disapproving drew

I Started a Wrightworth Oneshot - should I continue?

The flash of red caught Phoenix’s eye; a streak of scarlet slashed violently and elegantly across the window as he hurried past it, anxious to be out of the mercilessly pounding rain.

But he knew – it had to be him.

His legs were folded sophisticatedly over each other; slender, spidery fingers curled around the handle of a teacup, steely eyes trained on something that Phoenix could not see.

Breathlessly, he pushed open the door, standing, sodden and damp, in the entrance of the tea shop, sopping newspaper in hand and a somewhat sheepish smile on his face. The place was ridiculously extravagant.

But, then again, that man had always been ridiculously extravagant.

He drew numerous disapproving gazes from prim ladies and stiffly-attired men; self-consciously he slicked his free hand carelessly through damp black hair and patted his pale blue waistcoat, leaving a distinct, hand-shaped patch of moisture on it.

An impassive waiter, who had obviously been so well-trained so as not even to look curiously at him, politely inquired if he was Mr Wright. Upon this being affirmed by the rather damp Phoenix, he led him to the seat in the window, opposite the scarlet-clad shape.

“You’re late, Wright,” murmured the man, his finger resting at his brow. The cold light reflected off his glasses – he was not looking at Phoenix; rather at the sheaf of papers that rested in his lap. A shiny black leather briefcase rested beside him on the floor, evidently currently devoid of its contents, and the elegant white teacup rested on the knee-height table in front of him.

Phoenix lowered himself into the seat opposite him and smiled sheepishly, running a hand through his hair again. A stubborn inky strand persisted in hanging over his forehead. “Yeah, sorry – it was all wet – I tried cycling here but it started to rain really heavily, so I ditched the bike –"

“You cycled?” There was a frown in the other man’s voice.

“I don’t have a drivers’ license, remember, Edgeworth? So, anyway, I walked –"

“And, despite it raining heavily, you still elected to stop and buy a newspaper?”

“I needed a cheap umbrella,” Phoenix admitted.

“Mm, and what an effective umbrella it was.” Edgeworth’s cultured voice dripped with sarcasm, and he finally looked up at Phoenix. His grey eyes were lined and tired and he seemed to have an indelible frown, but Phoenix had long since learned to spot the glint of thinly-veiled amusement in his eyes.

It was certainly present as he dryly regarded the sodden defense attorney in front of him.