Kow!
A shot rips the air and the echoes drown out the shower of glass. Tristan frowns and huffs in approval, tipping back the remainder of the bottle in his free hand. Yeah, that's right: he'd shot with one hand. It only took him three rounds to hit the bottle... He walks over to the tree stump and sets the newly empty bottle in the center before resuming his lonely watch over nothing in particular.
The grizzled Elodoth is about as casual as you'd expect, if you knew him. Same khaki pants and belt he'd gone to work in. Same boots. Same button-down shirt. He'd unbuttoned and rolled his sleeves, which, if you ask him, is more of a pain in the ass than a comfort. He's had to stop several times and re-roll the sleeves after they'd fallen back down over his wrist. He'd blame his missed shots on that.
Kow!
Another bottle turns to brown, twinkling confetti that exists in the air for a fraction of a second before settling on the grass. Tristan wishes he had one of those slow-motion cameras to see how it really looks. But the grim satisfaction of his unseen marksmanship will have to do. Hell, it suits him just fine.