Finder's keepers.

Married as he is to the idea of knowing the business of others, Koji hardly makes a habit of paying any mind to the squabbles that fill the empty spaces and silence of any given city, state, planet. They're none of his business, not worth his time— (not that as much is a precious resource, these days)— and certainly not worth his efforts if it's over something as arbitrarily-defined as contraband; especially not if it's something as easily dropped on the ground and lost as a single test tube's worth of very expired Greymatter.

See, the key word in that introduction was "hardly". Who was he to say no to pocketing the equivalent of pocket lint? It's the fault of whatever hooded stranger for carrying it in their hands, clutched to their chest as if it'd be secure enough to stay in place once a tan-furred fist swept low and connected with a stomach. While they were catching their breath and the Authorities berated them, Koji had simply kept his head low, strolled past, and kicked the tube further into the ceaseless flow of talons and paws and boots for later collection.

Now that he's in the privacy of some room in a nondescript inn— the current "headquarters" for the Hanoi, though no one's currently home— Koji surmises that perhaps it's for the better that the fool's errand had ended.

Rolling the glass sheath between forefinger and thumb, he stares a hole through the graduations. With every turn the Greymatter is slow to follow— far slower than the molasses-like consistency that it should have; and it's chunky, coagulated with age and poor keeping. He wouldn't be surprised if it'd been left to cook on a Sxriix'n windowsill or opened for a few wafts. The latter's really a baseless assumption, given that the tape's still intact and faded, aged from prolonged exposure outside of the labs this sample had been raided for.

"WOAHHHH— Cool it on the mutinjections, bud!"

Scratch that about no one being home.

Koji's glare shifts from the sample to an unopened laptop on the complimentary desk; or, more accurately, to the pixelated mass of limbs and annoying that sits smugly and primly over the top. The dark dome of her skull lies hammocked atop ads claws in such a way that he just knows the contemptable Dawn is grinning on the inside.

As insult to injury, for some reason he deigns to hide his previous object of attention and snipe, "I'm not 'doing drugs', as you would so crudely put it," which only furthers that sinking suspicion.

Of course, Ai confirms these suspicions by planting either of ads foreclaws on the back of the laptop and pantomiming heaving adself up— "… yah!"— and into a form more able to show off all those (self-described by Ai, not Koji) beautiful, pearly whites. She swipes the back of her paw across kinky-curly bangs like it was such a great effort to adopt a more annoying form—… and proceeds to beeline straight into the task of launching herself through the air in an ambush.

"What would your co-workers think of you, seeing you sink to such a great low?" she wails, wedging both paws into the space between Koji's clenched claws. "Oh, I can just hear the despair! 'Oh, Koji— you don't need those anymore!' 'What bad crowd have you fallen into?' Even ol' Genormi—" … and this gives ad pause— and Koji ample time to swat at her and drag a satisfyingly buzzing "ack!" of surprise from her fleeing form. "Sheesh, right— Genormie would probably encourage it! Fuck around and find out, right? 'Let's see what other useless gene we can splice into you'—"

Tusks bare further with Koji's snarled "Enough. This sample isn't even viable to produce anything with. Some fool dropped it in the thoroughfare."

"What are you doing with it now, then? Ruminating? Mulling things over? Just put it in the garbage!"

Irate glaring withers into an empty stare. "Do you store your gasoline in a Styrofoam cup?"

"When I'd like to make a delicious napalm cocktail, yes! Don't try to out-logic me, bub." Ai plants herself in the Lotus position, arms crossed with a huff. "My brain operates at plenty more processes a second than yours does. I wasn't being literal."

"And you should know that I'm aware you never are being 'literal'." Koji isn't sure his eyes can roll much further back into his skull. The test tube lets off a small tink! as he lets go of it and watches Ai consider following it while it rolls across the desk. "It's a fidget toy at best. There's no emotional significance to my still having it." He catches it with a kill-claw before it connects with a laptop and thus gives the annoying little Dawn an opportunity to… drink it, or something equally as deranged. "Dmitri can do whatever xe likes with it once xir back. Including disposing of it."

Narrowed, yellow eyes urge him toward offering an extra assurance: "There isn't anything related to Greymatter for me to 'let go' of, Aex." She cringes at this. "I've built the bridge to get over it already."

Ai shakes its head with a twitching, suppressed frown. She puts her paws up in mock-surrender. "Wow, not on a first-names basis today? Not the time for a therapy session— I get it— but— sheesh, how cold can a guy be?— uhm—…"

Those same paws meet splayed thighs and she leans in over her knees. Her beak grinds against the points of her teeth. It parts like she's about to say something, then abruptly warps into the blank façade from before. "Seems my presence isn't wanted! I'll show myself the backdoor— ha-ha!— and get out of your feathers so someone much more interested in my advice and sound counsel can see me. Take care of yourself, don't try to drink that no matterhowcuriousyouget— Buh-b-Ai!"

A dismissive wave interrupts any attempt Koji could possibly make at agree- or disagreement ("Come here—") and Ai is already gone by the time hooked claws and reflexes find the reaction time to reach out and snatch at ads form as it derezzes into the laptop.

Flicking the device open and logging in is a futile effort that Koji bothers to shift and stand for; and it leaves him grumbling nonsense as he drums long fingers and now-blunt nails along the keyboard. Why even bother to drag out the dirty laundry if she's going to flee only at the seventh sign of animosity— There's nary a command line to indicate that the thing had even been there. And why was she around to begin with—

The heel of a palm mashes into an eye socket and is subsequently dragged down his face. Koji finds it odd how it feels to frown with it, but his mind more fruitlessly fixates on putting as much as it possibly can into the weary sigh drifting from his chest. He finds obeying the accompanying instinct to comb his fingers through either of his sideburns to be a poor salve.

Too many questions from too short of a and too suddenly ending conversation. All over a useless test tube.

He'd not even been thinking of those early days until now.