To be believed

There’s a new hire in Research. He’s small, and that is the word. He isn’t short, or squat – scrawny is closer to the mark but implies a sort of wiry lopsidedness that doesn’t fit right. He’s just small, like if you took an average sized person and scaled them down. He walks with a cane and keeps his head lowered. He wears some sort of brace or glove on his right hand. Silvery marks pepper his neck and jaw. He doesn’t seem to talk much.“I’ve got a name,” Sasha reports, perching on the side of Tim’s desk. She’s just back from a coffee-machine gossip with Rachel, who had been ignored by the new hire in favour of staring at his shoes. “Jonathan.”“Compensating for size with syllables, classic move.” Tim peers around her to mentally affix the name to the hunched figure curled into the corner desk. “Word of advice, avoid at all costs a one-night stand with an un-shortened ‘Bartholemew.’”