a dimension of sound... a dimension of sight...

Picture of a young artist, not even close to half as famous as he could be for his art, and his cat, a peculiar creature of fur and of wit. To any old bystander, there is not much interesting with this odd pair... But today, they find themselves unwillingly transported into the Twilight Zone.

The day is October 2nd, 1959 and our pair of travelers find themselves entering an establishment off a long road, a fine hole-in-the-wall diner, of the sort with breakfast and with ice cream floats and milkshakes; the place where one might stop during their journey to a faraway destination - and far away have they indeed gone.

The bell above the door rang briefly as Dmitry pushed his way in. As always, he held the door open a moment longer, enough for Lisbeth to follow, before gently making sure it closed without interrupting any conversations. It did not take him long to notice that there were no conversations to interrupt, though.

In fact, it was eerily silent there.

The small cat explored silently, slinking between chairs and around corners expertly, tail raised to attention, ears listening intently. Dmitry, far less graceful, far more disaster, tried his best not to bump into tables, or chairs, or corners... but failed. He was just too distracted processing the fact that this looked straight out of an old movie. It was uncanny, really: tall glass bottles for soda, a large till with mechanical levers and wheels, and a distinct lack of... well, computers. Not a single flat-screen TV playing an obnoxious news or sports station to be seen, no "FREE WI-FI" sign, no pocket calculator nor digital speakers, no. None of that. This place seemed, if anything, to be untouched by time. Fascinating! But uncanny.

"Do you think they have pancakes?" He softly asked the cat, who was by now sitting at a bar stool, eyeing him as he looked around and frowned in confusion. Her reply was but a soft mew, neither affirmative nor negative. Then, suddenly, she hopped back onto the floor and hid away momentarily. Mere moments later, she appeared again, this time a young woman.

The radio turned on without anyone operating it. A boisterous jazz band came through the tinny little speaker, filling the little diner with noise, a strange occurrence in a strange place.

Then the door opened, and someone stepped in. Enter a man about 5'4'', curly black hair slicked back, thick brows framing brown, almond eyes beneath a slightly aged forehead. He was dressed quite nicely, in a buttoned-up ebony suit coat and matching suit pants, a white collared shirt, and a tie the color of a starless sky. He didn't look quite right. If one looked at him too long, he seemed to flicker, like the image on an old cathode ray tube television set. That was not something one saw around much at all in the age of Wi-Fi and smartphones from which the other two travelers came.

He cast the two of them a glance -- not overly friendly, not annoyed, not judgemental, just watching, as though looking for something. He noted the peculiarity of the cat. But it wasn't really a cat. He knew that. They knew that. There was nothing to be said of it.

He did, however, speak.

"The clocks tick, the radio plays, smells of breakfast foods waft in from the kitchen, and cigarettes sit still smoking in ashtrays."

He sauntered to a table, pulled out a chair, sat in it, taking his time. He lit a cigarette without any lighter or match, and just held it there in his hand, smoking.

"But I can't tell you what's occurred. You, the both of you, you must discern it for yourselves in your own time, on your own journey."

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Oh.

Oh.

Tension coiled under his skin as Arlequin shifted slightly, rising just a little, ready to get back to his feet and take off if he needed to.

"Nae, canne say I've seen anythin' an' there're no disputed with th' town." He hesitated slightly. For only a moment. "...Bein' honest, I'd say they're talkin' 'bout me... I haven' had trouble since th' first few years I lived here. Most people just choose ta avoid th' area because it's thinner trees an' real trails an' roads further off."

He supposed that the rumors were still floating from back then. He couldn't help looking around again, though, slowly he looked back at the Witcher.

Alright, then. So either the rumors were a clever guise to keep the big bloke from getting any more trouble, or they were simply too cowardly to act on that fear after a few years. Much as he wanted to believe the former, the latter was more probable. Pox on them, damned fools. If I had to choose between one evil and another, I'd rather not choose at all, Geralt always thought; not all inhuman things were monsters, and he refused to raise his sword without reason or against those who did others no harm. Besides, humans could be quite monstrous themselves, with their wars and squabbles, pogroms and sorcerer-burnings.

Not lookin' fer any trouble. "Good. We agree then," Geralt said. "I hunt monsters. You're not a monster." he shrugged. All things considered so far, he seemed a friendly man, albeit an absurdly tall one. Reminded Geralt of a dwarf. Maybe it was the thick accent of a similar sort to theirs. Some of Geralt's greatest friends and allies were dwarves. Zoltan was one. Hardy bunch. Got more than their share of undue ire from humans. Seemed this giant was the same. Medallion was still, no anger nor contempt on this creature's far larger face, and neither of his hands had so much as raised to reach out towards Geralt for any reason, least of all to do harm. Geralt, then, had no reason to draw his blade, bombs, nor make use of any Witcher signs against him. The passing thought was there whether Axii would work on such a large, but still humanoid, man.

in the period of time that they'd worked together, carl had come to revere ryland grace as a friend. but that didn't stop or change the fact that grace was needed to help save this world. hands slip into dress-pants pockets. "you know exactly what to do," he reminds. "stratt wouldn't have picked you otherwise."

he's not smart like grace, but that doesn't mean he's a fool. he knows that stratt has her plans and even if it pains him, carl would rather say goodbye to one person than to die amongst millions as the sun died. if anyone could save them, surely it would be grace.

"I'm not-!" Grace paused, lowering his voice to a hush now, "I'm not that kind of hero to my class. Look at me. Do I look like a gosh-darn astronaut to you? No way. I put the 'not' in astronaut, come on."

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[From Season 1, Episode 22 of The Twilight Zone, called "A Passage For Trumpet" - this is the one scene Gabe is in! So if you don't know him, now you do.

Jack Klugman (Joey) is truly incredible, but Gabe's actor steals the show here from even him. Just. The gentle, divine presence of him is so damn good, and he doesn't come across as condescending or ulterior-motived for even a moment.

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SUSAN "GINORMICA" MURPHY OF DREAMWORKS MONSTERS VS. ALIENS