#sizeswap

Ema is giddy, just barely holding back giggles as she practically skips out of the Prosecutor’s Office. The more she thinks about this idea, the more excited she finds herself becoming– not even the fop could stop her from doing this (and it’s not like he can, not when he’s now the size of a borrower while she’s the size of a bean).

“It’s not like your brother can do anything to me now!” Ema whispers back. “What’s he gonna do? Put me in another jar?”

“Watch before you cross!” the fop hisses in her ear just before she can step onto a busy road, cars speeding by. She’s bouncing in place as she waits to cross, the fop on her shoulder gripping her hair tightly as he’s jostled in place. 

“Listen, hör zu!” There’s a desperation in his soft voice, even as he speaks quieter. “We already got plenty of chemicals from the Office, let’s just forget about your idea and head back–”

And Ema promptly tunes him out, ignoring his pleas as she finally crosses the street. She is going to visit his brother, that foptop, whether he wants her to or not.

She looks up at the street signs, mentally going over the directions to the detention center that she managed to get.

The fop just doesn’t understand why she has to do this, why she needs to see his brother.

Ema can’t stop grinning. 

Oh, she can just imagine the foptop's face when he sees her again, now the size of a full-grown bean. He'd probably freak out at the sight of her, especially after what happened last time they met. Maybe he'd even beg for her not to hurt him for what he did to her, and maybe she'd pretend to consider showing him mercy.

She giggles. This is going to be so good.

“One visitor to the fopto— er, K-Kristoph Gavin!” she announces once they reach the jail, the tiny fop on her shoulder finally shutting up as he hides in her hair.

The bean at the front office just pauses in the donut he’s biting into, just before shoving the rest of it into his mouth and turning to the computer, messy fingers on the keyboard. “Name?”

“Ema. S-Skyence. Ema Skyence.”

He looks back at her, eyebrow raised.

“Like ‘science’ but with the ‘k’ sound.”

An awkward pause. 

“Okay…”

She really should’ve chosen a better fake name.

The bean asks more questions, most of which Ema doesn’t really understand or has no idea how to answer. But she answers them anyway, with the most bean-like answers she can come up with. And the bean types them down, meaning her answers must be good. (Or he doesn’t actually care. He seems more concerned about stuffing his face with donuts than questioning most of her replies. Which still works for her.)

Ema can’t help but stare at his hands as he types, watching how just a single finger can be used to press down the keys instead of having to use his entire body weight. Now that she’s bean-sized, she should try it out with the fop’s computer back home. It definitely seems a lot faster that way.

“I’m surprised, honestly,” the bean speaks up after swallowing another donut, filling out more information on the computer. “Mr. Gavin doesn’t really get any visitors here. Well, except for his brother sometimes. And that defense attorney, Phoenix Wright.”

Ema blinks. “Mr. Wright?” There aren’t that many defense attorney beans named “Phoenix Wright,” are there?

“Oh, were you one of his clients before?”

“Er, something like that…”

What is Mr. Wright doing with a bean like… like the foptop? There’s no way they’re friends… are they?

Before she can ask more about him, the bean at the computer speaks up again as he finishes typing. “All right, there we go! You’re good to go! Just follow Meekins over there to Mr. Gavin’s cell.”

“YEEESSSSSIR!”

After going through a strange doorway (a “metal detect-tour”) the tall bean, one much taller than Ema and almost comical and cartoonish in nature, leads Ema through the prison, down to some farther section away from all the other prisoners. To somewhere called “solely-tarry confine-mint.”

“Well, this is it, sir!” the tall bean announces loudly as he leads her into a cell that looks a little too nice than what the foptop deserves. “Mr. Kristoph Gavin’s cell, ma’am sir!”

“Quiet down, Meekins,” the foptop speaks up from where he sits, not looking up from his book. “Your voice is as pleasant as nails scraping across a chalkboard.”

Ema shudders, the foptop’s smooth voice bringing back memories from her one and only encounter with him, memories she doesn’t like to dwell on.

(No, this is your chance to finally get revenge! He won’t know what hit him now that I’m bean-sized!)

“SORRY, SIRRRRRR!!!” 

The tall bean’s already loud voice is amplified by the device hanging around his neck, Ema wincing at the volume. She can feel the tiny fop’s  entire body cringing on her shoulder— with his current size, she can only imagine how much worse the sound is for him.

“IT’S JUST!!! YOU HAVE A VISITOR, SIRRRR!!!”

“Yes, why else would you be here.” The foptop turns a page, still not looking up. 

The way he’s just so… so calm, it’s so frustrating. Ema can’t wait to get her hands around his neck. (Maybe. She’s not sure yet what she’s going to do. She’s still figuring that out.)

“Now, if you would be so kind as to leave us be…”

“B-BUT SIR—”

“Meekins.” Though he still doesn’t look up, the foptop’s voice us low and dangerous, Ema tensing up as goosebumps run along her arms. Hadn’t he used that same tone when he first found her…?

“I asked you to leave us alone. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Y-Yes, sir! Sorry, sirrrrrr!” Despite definitely being taller than the foptop, the tall bean is clearly intimidated by him, quickly shuffling away after that threat.

“Well, Wright,” the foptop begins, still not looking up from his book, “if you’re here to ask me again why I killed Mr. Shadi Smith, don’t bother. My answer is still the same: I killed him because I’m an evil human being, end of discussion.”

(Damn right, you are.)

“Actually,” Ema speaks up, her voice cracking.

Damn nerves...

She clears her throat, making her voice louder, steadier. “Actually, I’m not Mr. Wright.”

The foptop freezes midway through flipping a page, finally turning his head towards her. His brows raise, eyes widening ever so slightly in what Ema hopes to be shock.

On her shoulder, the tiny fop grips her hair tighter, tense.

Ema just stands taller, puffing out her chest. “Bet you regret putting me in a jar and trying to suffocate me now that I’m the size of a bean!”

“Bean?”

Why isn’t he feeling threatened?! Ema glares harder, waiting for him to finally crack under her intimidation.

“Ah. You’re my brother’s… roommate.”

Ema’s fists tighten on her bag strap. She can’t explain it, but she hates the way he says that word, “roommate.” It feels… condescending.

Like he refuses to see her in that way.

“Y-Yeah. I am.”

A pause. Neither of them move, just locked in a silent staring contest.

Ema refuses to back down.

“Well? Aren’t you scared, foptop?”

Why is her voice wavering? She shouldn’t be scared now, not when she’s the size of a bean.

“Scared?” the foptop asks with a stupid smirk, pushing up his glasses. “Why should I be scared?”

Ema takes a deep breath, forcing herself to stop shaking. “Because I’m bean-sized,” she states again. “I can get my revenge on you now.”

And the foptop just laughs. His laugh is loud, menacing, echoing in the cell around them. 

She hates his laugh.

“Fine, then.” With that, he closes his book, setting it aside, and he stands up.

He’s… taller than Ema. Much taller…

It never occurred to her that he’d still be taller than her even when she’s bean-sized.

“Go on, then,” he taunts, arms outstretched at his sides. “Get your revenge on me now that you’ve inexplicably grown to human size.”

Ema can’t move. She can’t speak. Her throat is tight, her chest heavy.

She’s the size of a human bean, but with the foptop towering over her, it’s like she’s normal size again. The giant foptop looming, able to grab her in his massive hand at any time, dropping her in another jar…

Her grip tightening even more on her bag strap, she hunches into herself, taking a step back.

“What’s the matter?” He takes a step closer, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. She backs away more.

She hates how he mocks her.

“I thought you were going to get your revenge on me, were you not?”

She says nothing. Maybe this really was a bad idea…

“Or I suppose your revenge is shrinking down my brother and keeping him prisoner on your shoulder.”

Ema’s eyes widen. She had forgotten about him. One hand immediately goes to her shoulder to shield him, the tiny fop shifting tensely as he tries to stay even more hidden in her hair.

“Oh, did you think I wouldn’t notice him sitting there on your shoulder? I almost thought you brought him along to taunt me.”

“He’s not my prisoner,” Ema finds herself saying, her fingers now curling up protectively. She doesn’t know why she feels the need to defend him. “I’m finding a way to get him back to normal.”

“And am I wrong to assume you’re at fault for his minuscule size?”

She doesn’t answer.

The foptop extends his hand to her, palm up with a grin. “Now, I’d like my brother if you don’t mind. I’m not comfortable leaving him in the hands of someone like you.”

Ema doesn’t move. No, she can’t let the foptop have his brother.

The foptop frowns, a certain danger in his eyes that makes Ema’s blood run cold. “Don’t make me ask again,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “Hand over my brother. Now.”

Ema’s fingers wrap around the fop, refusing to obey.

“I’m staying with her,” the fop suddenly speaks up before Ema can say anything, moving her hair out of his way to show himself to his brother. His voice is loud and steady; if it weren’t for the way he’s trembling in her hand, she would’ve believed he’s not even a little bit afraid of this situation.

The foptop arches a brow, his frown almost a scowl now. “You’re staying with her?” he repeats incredulously, shaking his head. “Really now, entrusting your safety to this..." 

The foptop pauses, his eyes narrowing as he glares down at her. 

“…creature, at a time like this… Rather reckless of you, don't you think?"

Ema’s blood boils.

Creature. That’s what he called her: creature.

She’s not even a person to him.

All Ema can do is glare.

"My choice to trust Kleine Fräulein is none of your business," the fop replies, his voice not wavering despite how much he shakes. He grabs onto her fingers, wrapping his tiny arms tight around them. “I’m not a child anymore, Kris, I can take care of myself.”

Ema can’t explain the warmth she feels in her chest at his contact.

The foptop, meanwhile, hardly shows any reaction, though the look in his eyes tells Ema everything. “Listen to yourself, Klavier,” he says quite forcefully. “You’re four inches tall and you think the reasonable course of action is to willingly endanger yourself by staying in the possession of the lunatic—” He practically hisses the word. “—who did this to you. Your diminished size seems to have affected your ability to even think logically.

The shrunken fop hesitates, having no reply.

“Hmph. Sounds like you’re finally listening to reason.”

The foptop steps towards her again, hand outstretched once more. She takes another step back.

Ema doesn’t know why— hell, she doesn’t even understand what exactly is going through her mind right now— but she knows she can’t let the foptop have his brother. She can’t let that happen. Not here, and not during a time like this.

She has to keep the fop away.

She doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until her fist makes contact with the foptop's jaw.

———

"Man, that was a terrible idea. We really shouldn't have done something so incredibly reckless.”

“Ja,” Klavier deadpans, his grip tight on a lock of her hair as she walks, “that was an awful idea. I wonder why we decided to do it.”

Kleine Fräulein doesn’t respond.

Not that he expects her to.

The walk away from the prison is silent between them, neither of them uttering a word.

With each step, Klavier finds himself very conscious of every breath he takes, his chest tight.

Dealing with Kris is something he can usually handle; the man had practically raised him since the two of them were boys, Klavier growing up knowing what he’s like. Sure, he’s sometimes… difficult to put it lightly, and he was found guilty of murder, but… Kris is still his brother…

He stares down at his fists— despite how tightly he holds onto Kleine Fräulein’s hair, they still shake violently. It’s… He’s… 

He gulps, breathing suddenly difficult.

He’s never felt as small as he did compared to his brother today, and it wasn't just literally. The way Kristoph spoke, so condescending and demeaning, as if Klavier isn’t his own person, an adult who can make his own decisions...

As if he’s still the helpless little boy who relied so much on his older brother... Who trusted his older brother without fail or question…

“At least that felt good,” Kleine Fräulein suddenly speaks up, interrupting his thoughts as she continues to walk who knows where. “I mean, my hand still hurts, but I didn't realize how satisfying that would be. Probably the closest I'll ever get to punching you, fop.”

Despite it all, Klavier can’t help but chuckle at her remark. There’s some comfort in how even in this crazy situation they’ve found themselves in, Kleine Fräulein is still the same as ever.

It’s calming, in a strange way.

“We should do this again more often. Or at least while I’m still so huge. I have more I’d like to do to that jerk of a fop.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I doubt Kris would agree to be your punching bag again. Besides, they’re definitely not letting you back in there after you got kicked out for that.”

“A minor inconvenience.”

He laughs, and in that moment, everything almost feels okay. Almost.

When his laughter dies down, Klavier purses his lips. He stares up at her— from his vantage point on her shoulder, hidden in her hair, it’s rather difficult to see her face clearly.

His throat tightens.

He stares down at his wrist, his crystal bracelet from Kleine Fräulein still adorning it, having shrunken with him.

After a moment, he scoots closer to Kleine Fräulein's neck, the lock of hair still tight in his grip. "Danke, Kleine Fräulein..." he somehow manages to choke out, leaning into her warmth.

She just hums in reply, almost nonchalantly, Klavier feeling the vibration from her neck as she does so. 

He closes his eyes, just trying to forget today, just trying to forget his fears, and just trying to forget how miniscule he is.

Being with Kleine Fräulein doesn’t exactly help him feel better about it all— she seems to enjoy being the bigger person for once, based on how she treats him now— but at least... she makes him feel safe.