"Oh, my poor heart, where has it gone? It's left me for a spell..." Charlie sang with perfect sincerity, hand over his heart as he gazed, apparently starry-eyed, at the other man. He couldn't hold the deadpan, though and cracked a grin back. Then, neatly, he lined up on his own target and blasted a hole in the centre: not so neat as Trimble's but quite as accurate. He followed it with a second and third blast that were no less precise than the first, because no more of the target disappeared when he cast them.