Work Text:
One might have called it sheer lunacy, or perhaps simple desperation, to be browsing the recent works page of Archive of Our Own without any search filters whatsoever. Such a skeptic would clearly not be familiar with the methods of one Kazuma Asogi, who was most assuredly not procrastinating on his very important report due the next morning at 9 am sharp. He'd always prided himself on being diligent and hardworking to the extreme. As such, his scouring of the deepest, darkest recesses of AO3 that night was for no less than the highest of scholarly pursuits. Knowledge on the human condition was essential in his line of work, after all. Especially what one could find under the—he blinked blearily at the screen and rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, then looked again to make sure he hadn't misread—Wine Fandom tag?
The wine fandom community appeared small but thriving, with a smattering of dedicated authors uploading new works once or twice a week. The latest was titled reflections in chardonnay spark my memory, by someone called bunjikus. Kazuma skimmed through the paragraphs, scoffing as the phrase nullum crimen sine lege jumped out at him. Apparently this bunjikus was the type who sprinkled bits of Latin into their work to make themself sound more intelligent. The pretentiousness brought to mind Kazuma's mentor; incidentally, another he knew of with an overzealous "appreciation" for wine. Did such an obsession predispose one to be so insufferable?
Partway through thnks fr th mrlt (the sequel to shiraz we're goin down, which had been quite good), something stopped Kazuma short. He scrolled back up and reread the sentence once, twice, three times. Then a fourth just to be really and truly positive that the court jester had been making a reference to the Platypus v Doofenshmirtz case, tried at the Old Bailey only a few months prior. Did bunjikus live in London? Kazuma stared at bunjikus's profile in a mixture of shock and delight as the realization washed over him. Sure, there were millions of people in London, and thousands in the legal profession, but only one who would be so pedantic as to character tag each of their wines with their vintage and region. At least, for the sake of his own mental health, he had to believe that.
A scant two hours and twenty-six minutes later, Kazuma's task was complete. All of bunjikus's works from the past six months were neatly categorized and reviewed (publicly, of course) in his bookmarks. 2/10 for mr wineside, in which even the most dreadfully unobservant reader could deduce the mysterious figure's identity from the outset. A generous 6/10 for this ain't a scene it's a vineyard — the villain's heel-face turn had been reasonably well-executed, but the final sonnet had been missing a syllable in its third line. 0/10 for if u seek sherry, which was quite honestly irredeemable in every aspect of plot, lyrics, and stage direction. He wondered how often van Zieks logged into his account. Would he bear witness to Kazuma's cutting wit before coming into the office the next morning? Would he know who had written those reviews? Kazuma kept his online presence discreet (unlike a certain someone with constant references to the London legal scene), but van Zieks was, after all, an extremely sharp and shrewd adversary. Offline, anyway.
Grinning smugly to himself as he pictured his mentor's reaction to this flagrant breach of AO3 etiquette, Kazuma went off to bed, unfinished report lying forgotten on his desk.
As it turned out, van Zieks did not check his AO3 notifications before work the next day. There was nothing amiss in his brusque acknowledgement of Kazuma's arrival, nor in his exasperation upon hearing of the incomplete report, nor in the delivery of his tiresome lecture on taking one's duties seriously as a guardian of the law. Well, Kazuma wasn't entirely paying attention to that last one, but he was fairly certain that his superior's behaviour was utterly and disappointingly normal. So it continued the next day, and the next. Kazuma began to wonder if van Zieks was really the elusive bunjikus at all, or if he had in fact harassed some undeserving complete stranger who had put their heart and soul into their wine fanfiction.
The morning after the publication of bunjikus's next work, my pinot's got humour, Kazuma entered the office to find van Zieks furiously rearranging the wine casks. His mentor insisted on doing this at least once a week (often causing enough disruption for Kazuma to throw up his hands and storm out to pay a visit to Gina at Scotland Yard), but never when there was urgent work to be done, and the two of them were due in court in only a few hours.
"Need some help, sir?" Kazuma offered out of habit, knowing full well what the answer would be.
Van Zieks didn't look up from where he had been unshelving, swapping, and reshelving the same two barrels repeatedly for the past few minutes with ever-increasing ire. "I won't have you treating my finest vintages with the same shoddy workmanship you give your reports," he scoffed. "It's due to your carelessness that we're so behind in preparations for this trial. Get to work."
"I can't," Kazuma pointed out, eyeing the hallowed barrels strewn across the side of the office. "You've blocked off my desk."
"Then work elsewhere."
"My, someone's in a foul mood today," Kazuma commented. He stroked his chin, head tilted in mock concern. "What's troubling you, my lord? Are you still worried about the sick bat? Worst comes to worst, you'll have a great birthday gift for Miss Gorey. I bet she'd love to have a look at the wing bones."
"My mood is none of your concern," van Zieks snapped. After a pause, he added stiffly, "And Myotis myotis is a critically endangered species in Britain. We must do all we can to protect it. Your morbid humour is unwelcome and entirely inappropriate."
"At least it's better than your pinot's," Kazuma muttered to himself, turning back to the door.
Something fell to the floor behind him with a momentous thud that made him jump. He whipped around, hand flying to the hilt of his sword, to see that van Zieks had dropped the barrel he was holding and was staring at him aghast. "What did you just say?!" van Zieks demanded.
Seeing the look of utter horror on his mentor's face, Kazuma couldn't help but burst out laughing. As he struggled to recover himself, he watched van Zieks's expression morph from shock to consternation to utter fury. The man kicked up his left leg and slammed it down onto the fallen wine cask as he brandished his finger in a ridiculously over-the-top fashion. "It was you!"
Beneath his boot, wine began to leak out from the lid of the abused (formerly hallowed) barrel and dribble onto the floor.
"What was, my lord?" Kazuma asked innocently.
"It was you who has been... been besmirching my hallowed works with all manner of unsolicited quibbling over absolute nonsense!"
"It wasn't nonsense," Kazuma interjected. "The lines of a sonnet should have ten syllables each. You're always harping on about how we must be," he lowered his voice and attempted to imitate van Zieks's pompous tone, "precise and exacting in all that we do."
"'Learned' when used as an adjective has two syllables," van Zieks retorted. "Surely you've heard me refer to your learned friend enough times to know that, or is my apprentice as unobservant as he is slovenly and irresponsible?"
The gears were too busy turning in Kazuma's head for him to formulate a proper response. He hadn't actually known how that word was spelled. "What a nonsense language," he grumbled.
Van Zieks snorted and returned to arranging his casks with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Find somewhere to go over the arguments while I finish things here," he said, as if he was doing anything at all of importance. "I expect you to peruse them as diligently as you have done my... other works."
Kazuma smirked. "And I expect these arguments to be more presentable than your attempt at a libretto."
Hallowed barrels at last arranged to his satisfaction, Barok sat at his desk to give his prepared opening statement a final once-over. Try as he might, he could not focus on the words in front of him. His mind kept drifting to the historical inaccuracies Kazuma had pointed out in boulevard of broken glass, the extra word in his drabble series i want it rosé... Curses! He slammed his arm onto his desk in unbridled frustration. How could he lecture his apprentice on a lack of attentiveness when he himself had missed such glaring errors, despite going over his work time and time again as he was doing now? Was he doomed to make foolish mistake after foolish mistake, never learning, never pressing onward?!
A bat fluttered down onto the desk next to his quill and looked up at him, chittering energetically. Barok sighed and stroked its head with one hand as he reached with the other to uncork a bottle of wine. A fine vintage always calmed his nerves. Wine freshly poured, he swirled it in its crystal chalice, sniffed it appreciatively, and took a small sip, surveying his paper thoughtfully. Loath as he was to admit it, Kazuma had a keen eye and at times spotted things Barok himself could not, whether during crime scene investigations or, clearly, in the hallowed halls of the written word.
...Perhaps it was time he appoint himself a beta reader?