Nothing would have happened if Klavier hadn't totaled his motorcycle.

He was lucky to be alive, lucky to have escaped with nothing but a few scratches and ruined motorcycle leather. Oh yes, dear Kristoph had been sure to remind him, and sure to tell him that there was absolutely no way he could give Klavier a ride to the prosecutor's office in the few days it would get for Klavier to decide on a bike and purchase a new one.

Daryan wasn't answering his calls, still sore over a dicussion they had last night.
The rest of the Gavinners were home in Germany.
He couldn't get ahold of a reputable limo service to take him, and to go through his record company's services would be a conflict of interest.
Cabs were ignoring him.

So that's how he ended up waiting for the bus.

Phoenix Wright was dressed for an interview. He didn't notice the scrawny, leather-clad teenager for a moment or two. When he saw the kid in expensive sunglasses was staring, he pulled his earbuds out and stared right back.

"Prosecutor Gavin?"

"The one and only," said Klavier with a grin, striking a pose like he'd been waiting anxiously for the moment to. "How have you been?"

Phoenix tried to come up with a reason not to be really irritated the guy who ruined his career asked him that. Well, it hadn't been Klavier's fault, really. But getting beaten by a kid - especially a kid who was not as sharp as Franziska - stung worse than a glancing blow with a whip. Maybe it was Klavier's supernaturally white teeth. The shine off them gave him a headache.

"I'm fine. I'm trying for a secretarial position, but I probably won't get it because people think I'm dishonest."

"It's tough being famous," Klavier said, clicking his tongue.

"Yeah. It's right up there with being kidnapped or tortured." Phoenix replaced his earbuds, and vowed not to make any eye contact wth Klavier.

Klavier glanced at Phoenix, trying to guage whether the former lawyer was being sarcastic. When the spiky-haired man said no more, he shoved his hands in his pockets and waited.

Getting on the bus proved to be another problem. The bus driver glared witheringly at Klavier and his crisp pink 50 dollar bill - the smallest thing he had in his wallet. The lardlike man grunted and pointed to a sign that said, Please have exact fare. Drivers cannot make change.

"Then I suppose this will just have to do," Klavier sighed, about to place the $50 in the fare box.

"I'll get it," said Phoenix, and paid both their fares. "That's a lot of money. Don't waste it on a bus ride."

"You," Klavier said, taking the older man's arm, "Are sitting next to me."

"Fabulous," Phoenix grumbled.

"I know I am," said Klavier, finding them a seat. He really was surprised no one recognized him - no one even looked up at other passengers. Most had headphones in, or where chatting or texting on phones. A person who resembled a heap of dirty, pee-smelling laundry snoozed gently in the very back.

By the end of the bus ride, Phoenix had warmed to Klavier a little. The boy's German-accented prattling had at least taken his mind off his nervousness. As Phoenix got up for his stop, Klavier pressed his business card to the palm of his hand.

"Call me and tell me how your interview went. I'll take you out to dinner to celebrate the results. Or perhaps mourn them. Whatever you do, there will be lots of wine involved."

"You're underage."

"Being famous has its perks," said Klavier with a too-white smile.

That smile was dazzling.