(Scenes from Legends of Tomorrow Season 6, Episode 12)

The Legends play another round of bowling for fun prior to leaving Galaxy Lanes. When they re-embark on the Waverider, I perceive two groups taking separate routes to the bridge. The first arrives through the west entrance. "Come on, Cap," Dr. Heywood implores, "can't we just roll one more?"

Captains Lance and Sharpe both answer, "No!"

His arm rests over Miss Tomaz's shoulder with their hands interlocked. "Sorry," she disinhibits him. "We'll have our rematch at our next date night."

Miss Cruz asserts, "I don't know all of y'all, but I'm done with space. Get these shoes on solid ground."

"Agreed," Miss Logue concurs, "but not in those shoes. We need to talk about your footwear."

"Try to put a heel on me, and I'll show you where to stick it."

They walk past Mr. Constantine, who simultaneously roams through the east doorway with Misters Rory, Tarazi, and Green. "Oh, I'm with Miss Cruz on this one," he determines. "I think it's about time that we all return to where we belong." The sorcerer reinforces his point by querying Miss Tomaz, "Don't you think?"

"Okay, message received. You are correct. It's time for us to swap back." She notices her boyfriend's forlorn expression, reassuring him, "It's not forever."

"I know," Dr. Heywood softly heeds. "We got this." After they share one last kiss, he steps back.

"Okay, Fancy Z, time to come out. See you, guys." She activates her totem with a single tap. Miss Tomaz vanishes in a windy blur. When it dissipates, Miss Tarazi stands in her place. She is happy to see her brother in the parlour. However, her elation is more evident as she gazes upon Mr. Constantine. The feeling is very mutual. They cannot resist staying apart. "Oh, John," Miss Tarazi gasps, "I missed your face so much."

"I missed you so much."

She soon ascertains the starry horizon through the viewports. "Wait, are we in actual space?"

"Yep," Dr. Heywood affirms.

"Uh, do I wanna know why?"

The sorcerer cavalierly replies, "Desperate times. The world was at stake. All that malarkey." He escorts her to the galley. "Let me explain it to you over a nice cup of chai. Maybe a foot massage, yeah?"

"Talk later, Z," an overlooked Mr. Tarazi denotes. "Boos before bros."

Dr. Heywood remarks, "Unless your bro's a—"

"Time Bro," they declare together as they leave.

The captains are accessing the central console at the moment. Captain Sharpe debriefs, "Hey, babe? Something's wrong. I can't set the jump coordinates." That is foreseen because I've already discerned some unpleasant news. "Can you…?" Of course, Captain Lance couldn't do anything from her end.

I divulge, "I'm afraid my jump drive was damaged when Mr. Constantine magicked us across the universe."

"Well, I guess we're gonna have to take the long way," the captain resigns. "How long will that take?"

I promptly calculate the most efficient route. "Taking into consideration the Waverider's fuel and energy reserves, we should arrive safely in three weeks, two days, and 21 hours."

She and the co-captain find this difficult to accept. "So, we're stuck on the ship for three weeks?" Yes.

Mr. Rory moves from his seat in the parlour. "I'll be in my room," he attests. "When we land on Earth, wake me up. These eggs are making my head itchy."

"I'll bring you some cocoa butter for that," Mr. Green calls after him. He puts forward a suggestion on how to pass the time. The alien consultant shows them the board game in his hands. "It's this super fun role-playing game. It's called Beast/Slayers. What do you say? A Gothic mystery adventure awaits?"

Captain Lance gives him a forced smile, rescinding, "Well, uh, we have a wedding we have to plan."

"Yeah, so much to plan," Captain Sharpe accedes with a fake grin. "We just—we—we're very busy."

"We have a lot of things to plan." The captains rush out of the bridge before he can prod further.

Slightly deterred, Mr. Green yields, "Okay, I'll just set it on the table in case you guys change your minds." So begins the first day of our long interplanetary trek.

In the library, Captains Lance and Sharpe are indeed resuming their wedding planning. Well, one of them is. The latter meticulously ventures through every aspect. "Okay. I have everything by category." She extends the guest lists—plural—to the former, who seems visibly dazed up to this point.

"Wow, yep, this is—this is thorough."

"We've got Group A—those who need to come obviously. Group B consists of those we'd love to come, but it's okay if they can't. Group C are the people that we should definitely send an invitation to and pray they R.S.V.P. 'no'."

Captain Lance's eyebrows crinkle when she turns the page over. "What about Group D?"

The co-captain balks, replying, "Yeah, well, those are the people who it might be better that they don't know we're getting married until it's too late." Specifically, they are uninvited.

One name is prolific among the distinctive roster. "Why is Barry Allen on this list? I want Barry there."

"I know you do, babe. But you know that, if he and Iris show up, there is a 100% chance that our special day will be blown up by a supervillain." Because theirs was. She jabs her finger into the page. "So, Group D."

"Okay, D," Captain Lance defers. She peers to the monitor, where I've exhibited the countdown chronometer. "Hold on a second." I've added 12 more hours to it. We're now three weeks, two days, and 22 hours away from Earth. "Gideon, why is our trip getting longer?"

"I've recalculated the duration based on our current level of power consumption."

The captains exchange a look. "Power consumption?" They depart to investigate what's causing this. In the lounge, Dr. Heywood and Mr. Tarazi are playing Mortal Kombat 11. The latter is beating the former as much as he overly protests. Suddenly to them, the captain arrives and shuts off their game.

Mr. Tarazi tellingly proclaims, "Hey!"

"Sorry, kiddos. We gotta conserve power, or we're never gonna get home."

Dr. Heywood queries, "So no screen time?"

She tosses the controller onto the coffee table. "Afraid so." The two friends collectively express their disappointment in groans.

During this time, Miss Cruz is reading H.G. Wells' The War of the Worlds behind them. "I got you, Captain," she consents. "No power, no problem."

Captain Lance peers at the countdown. It's now three weeks, three days and 16 hours. "Right, who's next?"

In the galley, Miss Logue is ordering her meal. "Gideon, I would like a prime rib—medium rare—with shoestring fries, béarnaise, and—" Her request is directly discontinued by Captain Sharpe's arrival.

"Ah-ah-ah! Gideon, scrap that order." Scrapping… She tells the sorceress, "Sorry, we can't use the food fabricator anymore."

"How are we supposed to feed ourselves?"

"I don't know." The co-captain perceives an uncooked rib in the refrigerator. "Oh, look. Food." She retrieves it out and extends it to her. "Cook it the old-fashioned way." Miss Logue's bafflement is self-explanatory. Ostensibly, she isn't plumb complacent.

Mr. Constantine is otherwise apt to pamper Miss Tarazi with his magic. Although he relishes utilizing it again, he has experienced adverse effects each time. The unknown liquid in his flask is his constant medication. The sorcerer maintains his indefatigable veneer in front of a concerned Mr. Tarazi. Before the latter can ask him more questions, his sister exits the bathroom. The couple then proceeds to have their spa date. Still, Mr. Tarazi's suspicions aren't eradicated.

Two days later, he's instructing a yoga class in the lounge. Dr. Heywood spares no effort, verbalizing, "Steel is not flexible." There is a state of imperturbability present. However, when Mr. Constantine strolls into the lounge, it is swiftly dismantled. He places his mat next to his girlfriend's. The sorcerer recites another Gaelic incantation to change the atmosphere. The dimly lit room is full-featured with scattered petals on the floor, the carpet rugs, and the thermostat at 85 degrees Fahrenheit. Mr. Tarazi comments, "Guess we're doing hot yoga." The sorcerer starts undressing himself. "But, in the interest of preserving the sanctity of this practice, I ask that you keep your pants on."

"Well, in the interest of achieving a higher state of consciousness, I must bare myself to the elements."

"Come on, B," Miss Tarazi entreats, "you know how he is."

"Sure, but I'd rather not know all of him right now, okay?"

Mr. Constantine challenges, "I thought that you, of all people, would go with the flow."

"The flow was my flow till you came and hijacked it."

"Hijacked it? Improved it, you mean. Know what? This is bollocks." He grabs his shirt off the floor and puts it on. "Well, I'm gonna go practice somewhere more welcoming. Cheers."

Miss Tarazi glares at her brother. "Behrad..." She begins chiding him in Arabic.

"Don't Mom voice me, Zari."

"Guys, guys, just take a breath," Dr. Heywood compels. He mindfully bids this to his friend.

"You're right. This is safe space. John, you can stay."

"No, no, no, no, no." The harried sorcerer throws on his trousers in a huff. "No, the mood's all wrong now, mate." He storms out barefoot as a result.

Miss Tarazi gives Mr. Tarazi another scowl before she chases after her boyfriend in her sheer wrapper. "John?"

In the eastern corridors, Captains Lance and Sharpe are still debating on who should (and not) attend their wedding. "Well, if that is the issue, then why did you put your fake actor parents in Group A?"

"Whoa, whoa, I have fond memories of them that feel real and I—"

"Well, Black Siren is my sister Laurel from another—"

Mr. Constantine's yelling terminates their disagreement. "I feel like a spare prick in a dartboard, all right?" He and Miss Tarazi cross their path as they stop in front of the bathroom. "I know when I'm not wanted, and I'm not gonna overstay my welcome."

"John, don't be dramatic," she placates. "Go back there and make amends. He didn't mean what he said."

"Oh, hold on," the captain intervenes. "What is the drama?"

"Tensions are very high," she sighs. "People are feeling very prickly."

The co-captain inquires, "How is this already happening? It's only day three."

"Hey, it is very stressful being cooped up on a timeship."

"Worse," the sorcerer adds, "it's bloody boring."

Captain Lance assents, "Yeah, and without technology to distract us, it's only gonna get worse before it gets better. We need an activity. Something to bring us together, like a mission, but not a mission. Like a game."

Aware of what her fiancée has in mind, Captain Sharpe murmurs, "I'll rally the others." I'm already ahead of her.

The rest of the Legends—Mr. Rory prefers his solitude—enter the parlour, where Mr. Green has set up the game. He's beyond happy to learn that they've come around. Besides, it'll keep them off of technology for the time being. As the other Legends sit around the table, the alien consultant breaks the rules down. "Welcome to the world of Beast/Slayers. In this Gothic adventure, you will enter a mansion for a dinner party, only to be hunted by a horrendous beast."

"Oh, I see what's happening here," Dr. Heywood surmises. "It's like Mafia. One of us is secretly the Beast, and it's up to the rest of us to figure it out before it's too late. Go on."

"After each kill, you will deliberate on who to accuse of being the horrendous monster. Accuse correctly—the Beast dies and the humans win."

Mr. Tarazi quizzes, "And if we accuse incorrectly?"

"Well, then, the game continues and it's the Beast's turn to strike!" He startles the captain with his face near hers. I detect subdued laughter alongside his loud chuckles. "I'll be the all-knowing narrator who will usher the game along. Meanwhile, you will each need to select a character and a card."

The co-captain volunteers, "Ooh, can I go first?" She reads the card she chose prior to exhibiting it. "Hmm, Eccentric Detective."

Her partner goes next. "Hmm, I'm the Black Widow." Interesting. Mr. Tarazi will be the "Starving Artist". Dr. Heywood is the "Wealthy Foreigner". Miss Logue considers being the "Reluctant Soothsayer" as typecast. However, Miss Cruz doesn't mind taking the character of the "Big Game Hunter". No surprise. Miss Tarazi is the "Prima Donna", and Mr. Constantine is the "Consumptive Doctor".

Mr. Green passes out another set of cards to them. "All right, now, keep each of these cards secret. They either say 'Human' or 'Beast'. Know who and what you are… as we begin." He sets the stage by imitating sounds of howling wind and pattering rain. I must confess he makes a respectable try. Using an Eastern European accent, the alien consultant narrates, "It's a dark and stormy night, as a group of strangers are summoned to the home of a rich and powerful lord."

Unexpectedly, the sorcerer raises out of his seat. "All right, enough of this." He snatches the card from Mr. Green's hand. "All right, so everybody wants to go on an adventure, right? Well, let's go on a real adventure, shall we?" Mr. Constantine chants another Gaelic incantation, transporting himself and the other players into the game.

Alone in the parlour, the alien consultant is mulling over the extant figurines. "Hello? Guys? You all right in there?" He stands erect with newfound gumption. "All right, Gary, they're counting on you to narrate." On with the theatrics. "Okay, everyone. Dinner is served." A few seconds later, Mr. Green undergoes a mercurial episode. "Don't be jealous, Gare. You're a vital part of this adventure." No part is too small. One of my alarms instantaneously start blaring. "Gideon, what's that?"

"I'm receiving a distress beacon from an approaching vessel." He turns around and perceives an inbound spacecraft flying towards our direction.

It's only then that Mr. Rory emerges from his quarters. He's donning a knit cap and wielding his heat gun. "Who the hell's making that racket? Trying to concentrate on my puzzles."

"We're being hailed by someone who's lost out in space." The alien consultant surveys a barely concealed difference in the expectant (grand)father's appearance. "Oh my gosh, your hair." He reaches to touch it, but Mr. Rory swats his hand away.

"Grew overnight."

"Well, don't tuck it in. It's beautiful. It means the babies are healthy. It's also a sign you're in your fourth quadmester."

He peers through the frontal viewport. "I recognize that ship. Bishop the Psycho might be on board or those lizard people. Gideon, blast."

"I'm under the captains' orders not to use any systems not vital for our transport to Earth."

"Where are the captains?"

"They're in my game," Mr. Green answers.

To a certain extent, the expectant (grand)father doesn't seem interested in hearing the full story. "Well, if the captains aren't here, that makes me captain."

"I don't think that's how it works." It is peculiar that there's formally no line of succession.

I announce, "The ship is maneuvering into docking position on our starboard side." As I speak, it has flown directly overhead and alighted. "Docking complete."

"Crap, we missed our shot," Mr. Rory bemoans. He obstinately charges to the dockage. Along the way, the unofficial interim leader obtains a spare firearm for the alien consultant.

"I urge you to reserve judgment until we know exactly who's behind that door." I second that.

"Shut up!" The doors to the dockage rattle open. "Whatever comes through that door, I'm killing." They keep themselves at bay in anticipation of the unforeseen visitor. When the intruder shows her presence to them, Mr. Rory immediately neglects his articulated objective. "Kayla!?"

"Hey, dummies," she greets with a smirk. "You miss me?" Oh boy. The mother of his eggs grimaces when she lurches forward. A fully armed Mr. Green presumes she's playing a trick, but her left dorsal exhibits infected damage. The expectant (grand)father offers to take her to the medbay. She distrustfully accepts and leans against him. The alien consultant vigilantly follows after them. Kayla warns the father of her eggs, "Don't think putting a Band-Aid on my wound makes us even."

"I'm just trying to help."

"Oh, now you care about my well-being," she snidely retorts. "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine. I mean, you always look fine." He's definitely struck on her. "We have a machine that can fix that."

Kayla tartly asserts, "I'm just here for my ship."

"Well, your ship's not here," Mr. Green reports.

"Then where is it? I reverse-tracked my pod detector and it led me here. That tech should have been on my ship, but I guess you guys are thieves as well as deserters. So, what did you do with the rest of my ship, huh?"

"It's on Earth," Mr. Rory replies. "And funny enough, we're traveling there now. We can give you a lift. But in the meantime, let us patch that up, hmm?" Kayla begrudgingly reverts to her Necrian form. He pinpoints her injury, asking, "What happened to her tentacle?"

The mother of his eggs conveys a response in her native language. "A Zaguron stung her. She had to amputate to prevent the poison from spreading," Mr. Green translates. "Poor Lefty."

"'Lefty'? The tentacle has a name?"

"Sure it does. Our tentacles are regenerative, so they're part of us but also their own creatures. Kind of like starfish arms or earthworms." Curiouser and curiouser. His ex-boss/ex-fiancée speaks again. "Uh, she wants to know what you're doing."

"Starting up the meat printer. She'll have a new Lefty in no time." He activates the three-dimensional bioprinter on her wounded tentacle, even though using it will increase the amount of time it'll take to arrive to Earth.

She silently interrogates the alien consultant about the countdown chronometer. "Oh, that's the time to destination," he explains. It's currently three weeks, one day, 16 hours and counting.

Kayla resounds in clicks, Why the heck is it counting up?

"Because we're printing you a new tentacle."

Shouldn't this clunker reach Earth already?

"The jump drive is broken! Why do you think we're traveling the old-fashioned way?" How did anyone think they were ever an appropriate match? The reconstruction of her tentacle is finished. Redonning her human disguise, she examines the area where her wound was. "All fixed," her ex-employee/ex-fiancé utters. "Time to go back to your ship." He quickly ushers Kayla to the door, but she's in no hurry to leave.

"Or you could show me where your mainframe is, and I'll fix your jump drive. And then we can all get what we want a hell of a lot quicker. Deal?" Mr. Green firmly shakes his head in refusal.

Mr. Rory nonetheless consents, "Deal." They lead her to the lab; once she attains the necessary tools, the mother of his eggs undertakes the repairs. "How did you get off the planet? I thought you were dead. If I—"

"If what? You thought I was alive? You didn't stick around long enough to find out. In fact, you bolted the second you got onto my ship."

"Yes, you're right," the father of her eggs genuinely articulates. "I'm sorry."

"Wow, an apology. That sounded like that took some effort. You know what else took some effort? Battling my way through a Zaguron-infested planet. You know Zagurons are carrion creatures?" We do now. "They will swarm a dying planet and pick it to pieces." She gabs this with a snap of her fingers. "They were relentless, but I was stronger. With some time, I finally got Bishop's habitat airborne again. Never imagined I'd run into you bozos. Soon as I get my ship back, I'll be a dozen galaxies away from here and forget that any of you ever existed." So, apology not accepted.

"Kayla," Mr. Rory begins, "there's something I have to—"

"Hey, Mick," Mr. Green calls, adjacent to the desktop computer. "Uh, can I please get your hand over here with something?"

He leaves her alone to finish the job. "What?"

"Don't tell Kayla you're pregnant," the alien consultant whispers. "If she finds out, she may perform the Necrian love grip."

"The what?" Ditto.

"You know the males in my species are subservient. If she finds that you're an unfit parent or doesn't like you, she could knock you out and eat your eggy brains." They glance over at her. She glimpses back and rolls her eyes. He pulls the expectant (grand)father closer by his shoulders. "Please keep an eye on her and, remember, do not trust her." Mr. Green releases his grip on them. Not wanting to linger in the same room with Kayla, he precisely absconds from the lab. I watch him walking through the western corridors. The alien consultant peeps at a trail of ooze on the floor and the bottom inlet. As he's sniffing it, he observes the monitor. The time to destination has accumulated to three weeks, four days, and 17 hours. "Gideon, what's with all the energy usage?"

I notify, "The device that Mr. Rory refers to as the 'meat printer' is drawing a considerate amount of power."

Mr. Green stealthily walks into the medbay. Kayla's severed tentacle is caught restarting the 3D bioprinter. "Lefty, no. What are you printing?" It leaps strikingly at him, but he catches it in time with both hands. The menacing tentacle hisses at the alien consultant. "Lefty. Calm down, Lefty. Don't—" It headbutts him to the floor and begins strangling him.

Meanwhile, the jump drive has reappeared online. "Gideon," Mr. Rory summons in the lab, "is the ship ready to jump?"

"The jump drive is fully operational, but there is trouble. Mr. Green is under attack in the medbay."

"Attack? By who?" Without hesitating, Kayla seizes and aims his heat gun at him. He quickly puts his hands up. He should've listened.

Mr. Green has managed to resist the animated organ. "Gotcha," he says as it writhes in his hands. Despite that, Lefty escapes his grasp. It wrings his neck again to the point of suffocation. It soon slithers off with the unconscious alien consultant's glasses.

The expectant (grand)father demands his captor, "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"

"Because you left me, and he got me out," she harshly responds. "I owe him."

"Him?" She's referring to the person being printed. Kayla pushes the barrel in proximity to his face. He exclaims in a higher pitch, "I'm pregnant!" She slowly lowers his heat gun and removes his knit cap. His hair verifies his condition to her. After Kayla touches it, she pinches the lateral region of Mr. Rory's neck. "Not the love grip." He's thus rendered out cold. To make matters worse, my operating system has somehow crashed.

I may not be knowledgeable in magic, but it has negatively affected the Waverider and me twice. Maybe more. Mr. Constantine shouldn't have magicked the rest of the Legends into Beast/Slayers. The other Legends need to unmask the Beast's identity posthaste.