It could be very fresh and clean, but hell no, it never is. All's been
quiet on the Sandy front for a couple of days, now, and since his return
to civilization, the former Golden Boy's kept a reasonably irritatingly
regular communication up with Jack. But Jack's been in Opal, and at the
Titans' HQ - not here. Sandy hasn't called, but far more oddly, he hasn't
picked up his phone and the answering machine's been disconnected.

The door to the flat is unlocked. There's no response to knocking, but
it's unlocked, easily opened. And when it's opened, the camera pans to the
couch under the window facing the alley, revealing an extrordinarily
disheveled, shirtless Sand, idly pointing a gun at the door. It looks like
there's...stuff. Sugar? on the floor. Sand? Maybe he got a little
enthusiastic with Dolphin on the beach? Unlikely.

Also, the radio's playing low in the background, very staticky.
Atmosphere, y'know. A classical station.

A loud rapping on the door. Almost too loud. Rough. Agressive. Whoever it
is, it doesn't sound friendly. The pounding continues every so often.
Sure, the person on the other side could /try/ the door handle...but maybe
that would be the intelligent thing to do.

Luckily, the other person on that side of the door is intelligent. A
muttering of voices can be heard and then the door handle is twisted and
the door is opened into the room as a dark haired woman pokes her head in
just as she opens it up the rest of the way. "Sandy? Sandy, are you in he
-- Oh!" She is startled back a step and raises her hands in a gesture of
'look, really...no weapons'. "Sandy...its us, Jack and Donna." She takes
in the room and the appearance of the man with the gun.

Sand's gun-holding hand drops, back over the arm of the couch. He doesn't
move, otherwise, and the station playing on the radio fades out a little
more. It's fairly dark in here; none of the lights are on, and the light
filtering in from the window is dirty. "You shouldn't be here," he says
dully, then looks across the room at the photo on the table. His eyes
stray back to Jack and Donna, and he reaches up to scratch at his chin.
With the motion comes a slight 'shhhh', like the beginning of a spring
rain or someone pouring sugar into a sugarbowl. When he speaks again, his
voice is even lower and less enthusiastic. "It's happening again."

Donna is with Jack, right? So who's that big mug next to her? Wearing
Jack's clothes, even? The man looks really similar to the young Starman. I
mean...I guess even the hair and some of the facial features are the
same...but the eyebrows? The somewhat jutting chin and forehead? The fact
that he weighs nearly twice as much as he did before? The man doesn't wait
for an answer from Sand, merely storms into the apartment headed toward
the kitchen. His posture is slightly stooped, and as he passes his friend
he pays no attention. "Hungry. Need Food."

Donna Troy just watches as Jack goes looping off and she sighs and shakes
her head. What was that whole thing she teased him about back in Opal when
he was playing at being all leery? Ah, yes. How kind she was to animals.
But Jack's one story, right now the woman is looking at Sandy and concern
in written all over her. She shuts the door and stands with her hands now
in pocket, and for her part, does not appear as if anything at all is
amiss with her. At all. Frightening, no? "You might as well kiss your
kitchen good-bye with Ookla going through your refrigerator." Then she
comes closer. "Sandy...are you okay?" Silly question.

Flipping the shambling Magilla off with his free hand, Sandy shoves the
gun under his belt for lack of a better place. "No," he says, sighing,
finally moving to sit up and lean his elbows on his knees. He looks up at
Donna, squinting; every - single - move - he - makes, sand falls off of
him. Now that Donna's closer, she can see he looks pretty grainy: almost
like he got really wet then went for a roll on the beach. But when you
brush it off, there's just...more, underneath. "No, I'm not. Is that
Jack?" The station in the background fades in and out, filling the pauses
with a disturbing, distractingly constant noise.

Donna Troy nods a little as she hears the sand crunching a bit underneath
her footsteps. "Yeah...its Jack. Or was Jack...or something." She frowns a
bit as she's really not understanding what's going on, but is figuring a
frightening correlation with the Central Park jungle and dinosaur attacks.
But as she stands there for a and should anyone notice, there is a
reflection of the woman in the single mirror of the room. Not so
odd...except its at the completely wrong angle to hold her reflection.
"Something strange is going on...I don't know what exactly, but Jack and
you aren't the only ones affected."

That's right, Captain Caveman is in the kitchen, rummaging. There's a
random crash here, a random smash there. Boy, hungry is right.
Unfortunately Sandy and Jack are not known for keeping a well-stocked
fridge or pantry. It seems cave-Jack is having some ploblems finding
anything filling. I mean, Soy Sauce and Mayonaise only goes so far.
Whoops! That sounded like the junk-drawer. Guess Jack's looking for the
extra Ketchup packets now.

Sick as it is, the former sidekick looks terribly relieved. "So it's not
just me," says Sandy, starting to run his hands through his hair, then
stopping himself. He stands, slowly, rustling and quietly disintegrating.
Pausing for a second, he closes his eyes, head bowed slightly - for just
that second, he actually looks every one of those seventy some-odd years
he has under his belt. Finally he wwalks over to the radio and shuts it
off. At the kitchen clatter, he grimaces. "You left your goddamn oatmeal
pies up on the top shelf in a tupperware box, Jack, so they wouldn't get
buggy. I haven't -touched- them."

Donna Troy flinches. Winces. Flinches more. Each clash, clang, boom. She
sighs softly and shakes her head. "No, Sandy...its not just you." She
takes another step to get a view into the kitchen at the ape man Jack,
*crunch* still underfoot. And while her reflection had been in the mirror
a moment ago, its just gone. And she stands still looking very much as
Donna despite her present company. "We've got to get to the bottom of this
before it gets any worse. Maybe if we can get you two back to HQ, we can
run some tests. The sooner, the better."

"PIE!" Jack sounds more like Animal from the Muppets than his usual
charming, debonair self. There's another loud smash, which sounds more
like a cabinet door being ripped off, and another one which is likely the
dull thud of Jack's body hitting the floor. Again, a little scuffling
sound like someone scrambling up on the counter. "PIE!" A one track mind.


------------------- About a day later....

The door to Sandy and Jack's apartment is open to the street; none of the
lights are on inside. As soon as you come up the steps, you can hear
clattering sounds from inside - clattering sounds, and a radio. The radio,
for the benefit of previous viewers, is back on and tuned into Seton Hall
Pirate Radio (WSOU 89.5), currently playing ALL of Pink Floyd. Gotta love
college stations - they can get away with some mighty weird stuff. Sandy's
standing at the table across from the alley window, wearing trousers and a
ratty Hawaiian shirt, and he looks somehow...gritty. Looks like he's
mixing chemicals.

Dolphin is looking a little freaked out as it is. Let's face it, the
general citizens on the streets of New York aren't their usual surly
selves. Now they're sort of animalistic surly selves. It's a little hard
not to notice. The aquatic chick isn't affected, at least noticeably -
maybe 'cause she's been in the ocean. Maybe she's just weird. She looks
distinctly relieved at seeing Sandy in one piece, pale eyes softening, but
she doesn't smile as she knocks lightly on the inside of the door, pausing
in the arch. Her hair has had time to dry, and flows wildly down to her
calves.

"MORE PIIIIIIE!" Is the enigmatic calls from the kitchen. A smash, as it
sounds like glass hitting the wall. "HUNGRY!" Another dish hits the floor.
"CATCH UP!" The voice is gruff and almost animalistic. Occasionally,
another sound of something being smashed or falling emanates from the
other room, no doubt destroying Sandy's concentration. He's put up with
this for hours, now.

Slamming his hands facedown on the counter, Sandy curses under his breath
and glares at the ceiling. When he does that, sand skitters all over -
little grains pretty fairly cover the surface of his work area. "If you
SHUT UP," he yells, facing the kitchen,, "maybe I'll GIVE you more pie!"
He rubs his face and stoppers up the beakers he's been working with, then
glances up at the interruption of light in the doorway (he couldn't hear
the knock - hella lotta noise in here), and freezes when he sees who it
is. "Ah...hiya, Dolphin. I...um...hi."

Dolphin says nothing. The wince that crinkles the edges of her eyes speaks
to the noise volume in the apartment; the thinning of her lips speaks to
concern. But the voice itself is silent, as usual. She stares at Sandy.

Just then, Cave Jack rounds the corner from the kitchen and looks slightly
confused. In his hands, several squashed ketchup packets, looking
thooroughly emptied of their contents...although it appears mostly on
Jack's body and clothes, than ingested. He's looking hairier and bulkier
than ever, his posture and facial structure having changed within the past
couple of hours. Worsened, it seems. "Pie?" He's still hungry. He's been
hungry for hours. When he notices Dolphin for the first time, his eyes
light up. "WOMAN!" With a maniacal grin, Jack begins running to the poor
aquatic girl, with one thing on his mind.

"NO!" bellows Sandy, throwing himself in Jack's path. "F*ckin' monkey," he
mutters, straining against the neanderthal Starman, pushing him back with
a fairly interesting amount of strength. "There's a frozen ham in the
freezer," he says invitingly. "I think you missed it. Why don't you go
gnaw on it for a while?" He glances back at Dolphin, looking apologetic.
"Sorry. Jack's not feeling like himself." Egad. The whole damn apartment
floor is practically a beach. There's sand all over the place. And as soon
as Sandy's in the light, you can see why. It's like someone with a Golden
Boy obsession got their hands on a couple hundred pounds of fine sand and
a hell of a lot of glue, and made themselves a sculpture.

Dolphin isn't some wimpy, indecisive, stereotypical female. Normally she's
quick to act. Not, however, just at this moment. Though she tracked Jack's
approach, her eyes widening; though she raised her hands, preparing a
defense... she stays in the doorway, absolutely at a loss. The full lips
part, but no sound emerges as she lets her webbed hands fall back to her
sides. Watching Sandy.

Getting pushed back by Sandy doesn't exactly help Jack's attitude. Okay,
the way he sees it...there's two reasons to live. 1. Food - which has been
fairly unsatisfying around here lately, and 2. Sex - which he hasn't yet
experienced in his new...er...attitude. The fact that Sandy threatens that
lielihood doesn't go over well. Even the Ham can't distract him now. Maybe
there's a third reason to live - fighting. Snarling sharp canine teeth and
his Sand-sculpted friend. Jack balls up a heavy meat-fist (still covered
in ketchup) and swings directly toward Sand's face. "WOMAN MINE!"

Ducking the blow, Sandy grimaces. He's really, really irritated now. I
mean, you thought he was surly before - but none of that even TOUCHES his
current state. "Okay, you're just being bloody STUPID now," he surls,
rubbing his hands together and throwing a fistful of sand at Jack's eyes.
"Knock it off or I'll gas you. Go eat the damn ham!"

The white-haired woman does move now from the door; she's fast when she
wants to be, though not as swift as she might be in the water. If Jack
moves to hit Sandy, she /will/ interpose herself between. If not... Sandy,
honey, you got some s'plainin' to do.

Scratching at his eyes, Cave Jack frowns and takes a few steps backwards.
Which really isn't much better...since now he's swinging wildly. "HURT!"
One arm smashes into a nearby lamp. You know...the one that's still a
remnant of some of the stuff Sandy had when was a kid all those years ago?
Toppled. It breaks, and so would Jack's heart, if he knew what he was
doing right now. Destroying antiques...it's like the antithesis of him. He
needs to be put down. "HURT!" He charges again toward where Sand and
Dolphin are, flailing madly. "KILL!"

"Sleep," says Sandy softly, drawing and aiming his gasgun swiftly and
fluidly, pulling the trigger. A thin plume of knockout gas - really
/potent/ knockout gas - streams from the end, directly for Jack's roaring,
hyperventilating mouth and nose. It should take effect immediately.

Dolphin apparently lacks total faith in Sand's knockout gas, as her gaze
remains on Jack; her bare feet are slightly spread, balancing as she
prepares for his possible onslaught. It's amazing how cold those blue eyes
can get - from summer sky to chips of ice.

And it does. The gas hits Jack soundly in the face, and he coughs a
bit...deep...gutteral...but still a cough. Still holding his eyes from the
Sand, Cave Jack teeters back and forth as the drug rushes through his
system. Of course, it was designed to take out humans...so Sand's pretty
lucky it's working at all...or maybe Dolphin is...but in the final
analysis, it does the job just fine. Jack drops directly forward, pitching
his mass into the glass coffee table in front of him. Yet another piece of
furniture bites the dust. At least he's...er...dreaming, now.

Sand sighs, reaching up to scratch his forehead with the butt of his gun.
He looks down at Jack in the ruins of the coffee table - doesn't even let
his eyes stray near the lamp. He's silent, utterly; glances up at Dolphin
and bites his lip.

Dolphin looks down for a long moment, taking in Jack's comatose form. She
raises a hand, and pushes back her hair. Then, finally, she turns her head
to look at Sandy. The hand, half-lowered, raises again to approach his
skin. Almost... no, not quite touching. Sandy, baby. You don't call, you
don't write, you turn into granular bits...

Bringing his gun-free hand up to hover over Dolphin's hovering hand, Sandy
looks carefully at her eyes, trying to read them. Extrordinarily gently,
he moves his hand to touch hers. Grainy. Sandy. Rough and scraping - and
most disturbing of all, cold. Just as cold as wet beach after dark.
"Dolphin," he says very quietly. "I'm so sorry."

Dolphin's eyes have always been disturbing. They have no dark; they gleam
against her tanned skin, white pupils and pale blue irises. At the moment
they are wide, but steady. She draws a breath. Lets it out. Makes
absolutely no move, holding her hand where it is. Possibly afraid to knock
off more.. well, best not to dwell on what it is she's standing in. A
shake of the head, and she does speak - a bit rustily, perhaps it's been a
while. "Can I help?"

Letting his hand fall to his side, Sandy exhales. "I don't know. I don't
think so. I mean...I've been trying to figure it out, trying to figure out
what it is that's doing this to people. Some kind of chemical problem? An
infection? A bacteria? Hell, a magic spell?" He shakes his head,
holstering the gasgun again and tightening his belt. "I don't have even
-close- to the right equipment, and at best, I'm a hack chemist. I'm no
real scientist, not by a long shot. And it's not just me - STAR Labs has
their hands full." Glancing back down at the comatose Jack, the man looks
thoughtful. Looking at him's gotta be really, really weird. His face, his
eyes - his /hair/. Sand or sandy. "I have no idea what comes next."

Dolphin is looking at Sandy, yes. She's looking at him a lot. Jack, poor
lad, doesn't merit another glance at this particular moment in time. "I
didn't know," she says finally, soft voice nearly lost . "I would have
come. The streets.... everywhere."

Sand nods wordlessly, still not looking at Dolphin. "I know. I didn't want
you to see...I didn't want anyone to see. Jack and Donna came
yesterday...Donna needed to go. Jack's been here ever since - getting
worse and worse." He looks, finally, and the look on his face is very,
very frightened. "I don't want to be a monster again, Dol - I don't want
to be like this again."

Sometimes it helps to have eyes that no one can read. Dol's smile is
faint, but reassuring; her voice is calm, and smoothly gentle. "You're not
a monster, Sandy." She does look down at Jack now, taking him in again -
let's face it, these things take a while to get used to - before turning
back, raising a hand to adjust the collar of Sandy's shirt. "Is it getting
worse for you, too?"

Even in the state he's in, Sandy's reactions are patently obvious -
especially around Dolphin. He quirks a smile as she adjusts his collar;
resists the urge to touch or kiss her hand. He might be overestimating the
freakishness of the experience, but he's fairly certain he's not. "I think
I've plateaued. I hope to god so, anyway. I...haven't gotten any, um,
grittier for about eight hours or so now." After a pause, he adds a rather
disgusted, "but here's warning you, last time this happened, I got
reeeeeally big and mean and didn't even look remotely human."

One of the bonuses about not spending a great time around humanity is that
your horizons are a little broader. So when your boyfriend turns into this
giant Sand sculpture (hah hah), you can maybe handle it. OK, you can cover
up your shock, dismay and horror and funnel it all into this nice,
continuing smile of reassurance. Dol leaves her hand on Sandy's shoulder,
on the shirt, where it hopefully can't do much harm; her touch, if he can
feel such things, is nearly imperceptible. "Alright." She glances down
again. "But.. Jack? The people in the street. Everyone is... ?"

Sand looks dubiously at Jack, and stuffs his hands in his pockets.
"De-evolving, I think. Reverting back to a more primitive physical state.
I'm guessing I'm only not a monkey because of what happened to me
before...though what that says about my physical makeup, I really -don't-
wanna know." Yes, he can feel it. His senses, due to Comic Book Biology,
are working great - even though even his eyes are blank orbs of, well,
sand, he can see perfectly; et cetera for his hearing, taste, everything.
"I -did- contact STAR, as soon as this baloney happened. They were the
ones who helped me out the last time. But at that point, they didn't know
what was going on. Donna said it was a lot of other people, too. I've
been...indoors a while. I'm certain they're working on it now..."

Dolphin nods slightly. Her hand stays where it is, on the shirt. Cold,
fortunately, is one thing that doesn't bother her; Dol herself is usually
not more than room temperature, and generally much less. "The JLA? The
Titans?" Her tone is calm, still, and casual, but there is a shakier
undercurrent there; she has little real experience with controlling her
voice.

Ooh, doesn't look good, there. Sandy's shoulders sag, and he looks down.
"I haven't been able to contact them," he whispers, sounding for all the
world like a scared little boy. "Other than Donna and Jack, and...and you
see what happened to Jack, and I don't know where Donna went, and...no
one's picking up at either place..." Inadvertently, he looks at his rack
of chemicals again. He -has- been trying, but like he said, what can he
really do? And when all the world is monkeys...

Dolphin nods. "It's alright," she replies, with rather more confidence
than she feels. Sigh. Let's face it, Dol's no chemical expert either. "The
scientists will find something. Perhaps if I go to Poseidonis..
they're...." Pause. Dol trails off, and blinks a few times. The webbed
hand drops from your shirt.

"What...?" asks Sandy, immediately concerned, looking at Dolphin
searchingly. He straightens slightly, but doesn't remove his hands from
his pockets.

Dolphin draws in a breath, and raises her chin again to look up at Sandy,
shaking her head. "Nothing. Perhaps if I go to Poseidonis, they'll have
some way to help."

Sand pauses, then slowly starts to shake his head. "Maybe you underwater
folk are immune, but this has spread so universally...is that such a good
idea?" He looks unhappy. "It's possible the only reason you
haven't...caught...whatever it is is that you haven't been exposed to it
yet. But, coming here..."

The thought isn't a new one to her; she meets the suggestion with only a
nod, and a slight sigh. "I know. I will send Queel. I..." Another pause.
Webbed fingers rise, uncertainly, to brush across her throat before she
swallows. Smiles before continuing. "Only a message. I think I have to go,
Sandy."

Sand nods silently, brows furrowing; he brings his hand to his mouth for a
second, looking even more unhappy, then lets it drop. Looks like he's not
quite sure what to do with himself - then suddenly, he remembers Jack.
"I...I need to take care of Monkeyman, anyway - he...he'll wake up with a
splitting headache, and I'm sure that'll make his mood even more foul." A
beat; a sigh. "I'm sorry, I wanted to keep this away from you..."

Dolphin can already feel a heat rushing through her. An unpleasant burning
in the veins. There are too many differences in her; what happens when
genes conflict? Sand, of course, need know none of this, and she smiles up
at him again. Raises herself on tiptoes to brush her lips against his,
touching nothing else. "You don't need to protect me." Back down to bare
feet in the sand on the floor. "I'll come back." If I can. "Keep the comm
frequencies open."

"I love you," says the Golden Boy quite softly, watching Dolphin leave. "I
can't help it."