"Don't you ever wonder?" she asks, bouncing the ball with both hands. "After all this time with them?" "It is only permitted to use one hand at a time to dribble the ball," he responds, attempting to ignore her question. "Dribble." "That is correct." She rolls her eyes, and drops one hand down. The other continues to bounce the ball. "Do they even think when they speak?" The term is indeed ludicrous, and yet – "It is my experience that the Tau'ri may seem to be of little consequence when they are in fact very resourceful." "Oh, I'm not saying they aren't. Yes, yes, we all know what they've done. Stories have been told, song have been sung. Defeating the Goa'uld, vanquishing the Replicators, repeatedly finding the fun little items I borrow." She winks and grins widely. "I always plan to give them back. Honestly." When he doesn't return her smile, she frowns slightly, but winks again. "No, I'm not suggesting they're incapable. But don't you just sometimes wonder if they're a little bit – stupid?" Turning to face the basket, she throws the ball. It misses, but he has seen worse first attempts. Many times, he wants to say. It does not help that they have the baffling habit of pointing out their own inadequacies. How many times has O'Neill said, 'call me stupid', or 'I may be missing the point'? "I didn't picture them this way. But being here – it just seems as though they wander from place to place, making a mess, but somehow – how? – they always seem to work it out. Not because they're thinking. Just because – is it luck?" She throws her hands up. "And if it is – how fair is that?" The ball has rolled into a corner, and rather than retrieving it, she starts pacing the perimeter of the room, "Oh, we made the foolish mistake of killing the creator of the Replicators, and now we don't know what she knew. Oh well, somehow we'll make up for it! Oops, we've accidentally broken someone's sun. Don't worry! Oh dear, we've brought our galaxy to the attention of deranged ascended creatures. Gosh, that's a real problem. But we'll fix it!" "Vala Mal Doran. Have you been accessing classified mission files?" She stops walking, and flicks her hair over one shoulder. "No." "How do you know these details?" There's a pause before she replies, "I've traveled widely. There are stories, you know." Perhaps. But he doubts that they are these particular stories. She is even more resourceful than he thought. It is an admirable – if frustrating – trait. "My point is, these people get along on good luck, good guesses, a little charm, and a rather sickening amount of optimism. It really isn't fair." "Fair?" "Well, it doesn't happen that way for the rest of us! We have to work for what we get." And she begins walking again. "I really don't know how you can stand being here. Well, other than for the rather amusing – and baffling – number of attractive men around." She has an amazing ability to vastly oversimplify a situation while also pointing out some of the more irritating Tau'ri tendencies. It is highly amusing to see her grappling with things he himself has long become accustomed to. Still. That is not why they are here. He walks over and picks up the abandoned ball. "Do you not wish to learn this game?" Again she stops her pacing, and slowly approaches him. "What? Throw a ball at a tiny net suspended in the air? Even their games are stupid." "Then why did you ask me to teach you?" "Did Colonel Mitchell – he really is a sexy man, too bad he's so humourless – ask you to play this game later today? Humans versus aliens, he said." "Indeed." Holding out her hands, she grins at him. "Well, I don't want them to win, do I?" As he tosses her the ball, he finds that he agrees. |
| Characters:
Teal'c, Vala Rating: PG Summary: Vala has a good point. For tealc_junky. |