When Cain is 14 he is sent on a mission. This in itself is not a particularly abnormal occurrence.
He is joined by one of the speakers - individuals carefully cultivated by the organisation to represent the less vocal members on their assignments. Cain doesn't know the man's name. The man doesn't ask for his.
They are to visit the circus.
To a bystander they must have seemed odd, Cain muses as he easily keeps pace with the long strides of his companion, or maybe not. The organisation always goes to dramatic and painful lengths to avoid detection by the general public and law enforcement. Not that either could have done anything about them. He supposed it was just the way things were, a way to avoid unnecessary stress of you will.
As such his speaker is dressed as a middle class gentleman, top hat pulled down so the brim shadowed his eyes and shoes shined until they sparkled as only the finest of diamonds do.
In comparison, Cain is dressed as a simple apprentice in loose and worn cloth as well as a deep red scarf that trails down his back to ward against the biting London winds.
He rather likes the scarf. It's comfortable.
No expense is spared for even this small walk from the carriage to meet with the owner of the circus.
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Cain does not protest to being asked to wait outside. He was expecting it to be quite honest. After all, in the view of the ringmaster he is, at the very most, an apprentice of the speaker. The client does not know the truth.
The client does not need to know the truth.
"Ya with tha' bloke that just wen' in are ya?"
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The circus boy (named Red - for his hair apparently) is coarse and rough but the sharp gleam of intelligence within his ashen eyes is undeniable.
He speaks with a heavy London accent and seemed unsure of communicating with someone his own age, holding his shoulders back defensively as though expecting to be beaten.
Upon realising that the two adults would be talking 'business' for a while the circus boy places the ringleader's dinner, which he had been told to deliver to the man, to the side and moved to lean against one of the nearby support beams.
The redhead pays no attention to the rapidly cooling stew,
("The bastard's fat enough as it is,") instead levelling calculating grey on Cain.
For his part Cain doesn't move from where he is sitting on a wooden crate, returning the heavy gaze with one of his own.
It is rather strange really because if asked later Cain wouldn't be able to recall who began the conversation, just that it did begin and by the time the speaker returns - with a suspicious briefcase and a farewell to the generous ringleader - the two boys were in a heated debate on which weapon was best to slit a man's throat with. A rather morbid conversation for two children to be having, but entertaining none the less.
When the speaker returns, Cain instantly falls silent and tilts his head in question, the man gives a brief nod and Cain slides off of the crate to stand.
"Will ya be back," It was a statement, not a question.
Cain turned slightly (beside him the speaker waits patiently - long used to the eccentricities of organisation assassins) and raises an eyebrow. "Does your leader have a lot of enemies?" He asks casually, the corner of his lips upturning slightly into a mockery of a smile.
The circus boy simply smirks back at him before turning around and heading towards the big tent standing about ten metres behind them, he doesn't stop and only offers a brief wave over his shoulder, "I'll see ya next week then!"
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Cain returned to the circus five times within that next year, the ringmaster apparently had a lot of enemies and just as much swindled money to afford to employ the organisation.
The speaker remained the same for each visit and the client never actually realised who was killing off his enemies.
Red spoke with him every time, a sort of recurring event that both enjoyed. For them it was a step away from the cold hard reality of their situations.
The ringmaster's final request and Cain's final visit to the circus met with little fanfare. Save one, imperative difference.
Red was gone, off on a journey with a mad clown. Supposedly happier now that the shackles that had bound him to the circus were gone.
Cain tells himself he didn't care.
(He tried not to think of what could have been. It hurt. )
(He kept the scarf (it was the colour of his hair) it was confortable)