Okay, then maybe it wasn't the best idea
to leave him with those three.
- We should go. - Yeah.
好了 队员们 表演时间
All right, team, showtime.
- Drinking at work. - Who said anything about work?
Hey, Legends, you hear that?
We got a hit on the magic-o-meter.
Oh, where in history are we gonna end up next?
Where will it be? The Wild West,
medieval China, or...
Paris in the Roaring Twenties?
Gideon, plot a course.
Yes, Captain, right away.
So explain to me how this magic-o-meter of yours works.
Thingy goes beep, and we kick ass.
Meaning we investigate each time period.
- We find the creature. - We bring it to the Bureau.
And hopefully learn some life lessons along the way.
And it takes six of you to do that?
- Seven if you count Amaya. - Eight if you count me.
Sounds a little inefficient.
Which is why we separate into two very important teams.
小扎 约翰 雷 和阿玛雅
Zee, John, Ray, and Amaya
will stay on the ship to quarterback
while the rest of us go in search
of whatever is wreaking havoc on gay Paree.
I thought that was, uh, inpolitically correct.
Hey, it's our first mission together.
Don't worry, if anything goes wrong in the field,
I got you covered.
I didn't get coldcocked by a girl.
Have you ever been hit by a girl, Hank?
We should head out.
Cafe du Dome, 1927, home to the Lost Generation.
作家 艺术家 流亡者 他们都
Writers, artists, expats, they all--
All right, so where's this monster?
Yeah, who needs historical context and wonderment?
I need a drink.
What he means is, we need to blend in with the locals.
This is a recon mission.
Oh, my God. It's him.
What, the creep with the weird mustache?
He's the father of surrealism.
This is your plan?
To catch this creature,
you ask a bunch of artsy-fartsy fools...
Oh, my God. It's him.
Papa? What, your grandfather's here?
- No. - Thought he blew up in space.
You are so insensitive.
Not that Papa. Ernest Hemingway.
He's, like, my dad's spirit animal.
I say if we want to get things done,
we ask the original man of action.
Your dad is totally geeking out right now.
Mm-hmm, my entire life,
my father would go on and on about Hemingway
and how that was his idea of a real man.
And that is when I was attacked
by the monstrous man of the Catacombs.
Well, it's time to talk to some artsy-fartsy fools.
Uh, you said you saw a monstrous man.
- Can you explain? - Of course.
Um, there was a logarithmic curve to his form,
the drama of his movement expressing
deep personal cosmogony.
Can you draw me a picture?
Okay, let's try one more time.
My name is Amaya Jiwe
of the, uh-- the Justice Society of...
complete and utter bloody rubbish, wouldn't it?
Yep, it sucks.
Now, just remember, the yanks,
they don't say "Rubbish." They'd say...
"That was absolute garbage.
我是美国人 英式足球 码尺 沙拉酱
"I'm American, soccer, yardsticks, ranch dressing,
You know what? I quit. Yeah.
I'd rather get some fresh air
than pretend to be this twee old nag.
You can't quit. She can't quit.
Sara needs us to quarterback the mission.
You don't really think that's why she left us here, do you?
She just doesn't want us making a scene
in front of Nate's dad.
"Efficiency" is the new watchword, gents,
and while Hank is around, the three of us...
- Four if you count Charlie. - Five if you count me.
You know, mate, you could just
walk straight off this ship and no one would even bleeding notice.
Hmph, well, maybe I'll test that theory.
Except I'm not walking.
I'm taking the jumpship.
The answer is no, Ray.
But you haven't even heard my pitch yet.
You want access to a secret containment facility
for magical creatures-- where, I might add,
there are no conjugal visits.
Wait, what? You think that I want to visit Nora
so that we can--
I just want to make sure that she's okay.
Oh, that is so sweet.
I almost believe that story,
you big lovable teddy bear, you.
But the answer is still no.
With Nate's dad watching our each and every move,
there is just no time...
for love at the Time Bureau.
There's always time for love.
- Were you eavesdropping? - Maybe.
Or maybe I was meant to hear your plight.
I'm sorry, who are you again?
Name's Mona, and I know where they've got Nora locked up.
- You do. - Mm-hmm.
And while I can't sneak you in,
I can help you sneak in the next best thing.
A love letter.
The bull is not the enemy of the bullfighter.
He is his partner.
They are dancers locked in a dance of death.
Whichever dies, man or bull,
the dance is a thing of beauty.
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