Timestamp meme response, part 1
ziparumpazoo asked for half an hour before the start of Trouble Shared. And there actually was a little bit of backstory in my head for that particular ficlet, so ... here you go. Interestingly, this turned out to be longer than the original story. *g*
Title: On the Horizon
Rating: Teen
Characters: Sam & Vala
Season/Episode: Season 9 or later. AU.
Word Count: ~900
The little table by the window provided a nearly-unobstructed view of the whole tavern as well as the main approach to the building.
Sam sat alone, perched in a chair that wobbled slightly, and scanned the shadow-filled room, identifying potential threats, plotting paths to the exits, and counting swords, knives, and the occasional more malevolent weapon - including, she noted with mild indignation but very little surprise, several Berettas and two P-90s. Spoils from the Jaffa weapons cache on PQ9-374 that had been looted last year, most likely.
It was one of those times when alien civilization looked more like something from Earth than Earth probably ever had; in fact, Sam was pretty certain she'd seen this movie or read this book - except there ought to be a wizard or elves, with more swords and fewer guns, zats, and staff weapons. Granted, there were only so many ways to raise buildings when you were working with timber, dirt, and human hands, but every once in a while she wished the local version of mortar could be sky blue instead of this uniform, pale, and completely terrestrial tan. Green, maybe. Purple. Anything that wouldn't remind her of home the way this rustic building somehow did.
She blew out a long breath and shook her head as if to shake away the distracting thoughts. The late-afternoon patrons of the tavern appeared uninterested in her and Vala, which made the crowd mostly harmless; still, the situation could change in a heartbeat, and Sam needed to stay alert.
With a look out the window, she reassured herself that the main path outside was clear; then she turned back inward, her eyes sweeping the room once again before finally landing on Vala, who was leaning against the worn wooden bar and nursing a drink as she spoke to the barkeep and one of the local fellows.
While Sam watched, Vala set the drink down and drew her finger along the counter, cocking her head and smiling brazenly up at the man next to her, a little bit sweet and even more challenging and, Sam knew, very, very dangerous.
She'd had that particular smile turned on her more than a few times lately.
Like last night, at the semi-permanent camp she and Vala had set up on PX6-038, when Sam, unhappy and frustrated and as exhausted as she could ever remember being, had asked why this planet would be any different than all the others they'd already searched for the rest of SG-1.
Vala had given her exactly that smile. "Because we'll find them, Samantha," she'd said, and that had been that.
With luck, Vala and her cheeky grin could win them a bit more intel than they'd had when they walked in. The strategy probably worked about half the time.
Unfortunately, the other half of the time that smile led to nothing but trouble.
Sam turned her attention from the conversation by the bar, returning to her restless study of the rest of the tavern, periodically checking back in on Vala and her companions.
The shift happened about five minutes later. Vala laughed as she chatted with the two locals, gesturing animatedly with her hands, but something changed in the expression of the man who'd bought her drink, a quick flick of his eyes over Vala's shoulder that set off the alarm in Sam's head.
The tavern-keeper ducked his head, wiping at the bar as he moved slowly away, and the buzz of conversation in the room lessened. Sam's eyes focused in on two men behind Vala as they moved in their seats, the shoulders of one tensing as the other scooted his chair out from the table just slightly.
Sam knew a sharp word from her would have Vala retreating from the bar without a second thought; but Sam had grown tired of playing it safe and always dodging trouble. Their current strategy hadn't gotten them anywhere. Maybe getting a reputation would.
Her mind made up, Sam pushed away from her perch just before Vala's would-be assailants left theirs. Disabling them before they reached their target was, for Sam, simple work, although she worried she might have overdone it with the second and actually dislocated his shoulder. Still, she didn't think she'd done any permanent damage.
Over Vala's shoulder, Sam caught the flabbergasted expression on the face of the remaining threat. He only stared for a second before he moved, and Sam gave him points for his quick response, but she deducted more for his poor execution. Clearly he was what passed for the brains of the operation, rather than the brawn; Sam nearly laughed at the cliché as Vala ducked under his slow-moving punch and then kneed him in the groin.
"Well, how about that?" Vala pivoted to face Sam, looking down at the men on the ground. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Sam looked around the room. Though they'd dealt with the three who'd started the ruckus, it seemed that several of the remaining patrons in the bar were now moving their way.
"Maybe we should go?" Vala asked, pursing her lips.
"Little late now." Sam managed to keep her tone stern.
"Sorry about that." Unsurprisingly, Vala didn't sound particularly contrite.
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched upward as she squared off to face their new opponents. This, to her satisfaction, felt a whole lot less like Earth, and a bit more like the beginning of a quest that might actually have an end someday. "How many heads do you think we'll have to crack between here and the door?" she asked Vala.
Vala grinned in response. "No idea. But let's find out."
Title: On the Horizon
Rating: Teen
Characters: Sam & Vala
Season/Episode: Season 9 or later. AU.
Word Count: ~900
The little table by the window provided a nearly-unobstructed view of the whole tavern as well as the main approach to the building.
Sam sat alone, perched in a chair that wobbled slightly, and scanned the shadow-filled room, identifying potential threats, plotting paths to the exits, and counting swords, knives, and the occasional more malevolent weapon - including, she noted with mild indignation but very little surprise, several Berettas and two P-90s. Spoils from the Jaffa weapons cache on PQ9-374 that had been looted last year, most likely.
It was one of those times when alien civilization looked more like something from Earth than Earth probably ever had; in fact, Sam was pretty certain she'd seen this movie or read this book - except there ought to be a wizard or elves, with more swords and fewer guns, zats, and staff weapons. Granted, there were only so many ways to raise buildings when you were working with timber, dirt, and human hands, but every once in a while she wished the local version of mortar could be sky blue instead of this uniform, pale, and completely terrestrial tan. Green, maybe. Purple. Anything that wouldn't remind her of home the way this rustic building somehow did.
She blew out a long breath and shook her head as if to shake away the distracting thoughts. The late-afternoon patrons of the tavern appeared uninterested in her and Vala, which made the crowd mostly harmless; still, the situation could change in a heartbeat, and Sam needed to stay alert.
With a look out the window, she reassured herself that the main path outside was clear; then she turned back inward, her eyes sweeping the room once again before finally landing on Vala, who was leaning against the worn wooden bar and nursing a drink as she spoke to the barkeep and one of the local fellows.
While Sam watched, Vala set the drink down and drew her finger along the counter, cocking her head and smiling brazenly up at the man next to her, a little bit sweet and even more challenging and, Sam knew, very, very dangerous.
She'd had that particular smile turned on her more than a few times lately.
Like last night, at the semi-permanent camp she and Vala had set up on PX6-038, when Sam, unhappy and frustrated and as exhausted as she could ever remember being, had asked why this planet would be any different than all the others they'd already searched for the rest of SG-1.
Vala had given her exactly that smile. "Because we'll find them, Samantha," she'd said, and that had been that.
With luck, Vala and her cheeky grin could win them a bit more intel than they'd had when they walked in. The strategy probably worked about half the time.
Unfortunately, the other half of the time that smile led to nothing but trouble.
Sam turned her attention from the conversation by the bar, returning to her restless study of the rest of the tavern, periodically checking back in on Vala and her companions.
The shift happened about five minutes later. Vala laughed as she chatted with the two locals, gesturing animatedly with her hands, but something changed in the expression of the man who'd bought her drink, a quick flick of his eyes over Vala's shoulder that set off the alarm in Sam's head.
The tavern-keeper ducked his head, wiping at the bar as he moved slowly away, and the buzz of conversation in the room lessened. Sam's eyes focused in on two men behind Vala as they moved in their seats, the shoulders of one tensing as the other scooted his chair out from the table just slightly.
Sam knew a sharp word from her would have Vala retreating from the bar without a second thought; but Sam had grown tired of playing it safe and always dodging trouble. Their current strategy hadn't gotten them anywhere. Maybe getting a reputation would.
Her mind made up, Sam pushed away from her perch just before Vala's would-be assailants left theirs. Disabling them before they reached their target was, for Sam, simple work, although she worried she might have overdone it with the second and actually dislocated his shoulder. Still, she didn't think she'd done any permanent damage.
Over Vala's shoulder, Sam caught the flabbergasted expression on the face of the remaining threat. He only stared for a second before he moved, and Sam gave him points for his quick response, but she deducted more for his poor execution. Clearly he was what passed for the brains of the operation, rather than the brawn; Sam nearly laughed at the cliché as Vala ducked under his slow-moving punch and then kneed him in the groin.
"Well, how about that?" Vala pivoted to face Sam, looking down at the men on the ground. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it."
Sam looked around the room. Though they'd dealt with the three who'd started the ruckus, it seemed that several of the remaining patrons in the bar were now moving their way.
"Maybe we should go?" Vala asked, pursing her lips.
"Little late now." Sam managed to keep her tone stern.
"Sorry about that." Unsurprisingly, Vala didn't sound particularly contrite.
The corner of Sam's mouth twitched upward as she squared off to face their new opponents. This, to her satisfaction, felt a whole lot less like Earth, and a bit more like the beginning of a quest that might actually have an end someday. "How many heads do you think we'll have to crack between here and the door?" she asked Vala.
Vala grinned in response. "No idea. But let's find out."