeared around the corner.
Snarling, Rufus' hands clenched around the gun. "I-"
Abruptly, he felt the gun torn from his hands. He turned sharply and found himself standing face to face with Tseng. The taller man stared into Rufus' blue eyes as he threw the gun to the side.
"That's what happens when you lose your temper," he said, his voice hard. He grabbed Rufus by the wrist, making sure he was listening. "You let him bait you, you will fail. Next time, don't let him get to you."
Furiously, Rufus tore his wrist from Tseng's grasp. "Don't you fucking well tell me what to do!" he shouted. "I can handle it."
"Sir," Tseng's hand reached up again-
"Don't touch me." Rufus' blue eyes flashed. "What did my father mean, when he asked what you were teaching me?" Tseng said nothing. "Answer me!" Rufus took a step back. "What did he mean?" he demanded. "What the hell are you, Turk?"
Tseng remained silent, his brown eyes cold and blank. Angrily, Rufus spun around and stalked out of sight, leaving the Turk leader standing alone in the shooting field. Slowly, Tseng clenched his hands into fists by his sides and let the hurt rise from his heart into his dark, almond eyes.