' ~𝑅𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑛'✓ [RDR2 OC]

The Oldest Tradition: Beef.

A/N: Ciarán is not Keiran

Seán pushed at Cain's shoulder harshly and curled his lip.
"Well, if it isn't the little fire starter. Come to kill someone else's child, are you?"
Cain frowned and took a step back.
The camp was quiet, and people who were awake spoke in hushed voices. Javier still strummed gently on his guitar, sober for once.
Cain raised a hand to calm Sean down.
"Will you shut it? I have nowhere else to go, and Dutch, he let me stay. I haven't seen you in ages, you haven't seen me either. I did nothing to you."
"You ruined a young lads life. That's all the stir I need."
"It wasn't your life, though, was it? And it's not much of a life if it's ruined by a scar."
Seán hesitated, then grunted, pushing past Cain, sending him in a half twirl.
He heard curses to his name as Seán entered his tent.

It had been ages since he'd seen Ciarán, he hated to think about him, and he hated to think about what he'd done to him. He pushed that boys face from his mind and went to the campfire, sitting down beside Javier and Charles, whose eyes rose to meet Cain's.
"You seem distant since Seán came back." His eyes lowered to the arrowhead he was sharpening.
Cain fiddled with his sleeve. He realised how suspicious that looked.
"Eh, I don't know. It feels weird having someone who knew me before I came around again."
"Molly knew you."
Cain faltered. "Yes, but -"
Javier butted in, still keeping the strum
rhythmic. "He stole from Sean's family."
Cain's mouth lined. "Not...just..that..exactly."
Javier stopped strumming and let his hand fall onto the body of the guitar.
"You lied to me again."
"Yes, Javier." He said somewhat sternly. He had every right to lie to him. He hasn't been proven to be very trustworthy, just blindly loyal.
"I had to. Won't be long before the truth gets out, though." He grunted, annoyed.
Charles kept calm and stopped sharpening the arrowhead. Even looking at it would slit your sight.
"Cain, I don't know why you and Seán hate each other so much, but I think you should sort it out before he spills whatever secret you're hiding for good reason, and could jeprodise your place in camp."
Cain hesitated. He fell silent and got up, moving to the tent.
Javier had an elevated bed, made from the frame of wooden crates and strong blanket weaving, whilst Cain slept on the floor with his bedroll.
He slump down onto it and took out the foggy picture of his daughter and husband. He exhaled and placed it on the little box containing his shaving supplies. Why did he keep lying? And hiding? He had nothing to lose. He fell asleep with them watching over him.

Ciaran and Luan went down in a roll and tumble of legs and arms. Luan grunted and gave out, and Ciaran laughed and wrestled him.
"Get off, cnag bó!"
Ciaran straightened and pouted, then smiled deviously.
"I'm telling Mam you cursed at me."
Luan's face dropped.
"No, no! Don't do that, you idiot! She'll get the spoon on me."
He groaned uselessly, and Ciaran rushed for the door.
Luan grimaced and ran after Ciaran. They looked through out the house, and it occurred to Luan that their mother was out putting clothes up on the line in the back garden, but he didn't tell Ciaran that.
Their house was squashed in with 12 others on the street, identical in every way apart from the inside, which housed two small families and a wrinkled old woman too sickly to remember Luan's name or face, who often walked off and disapeared for hours and some grumpy person would bring her back complaining about how she was crying on their doorstep looking for her son.
This time, the woman sat in her chair beside the fat little black stove, as she usually did, and looked into nothingness.
He waved at the woman, and she blinked, glancing at him, and smiled politely. "Dia duit mac."
He grimaced. She forgot how to speak English sometimes. That wasn't good. If one of those scary men accents heard her, they'd shoot her dead, no matter how sick she was. He recollected his knowledge of the language and asked to direct Ciaran away from his mother as best she could if she saw him. He was pretty sure he'd screwed that translation up really badly.
She looked at him, dazed, and nodded, settling back into her chair, absorbing the warmth from the stove.