Braced for impact, a moment’s silence stretched the studio after desired results failed to occur. Jon cocked his head to the side and squinted at Zelda. A minute shift in facial features but as Master of a Thousand Glares his expression clearly conveyed thought and feeling on her piddly attempt at bottle smashing.
Had Jon not taken to stunts and fighting, he might made a decent go at acting.
'Now I know you are not truly that weak,' he ribbed. She may have weighed as little as his baby sister soaking wet with stones shoved into the toes of her Jimmy Choos but Jon had watched Zelda ride a horse. Witnessed lifting herself into the saddle without assistance or a stepping block. She fired the prop rifles alright, holding them straight and sturdy against her armpit, unflinching after the kickback. And then there were those purses she favoured toting about. Veritable miniature wardrobes. Ruddy large and unwieldy, filled with all manner of mysterious girly possessions women insisted on hauling on the off chance they were required in an emergency.
Zelda had some strength to her yet; the problem was confidence.
Reaching up, Jon tapped Zelda's forehead in the same place where he'd demonstrated moments before against his own head. Fingers pressed firmly, a similar force which was required to break the bottle. 'There. Not across the cheek. And harder like you mean it. Doesn't matter how fantastic the prop is, if you faff about like that on camera you’ll look a pillock. These sorts of stunts only sell if you act your way out of them.'