Chapter 34.3: Atypical

Minkus blinked in surprise, a tide of questions rolling across him. The only response that surfaced above the rest, though, was the truth.

“No,” he said quietly. “I am not as quick as other asura. They call me atypical. At least, the polite people do.”

For a moment there was only cold silence, and Minkus didn’t know what to do with it. He wanted to wring his hands. He wanted to reach for his ear. He wanted to look away from Penny. But for all the conflicting, nervous wishes that suddenly passed through him, he did nothing. Still as the stones they stood on, his gaze remained locked on his friend.

Penny only nodded, comprehendingly. “That’s why your sister cheated for you in asura-school?”

He nodded, still unable to look away from her.

“And why she coddled you like a baby in the Shiverpeaks?”

Minkus nodded again, and Penny glared at the ground between in evident thought. Minkus searched her face for any sign of what she might be feeling, but he found nothing. Despite what Jinkke had always said, Minkus had never considered himself particularly astute at anything, even recognizing people’s emotional states. Standing there, though, he realized how unnerving it felt to be unable to read someone, especially someone generally so expressive. Somehow it made him feel exposed.

Perhaps it wasn’t simply the unknowing, though. Maybe it was the whole situation that had him so instantly uncomfortable. He’d assumed he’d found his place among humans, but what if Penny reacted to him the same way his own people did? Well, maybe he’d been wrong.

Penny straightened, stepping away from the half-wall and a stride closer to Minkus. She looked down at him with equal measures fire and temperance. “Well, that’s dolyak shit.”

“What?” Minkus reeled back a step. He searched for a response, but really he didn’t even really understand her statement. “But, Penny, it— its true. I am—”

“Sure, whatever they want to call you,” she groaned, glancing out over the jungle, “that’s none of my business. I’m just a stupid human anyway.” She looked back at him over her shoulder, meeting his gaze and holding it in a fierce glare. “But your sister never should have dragged you along behind her if you were happy doing something else, and she sure as hell shouldn’t have treated you like a child just because you’re not the next Zinn. It’s dolyak shit.”

Minkus couldn’t stop the grin that stretched across his face, but he did reach for his ear now, still uncomfortable, albeit for an entirely new reason. “Thank you, Penny,” he said quietly. “That— well, it means a lot to me. It did— it does hurt— the dolyak shit, I mean.  But I also understand her side. Bringing me to Dynamics was the only way she could attend and still—”

“And still keep your family honorable or something,” Penny groaned.  “I know. Wepp explained. It was still a crap thing to do, though, Big—”

Pursing her lips mid-name, she stopped.

“What is it?” Minkus asked, lowering his hand to his side. She tried to look away, but he danced aside to remain in her sight.

“Nothing, Minkus.” She stressed the name. “It’s nothing.”

She kept trying to dodge eye-contact with him, but his resolve returned, as had the sense of deception he’d experienced in their room at Gill’s inn. He couldn’t take that again.

“Please, Penny,” he insisted. “No more lies. What is the matter?”

Flustered, she ran a hand through her hair and glowered at the ceiling before looking back down at him. “Gods. Fine. It’s just, back in the mountains, your sister told me something else too.”

He watched her quizzically as she took another moment to build up to whatever she had to say.  It was strange to see her so bothered and not understand why.

She met his eyes with fire, but it wasn’t one he’d seen before. “Why in Torment do you go around saying your name is Minkus the Large if that was a nickname other students used to mock you? For Grenth’s sake, you’ve gone all over the damn continent introducing yourself that way, inviting everyone to join in making fun of you.”

“Oh. That,” he muttered, nearly giggling suddenly. He’d expected this conversation from Jinkke when they’d had it, but he hadn’t expected it from Penny. Actually he hadn’t really thought about the origin of that name in years, not since he’d left Rata Sum. Everything else he’d been worrying about seemed to melt away for a time as he recalled all the places he’d used that name.

“Jinkke would say that,” Minkus said. “That name always made her so angry. I love her for it.”

Penny’s brow furrowed, somewhere between concern and confusion. “So it’s true?”

“Yes,” he said with a gentle nod. “It’s true. That name was— well, it was an insult. Originally.”

“Originally?” The creases in Penny’s brow deepened, and she crossed her arms. “Your sister didn’t make it sound like they ever changed that intention.”

“No,” Minkus agreed. “They didn’t.”

Penny pinched the bridge of her nose. “Biggie— er, Minkus, would you just make a little bit of sense, please? People called you large because they were asshats who really wanted to call you dumb, and years later you use it as your actual name? Why? Why the hell would you do that?”

He winked at her. This was suddenly becoming fun. “Well, I am large.” Penny buried her face in her hands, but Minkus continued before she could retort. “And I learned that when I used the name for myself, it got harder for the others to laugh at it. One day it just wasn’t fun for them at all, and they stopped.”

Penny blinked, her eyes still locked on his. He liked when he could surprise her.

He went on. “Now— Well, now I like it. Non-asura don’t understand it like asura do. It makes them laugh, and it’s a good conversation starter. Besides,” he shrugged, smiling a little more broadly, “how many people do you know who have a moniker? You don’t have one.” He poked her arm and winked. This had become a very pleasant turn of conversation.

For a moment, Penny assessed him, but just as he felt the urge to shrink a little, her scowl broke and she let out a groan: half frustrated, half amused. “Gods, you are a strange, little man.”

Before he could enjoy the reaction, though, she leaned down and stuck a finger to his chest, almost growling. “Still, don’t you dare let anyone tell you you’re dumb. You hear me?” She waved a hand toward the lab. “You’re worth ten of any of them, OK? Don’t listen to anyone who says differently.”

Blinking, she seemed to realize what she’d said, and she broke eye contact uncomfortably, turning to look out to the sky again.

Minkus felt himself blush. He stepped up to the edge and rested his arm atop the wall. “Thank you, Penny. Really, I— thank you. But— well, it is still true. Compared to almost any asura in Tyria, I am… atypical. I accepted that a long time ago. I just— well, I wish Jinkke could have too.”

“Yeah,” Penny said, glowering down at the jungle canopy. “Like I said: shit.”

She glanced back at him and seemed to recognize his returning discomfort. “But, hey, it— it looks like you two are working it out OK now. So, that’s good, I guess.”

Minkus sniffed, his mind wandering back to his sister’s verbose apologies the night before. Her long lies about their time at Dynamics still stung—a lot, if he was honest. But he also knew what it meant that Jinkke had admitted it to him. She was proud, but she was also very protective; the moment she realized she herself had been the one to hurt him, the latter won out over the former.

“Oh, yes,” Minkus agreed, still thinking of his sister. “We’re family. I’m her brother no matter what she does, and she is my sister. It hurts sometimes. But we will— well, we’ll be alright.”

Penny tried to smile, but a sour grimace was all she could manage. “Right,” she sighed. “Family.” The grimace remained as she stared down into the tropical forest below.

“Penny?” he asked, turning square to face her.

She arched an eyebrow. “Yeah? I’m still standing here.”

Minkus tugged at his ear. He already knew the answer, but he still had to ask the question. “You don’t like talking about family, do you?”

Penny’s scorn broke, and she laughed mirthlessly. “Not much to talk about when you don’t have one, buddy.”

Minkus bit his lip. Was he really going to pursue this further?

He nodded to himself before catching her eye again. “But— Penny, you did at some point. You had to…” His words trailed off, and he took a step back.

She’d turned to face him, her expression as cold as the stonework she leaned on. She didn’t laugh, didn’t rage, and didn’t deflect; she didn’t respond at all.

“Well,” he stammered, looking down again at the pebble in his hand, “I— I would like to hear about it— I mean, if you ever want to share.”

She inhaled deeply and turned back to the view outside. “Yeah,” she almost whispered. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Ahem.”

Minkus jumped and spun. Someone had snuck up on them.

“Oh! Jinkke,” he gasped, recognizing his sister crossing the hallway toward them. “It’s you. You— you scared me.”

“‘Ahem’?” Penny asked. She too had turned to acknowledge the mystery speaker, and as Minkus looked back over his shoulder, he found her re-adopting the self-assured expression he’d become so familiar with, as though none of their conversation had even happened. She put a hand to her hip, arching an eyebrow at Jinkke. “Did you really just ‘ahem’ us?”

“Yes,” Jinkke confirmed. “I suppose I did.” Throwing a hand back toward the door, she pointed. “We need you to explain what in the Alchemy you did to the synaptic bridges in that intelligence core.”

“Gods,” Penny groaned exaggeratedly. “I just came out here because you said you had everything in hand, and now you need me again? Fine. I guess asura ingenuity does have limits after all.” She took a step past Minkus and dipped toward the ground, snatching a killswitch out of her crate. She waved it in Jinkke’s face as she passed toward the lab. “Also, you do know these things need to be charged if you expect them to do anything, right?”

They exchanged a glare, and Penny kept right on walking, that snarky grin touching her lips again as she entered the lab. Jinkke turned back to Minkus, sneering a little.

Smirking, he bounced the little rock in his palm, feeling its small but sizable weight again, and his eyes flashed back and forth between the sister standing in front of him and the friend disappearing back into the lab. Yes, Minkus felt the remaining tension between them; he couldn’t not feel it. But he also couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the two of them. His enjoyment of each made little sense to the other, but his enjoyment of the two of them together? Even he had to admit that was illogical. The two females were tolerating each other at best, but there was something about the pair together that amused him. Their curious contest of wills persisted, and neither would back down from the other, even in the face of the group’s looming predicament.

The group’s looming predicament.

The smile faded from Minkus’ lips. Both of them were there because he’d asked them to be. One way or another, he wouldn’t let them down; he would do all he could to look out for both of them: his sister and his friend.

“Big Brother?” Jinkke asked, breaking the silence he’d fallen into. “Is everything copacetic?”

It wasn’t—or at least it had the grave potential not to be. Before Penny vanished into the lab, Minkus glanced between the two of them once more, and he suddenly had an idea.

He bounded forward and took his sister’s hand. “Jinkke,” he said fervently, “this— well it might sound strange. I— I need you to do something for me.”