The Phantoms of the Opera And The Things They Do To Annoy Nadir.

A Small Problem - Cherik phiclet #5

Erik was, in a word, confused. No, no, confused didn't quite cover it; he was stunned into silence, his usually quick tongue stilled.

Now, this never happened to Erik all that much. Over the course of his forty years, he could only remember four or five times when he had been fully frozen. This, however, was another time to add to his list.

As if by magic, or perhaps hallucination, everything had grown. Everything.

As he rushed about his house, heart hammering before he'd even reached the kitchen, he found every piece of furniture, every instrument, every mask and powder pot significantly taller than he'd left them. Even the salt and pepper pots on the table, the leg of which he managed to scale using a chipped piece of wood, left him minuscule in comparison.

It was these findings which left Erik with two conclusions: either all of his belongings had simultaneously enhanced in size, or he had shrunk to a fraction of his. Both were ridiculous, he knew, but no rational reasoning was left to help him otherwise. He was, he realised at last, tiny.

He slumped against the pepper pot to think and wait for help. Gérard should be down soon; Erik could not be silent for so long and not be up to something, that had been proven long ago.

If he had shrunk, he'd have to miss his lesson with Miss Daae this afternoon. He worked his jaw back and forth, tapping his fingers against his trouser legs. Not only would he not be able to play the piano - his last hope at some semblance of regular life - but he couldn't very well present himself to her as a three-inch-tall gentleman. Could he even count on his hat having shrunk to fit?

Luckily, it seemed everything on his person had followed him to this world of tiny people. He checked his pocket watch, thankfully still in good working order, and noted the time: a quarter past eight in the morning.

Sure enough, at nine o'clock, Gérard arrived with a frown waxed over his face and a cautious air to his step.

"Erik?" he said, peering through the kitchen door. Erik jumped up.

"Over here!" he cried, waving his arms over his head. "Gérard!"

Unfortunately for Erik, Gérard sighed and moved to close the door. Desperate, Erik pushed the pepper pot over, trying not to think about the mess it would make on the tablecloth.

The particles floated up through the air and, without warning, he sneezed.

"Gérard! Over-" Another sneeze. "Over here!"

He hauled a teaspoon into his minuscule arms and staggered around, doing his best to chime the salt pot.

"Erik?"

His breath ragged, he dropped the spoon. Gérard stared at him, pacing over one step at a time.

"Good grief, what happened to you?" He took a chair, hiding his amusement with half a frown.

Erik waved his arms uselessly. "I woke up like this."

"Erik-"

"I'm serious! I remember working on Miss Daae's pitch in the library and somehow becoming too comfortable on the couch, and now, for some indescribable reason, I'm- I'm-!"

Gérard canted his head. "Small."

"Precisely." Erik folded his arms and slouched against the salt pot, well aware of how petulant he must look, as Gérard righted the pepper.

"You say Miss Daae was here last night?"

Behind his mask, Erik's face flared more than usual. "We were working on her pitch," he insisted.