The comm link's been left open, as requested, but it's been almost a day
and nothing's come over it yet. Sandy's down to pacing, at this point; the
low, steady, growling sound of Cave Jack's snoring comes from the back
room, and the radio's on very quietly now. The entire room smells like
rain - like ozone - and the front door is still open. The air is
maddeningly still. The former sidekick's eyes stray once more to the
communications device, and he finally picks it up and initiates a call.
"Dolphin...?"

A heartbeat passes. Two. Three. A very long moment indeed before Dol's
soft voice comes over the channel; she is no more meant for communicators
than any other speech. "I'm here, Sandy."

And if Sandy were feeling like himself, he'd definitely be sweating during
that long moment - as it is, he stands there physically impassively, mind
racing through a million horrifying scenarios, thinking - but, thank God,
there's his answer. "Oh, Dol - where are you? Are you okay? I...where
/are/ you?"

Dolphin replies after another moment, "The Titans' base. I couldn't find
anyone. I'm sorry, Sandy, I couldn't breathe for a while. I think the air
is alright now. I'm going to head back."

Sand looks utterly blank for a second, then it turns to worry. "You
couldn't -breathe-?" He sits down on the edge of the couch, free hand
opening and closing uselessly, face screwed tight. "Head back where?"

Dolphin says, "Into the city... " She sounds a little confused. "I don't
think the water's good right now. I'm very cold. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," says Sandy - he's just made of beach, is all - and stands up.
"Let me come get you." As he speaks, he draws the front shade and looks
out the window, squinting slightly. To be honest, he's surprised no fires
have started yet.

Maybe the monkey-men forgot how to rub sticks together. Either way, knock
on wood... or maybe something non-flammable. A troup of yammering tribals
goes thumping past in the dark street even as you watch. "I'll walk from
the harbour," she replies after another moment. "You can meet me if you
like. Be careful."

"You be careful, too," says Sandy softly, even as he shrugs on his gun
harness and hawaiian shirt. "Can you swim okay? You said the water wasn't
good - can you still swim all right? I'll meet you at the harbor." Again,
as he's speaking, he's getting ready to go out - leans in the back doorway
to check on Jack one more time, locks up the valuables, hides the Cosmic
Rod in the closet, turns the radio off. He locks the front door behind
him.

Dolphin hesitates. "I think so." And then, more confidently -- let's not
scare the granulated one -- "Yes, I can breathe that far. I can't talk at
the same time. I'll see you there." Silence... no 'click', just the sudden
absence of sound.

Egad. 'Breathe that far'? That sounds terrible. At the sudden
disconnection, he sighs and stuffs the comm in his pocket, and begins to
actually sprint harborwards.

Dodging monkey-people proves to be your primary hobby on the way to the
harbour, as strange packs roam the streets. The electricity seems to be
working, though the streetlights occasionally flicker - and are dark in
places. Like the harbour itself, which is nearly unlit, and graced with
the soft sound of slapping waves, mingled with the discordant screeching
of the rampaging dockmen. Pretty moon, though.

And oh boy, bowling for monkey people is fun when he's unable to dodge.
Seems to be that he's at least -stronger- when he's all silicon, if
less...cohesive. Sandy can't help but notice the strange light - the
flickering, and the cold, odd look of the moonlight against the sundry
surfaces. He's used to the night, but everything looks more menacing than
normal, somehow, almost like he's living in one of his dreams. Finally he
gets to the harbour, not even panting - strange, strange physiology; he
looks about for Dolphin on land first, quickly, and then in the water,
with increasing worry.

Ten minutes. How long does it take her to swim from ... wherever it was
she's swimming from? Sandy's gritty, unreadable eyes scan over the water
for a minute or two before Dolphin breaks the surface by one of the piers.
Her pale hair gleams, plastered wetly to her face, and her hands lunge for
the ladder as she inhales deeply, literally choking for air.

Eyes widening, Sand runs for the ladder at the end of the pier, skidding
to a halt and immediately getting down on his knees and reaching for the
gasping, climbing woman. "My god - you're...did you hold your breath the
whole way? You have to hold your breath! Jesus, Dol, your lips are blue!"
He's obviously thinking out loud. Then it hits him like a ton of bricks
how stupid he was not to bring -anything-. As she gets to the top, he's
already taking off his shirt, for all the good it'll do.

Dolphin is... cold. Really, really cold. Her usual entourage of dolphin
companions is entirely missing; quite possibly she sent them away. The
slits of the gills on her neck - usually unnoticeable - are open now, and
flaring, but somehow not as wide as they should be; in fact, they seem
barely more than an inch long. Her hands are not immediately noticeable -
she has instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, shaking. However,
should one be paying attention, the trademark webbing has nearly entirely
disappeared. And is her hair not shining quite as platinum as it should?
It seems nearly.. blonde, gleaming a little gold in the chill moonlight.

And - of course - Dolphin doesn't just have a cut-off -shirt-, she also
has cut-off /shorts/. "Here, you have to...I didn't bring anything, I'm so
sorry...I didn't think...!" He hurriedly drapes the hawaiian shirt over
the mer-woman's shoulders, then quickly (before she can protest) takes off
his trousers and hands them over. Looks like he's a boxers guy. Would you
believe they've got little rocketships all over 'em? "You're gonna get
hypothermia if you don't get covered up -immediately-. And we have to get
you inside. Walking'll get you warm, too."

As a matter of fact... those little rocketships are entirely believable.
Ah, Sandy. So cute. Dol tugs things on obediently, though the pants are
about a foot too long - she really /isn't/ very big. "Th-the... w-water...
r-really c-cold.." Duh. Between stutters, her tone manages to convey both
confusion and irritation; she raises her eyes to Sandy. Dark eyes,
retaining their blue but now night-black in the centre. Her hair really
/has/ gone blonde.

"Yeah, it's cold," says Sandy really quietly, still moving quite quickly,
reaching out and rolling up the waistline of the trousers so they're not
quite so long. "It's February. The water's probably hovering around
thirty-five, Farenheit." He pulls the belt tight enough, then lightly
brushes Dolphin's wet hair from her face - the movement leaves a trail of
fine sand across her brow. "Sorry." Not a word about her appearance. He
takes the woman's hand and tugs a bit, inclining his head toward the
street. "Come on - jogging will...uh...oh man, your feet."

Dolphin both nods and shivers at the same time, and lets Sandy tug her
along; probably not even noticing how cold /his/ hand is, in turn. It's a
good thing monkey-people aren't fashion-conscious - the two of you must
make quite a sight, the soaked woman in the oversized clothing and the
sand sculpture in the rocket boxers. "They're f-fine, let's m-move."
Later, she will worry about why the ocean is so damn cold.

Sure. Bare feet on New York City streets in February. Sandy would offer to
carry Dolphin, but somehow he doesn't think that'd go over too well - and
he -can't- take his shoes off. He steps in a puddle, he might very well
lose his feet. And that would really, really suck. The pair moves
reasonably fast - most of the monkeymen seem to have gone scavenging for
food. Every once in awhile, they see a streetlamp that's been completely
engulfed by vines, but mostly the weeds weren't the viney type. The city
is eerily quiet - there's no traffic at all.

Perhaps Dol still maintains some of that aquatic toughness, though it's
fading; by the time Sandy's apartment is reached, the gills on her neck
have closed again, almost entirely vanished. It's certain that the average
person could not swim the channel from the island in February, then jog
(if stumblingly) across several city blocks. Nevertheless, she manages,
though the cold night air on her skin is not exactly conductive toward
abating her shivering. She doesn't speak again.

As soon as they get there, Sandy rapidly unlocks the door and ushers
Dolphin inside. He locks it behind him, listens for a moment and makes
sure Jack's still snoring like a chainsaw, then flicks on the space
heaters. "Couch. Now. I'll get you some blankets." He's as good as his
word, disappearing into the back. Moments later, after having raided the
closet, he's got a couple of towels, two quilts, and an afghan. Wow! Hey,
at least he's good for something.

Dolphin has indeed placed herself on the couch - my, she looks interesting
when her lips almost match her eyes - and is curled up vibrating with her
knees against her chest, looking almost like a kid in dad's clothing. Her
blonde eyebrows have pulled down, and she is staring, fascinated, at her
hands.

Yeah, the disbelief thing is interesting for a while. Sandy's stopped
looking in the mirror. Wordlessly, he pulls the space heater closer and
wraps one of the quilts around Dolphin, then sets the other two blankets
on the couch next to her. And yeah, he seems to have forgotten he's not
wearing anything but boxers. Oh well. As he walks over to the kitchen and
starts pulling canned soup out, Sand glances over his shoulder and says
matter-of-factly, "It'd be a good idea to make sure you've got circulation
going through your extremities. I'd...well. You don't want me helping,
unless you dig getting a sandpaper massage."

Dolphin pulls the quilt around herself, then reaches for the other
blankets and spreads those out too. Now she looks like a kid in dad's
clothing who's trying to imitate a hibernating bear. Small granules of
sand are still sprinkled here and there across her forehead. Her eyes -
light for a human, but so dark compared to what they were - are wide. "I
don't understand," she offers finally. "W-what it did to me. I don't..."

Leaving the pot on the stove, heating up the soup - vegetable, naturally -
Sandy walks back out of the kitchen and pauses, looking thoughtfully
(impassively!) at Dol. He moves to put his hands in his pockets, then
pauses again, realising he has none. Um. Well. Uh...damn. Well. He looks
indecisive for a second, unmoving, then shrugs and clasps his hands behind
his back. "Well," he says quietly, eyebrows up, "it makes people devolve,
as far as we've seen, yes?" Sand falls silent for a second, then
continues. "And you look...very human. So that's probably what happened."

Dolphin tugs the blankets tightly around herself, and looks over at Sandy.
Her hair falls in unkempt strands around her features, a few trailing in
front of her face. "But... I'm /not/," is her confused response. She
shakes her head, and tries again. "It was... very hot. I had these very
strange black scales on my arms. And fins, I think fins. I couldn't
breathe... gills to lungs to gills again. How does it end up like this?"
She's really fairly calm about it, all things considered, but definitely
confused. Panic can wait.

Sand kneels in front of Dolphin, crossing his arms lightly over her lap
and looking up at her. Err...it's -not- a weird thing to do, it's just a
difficult position to express in words. He inclines his head a bit more,
reaching up to brush her hair from her eyes again; this time, the sand
just falls to the couch cushions instead of sticking. "You seem to be, at
the moment," he responds, still speaking quietly. "You probably are. If
you ffind you need water again, fast, that's a lot easier to take care of
than if you're underwater and suddenly find out you need air." Again,
silence. "Are you hungry?"

Dolphin shakes her head, and closes her eyes for a moment. Even her lashes
are blonde now. OK, woman, think. "I couldn't find the Titans," she says
after a minute. "I tried. I couldn't find anyone who wasn't affected. Have
you heard from STAR labs?"

"STAR is working on it, they keep telling me. They took the data I had,
and they've been in quarantine...they told me Real Soon Now," says Sandy,
sitting back on his heels, hands on his knees. "And they've been able to
fix some mighty strange stuff, so this probably won't be a horribly
difficult problem for them. They just need time." He pauses. "Do you
think...you -have- time?"

Dolphin gazes at Sandy from within her den of blankets, and manages a
reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Sandy. I was just... cold." No, her eyes
aren't unreadable any more; they're frightened. Turnabout is fair play,
huh? Kind of odd, really. Dol as tanned little California girl. She
suggests, mildly, "Maybe if you have something large you could put water
in it, and some salt?"

Sand nods, unfolding, standing gracefully. "Bathtub. And I've got rock
salt by the door - is that okay?" He stops, waiting for the yes or no on
that one.

Dolphin doesn't know, actually, but she nods anyway, and curls under the
mound of blankets, letting the space heater warm them. "Are you alright? I
mean.. not getting worse?" She watches you, tracking your movements.
Worried.

"I'm okay," is the muffled response, as the Golden Boy digs through the
debris next to the door. He stands, lugging a ten-pound bag of halite.
Just really freaky looking, and unable to eat or breathe, and in constant
terror of getting wet. Sandy stops again by the door leading to the back
and leans against the frame. "You want this water hot or warm?"

"I don't.. that is, I seem to be breathing air now. It's just in case."
She's a practical little thing. Still shivering a bit, but ignoring it;
the heaters and blankets are certainly helping. "I hope it might stay this
way." Then, swiftly amending, "Until they find a solution." A sigh. "I
wish we could do something."

Sand mmms, holding the bag up in one hand and looking at it, but not
really looking at it. He turns his distressingly blank gaze back to the
woman on the couch and asks calmly, "Do you believe in God? Or any sort of
supreme being?"

Dolphin blinks at Sandy. Blink. You startled her with that one. After a
moment's pause, she replies gently, "The dolphins believe that all things
come in cycles."

Sand smiles lopsidedly. "Okay. I'll pray, then. You sit tight and think of
ways to get Jack to -not- rampage when he wakes up." This said, he goes
into the bathroom and drops off the rock salt, then reenters the kitchen
and turns off the soup on the stove. He puts a plate over it, keeping it
reasonably hot and humid in case Dol changes her mind, then frowns. "You
don't need it especially humid in here, do you?" he calls.

Oooh. Other room. You're making Dol raise her voice. It's a wonder her
vocal chords don't explode at the shock. "No.. really, I'm fine." After a
second, she suggests, "I could give Jack what he wanted..." The voice has
a mischievous undertone. Of /course/ she's joking.

There's a -loud- cough from the kitchen, and Sand swings around the
doorframe, leaning back into the main room. His eyes are wide, and he
laughs in surprise. "Now, what did I say that warranted -that-?"

Dolphin replies, innocently, "That I should think of ways for him to not
rampage." Her eyes, let us note, are not calm, but her voice is. She
smiles at Sandy. "You look too serious like that."

Sand quirks a smile, shoulder still leaning on the frame. "Well. I dunno
that it'd even stop him from rampaging. And...how can you look at me
standing here in my undershorts and tell me I look too serious? Do I need
fuzzy pink bunny slippers, too?" He strikes a pose, like in an old Charles
Atlas ad, then switches to a more GQ version. "How's this? Still too
stolid?"

Dolphin giggles, raising a hand to her lips. Her fingers, unwebbed, are
slender, possibly a bit short - she'll never be a star guitarist. She's
stopped shaking now, though she makes no move to divest herself of any
blankets yet. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take your clothes."

Sand smirks, kicking his shoes off and under the table. He takes a seat in
a folding metal chair, making kind of grindy noises as his bare back hits
the back of the seat, then clasps his hands over his stomach. "No worries.
You look far better in them than I ever did, and I'm not cold or anything.
As long as, y'know, you don't mind looking at me like this, I may as well
just be lazy about finding something to wear."

Dolphin shakes her head. "I don't mind." Another smile. "Come sit on the
couch." She moves over to make room, scrunching the blankets to the side.
Her next question is hesitant. "Does it .. hurt?"

And a good question it is. Sandy stands without answering, moving over to
the couch and sitting next to Dolphin - man, he's really gonna have to go
wild with the shopvac when this is all over, to get rid of the grit. He
hesitates, brow furrowed, then brings up his legs in front of him and
drapes his arms over his knees. "Not as much as it did the first time.
This has to be different. Or...no, I'd really rather not think about
that," he says uncomfortably. "But...not...yeah. Not as much. Not really."
Okay, now he's Pythoning. "In fact, no! Never felt better! No pain, none
whatsoever, none at all."

Dolphin shifts one of the blankets to be between her and the cold granular
shoulder of the man on the couch, and carefully leans against him, resting
her cheek on the blanket on his shoulder and looking up at him. Unless
this is going to cause much sand-loss, in which case nevermind. "They'll
find something soon."

Nah, it's like erosion. If someone clocks him in the head with a meaty
fist (monsoon), whammo he's dead. But leaning on his shoulder is like, uh,
a drizzle. Okay, that analogy sucked. But it's no problem, because I play
with consistency as much as Byrne plays with continuity. Sandy smiles
slightly, turning and kissing Dolphin lightly on her forehead. Very
lightly. Getting sand in her eyes would be -so- irritatingly prosaic and
dumb. "I know they will. I'm not too worried - as long as you're safe. And
hey, at least I don't have to worry about the dreams."

Dolphin's lips part, then close, then pull down a bit at the edges,
thinning into a frown. "Dreams?" She moves as little as possible, not
wanting to dislodge any more of Sandy. Tsk. Maybe he needs a dust buster.

A significant pause. "Oh. Well. Um," says Sandy. He seems to be doing that
a lot tonight. Probably would be doing it more if he were sitting
half-naked on the couch next to Dol in normal circumstances. "Well,
it's...uh...a plus side of this silicon baloney. I don't sleep. And no
sleep, no dreams." A few heartbeats pass, then he looks down at Dolphin,
watching her eyes. "No dreams, no precognitive nightmares."

That frown has failed to leave her lips. Very little that Sandy could say
would shock or horrify Dolphin, but it is more than possible to worry her.
"Precognitive? You mean like visions?" Nothing wrong with this girl's
vocabulary, despite the fact that she seldom utilizes it.

Sandy laughs nervously. "Yeah, like visions. I-" he stops himself, then
shakes his head. "It's nothing to worry about. Wes - the Sandman - used to
have them, too. They're what make him take up the crusade in the first
place. I've been having them for years now." He brings his hands up to his
face, steepling them over his nose and mouth, thumbs under his chin. He
repeats, muffled, "Nothing to worry about."

Dolphin sighs quietly. She shifts, reaches for one of Sandy's wrists to
pull his hands down - but pauses before touching, remembering belatedly.
Possibly jarred by the sight of her own webless fingers superimposed
against grainy skin. She lets her hand drop again, and queries gently,
"Are those things that you fight? Or is it a future further away?"

Letting his hands drop, then, Sandy crosses his arms over his chest; he
doesn't lower his feet. His hair looks funny - like a cartoon. It's all
one piece with a few indented strands and that one irritatingly
uncooperative curl falling over his forehead. It takes him a second to
answer. "If I dream about something," he says finally, "I have to deal
with it, generally, in the next day. But I have to be watching for it
starting from when the dream wakes me up. It usually means forgetting
sleeping for the rest of the night. It's always...immediate."

Dolphin considers that for a moment, brushing her fingers very gently over
the back of Sandy's hand - the hand that's closest to her. Unable to do
more, she nestles a little closer to the blanketed shoulder. "That must be
very hard."

"Ain't easy," says Sandy easily, then adds wryly, "And boyola, I'd like to
sock that Morpheus one. Stinkin' lord of dreams. He's so anxious to right
the world's wrongs, why doesn't -he- learn kickboxing or something,
instead of waking -me- up?" He grins, then shakes his head and takes
Dolphin's hand. "Really, it's okay. I've learned to live with it. And
people can just live with me being a grumpy old man that doesn't get
enough sleep."

Dolphin smiles. "You're not grumpy." Hooo, boy. She don't know him too
well, do she? Or maybe it's just the fact that he seems to turn into a
kitten whenever she's within fifty feet. "And you don't always act very
old."

This garners another laugh. "Yeah, right, I'm not grumpy. Ask Jack and
Donna about that when this is all over. They'll tell you tales that'll
curl your hair." Sandy grins, brushing his thumb over the back of
Dolphin's hand (again lightly - the sandpaper effect isn't especially
desirable). "And...no, I don't act very old. But...you should probably get
some sleep. That was a hell of an ordeal you went through."

Dolphin replies, in minor protest, "I'm alright." Nevertheless, she
snuggles against Sandy (blanket duly protecting from icky cold sandpaper
skin) and closes her eyes. She does note, with an air of mild irritation,
"Though it is hard to swim without webbing. And I am going to get you a
very, very warm suit before I take you to Poseidonis."