Look Beyond What You See

Target Practice

CRACK!

A trail of smoke rises slowly from the muzzle of the revolver in my hands. The bullet strikes its feed-sack target a little off-centre of the red circle painted on it.

"Я не знала, что сын Зинайде будет так красивый," Yekaterina compliments Dmitri, her hand on his upper arm. I didn't know Zinaida's son would be so handsome. He gently removes her hand, but seems to be smiling to himself in response to the compliment. Zinaida is not present for breakfast this morning, and Wesley, being ignorant of Russian and half-asleep, seems not to see what is going on.

CRACK!

Another shot, this one dead centre into the target, where I've been picturing Yekaterina's face. Giacomo seems a bit put off by my intensity as I fire a few more shots into the target.

"Good! Ah, good. It seems like you've mastered the revolver. Why don't you try your hand with this rifle?" he suggests, handing me the weapon he's mentioned. I take it without comment. I'm not in the mood to deal with him, or anyone. I turn my attention to a human-shaped dummy in another corner of the room as I load my weapon and start figuring out how everything works.

"Можно сказать по-английски?" Dmitri asks her with the slightest of smirks. Can you say it in English? She blushes and shakes her head.

"Ты научишь меня," she replies coyly--You teach me--batting her eyelashes like an addlepated cow.

CRACK!

The rifle is harder to aim. My bullet only grazes the target's head. I try again, this time managing to hit the target's shoulder.

"Наверно, нет, но другие фразы в английском языке," he tells her, still seeming rather amused by the situation. Probably not, but other phrases in English. I am far from amused, but no one would know by looking at me. No, I'm feigning the same amusement he exhibits, hoping that neither of them can see through me and that Yekaterina thinks I cannot understand them.

CRACK!

Finally, a solid hit in the target's head.

CRACK!

The heart this time. I'm getting better.

CRACK!

The stomach, now. Let's play Vital Organ Bingo.

"You seem rather peeved, Aerys. Might I ask what's the matter?" Giacomo inquires solicitously. You were present this morning. You should know.

"Nothing that concerns you," I answer airily, with perhaps a touch more snark than usual. Oops. Need to get better at concealing the vicious green monster.

 "Perhaps you are correct in that." He pauses, watching as I again fire the rifle at the dummy, which by now rather resembles a piece of human-shaped Swiss cheese. "That blonde Russian wench is rather irritating."

"Now, Giacomo, that isn't very nice," I chide, but it comes out sarcastic and bitter. "The newest member of our household deserves every ounce of compassion. It must be so difficult for her to be so far from her home and family, and in a place where English, rather than Russian, is the primary spoken language."

I take more shots as I speak, this time at a different target. Aiming accurately gets easier every time, but even hitting the center of a target doesn't make me feel any better. I don't mean a word of what I've said to my tutor about Yekaterina. She misses her home's magnificence, and she wishes we all spoke Russian, but it's impossible to pity her, between her haughtiness and her brazen flirtations with my fiancé.