Summary: Could SG-1 possibly have run into Vala, before?
She can feel the beat of the drums deep down in her stomach. Their song, combined with whatever that cherry-flavoured drink was makes her want to submit to the rhythm, run her fingers through the colours that dance around the fire, taste the sky. She burns inside. It spreads out to her limbs. She wants to move. Jump, run, dance.
Not yet. She'll wait for the others in this little gathering to submit first. They are a collection of people from many worlds. Some are familiar, some are not.
An impromptu celebration on this world, brought about by the rescue of a local boy down a well by one of said unfamiliar persons. He and his group have also gathered around the fire. They look unsure about the festivities, but nonetheless appear to be enjoying themselves. Easy smiles can attest to their consumption of the cherry-drink, and Vala thinks it's about time to go over and properly thank them for this little shindig.
The fire is warmer now, and the sky dances before her eyes. Or is it that she is the one moving? Feeling the music carry her around the fire, spinning, twirling.
The fire is hot, and people are beginning to mingle. They touch, caress. A curious sight. Vala is curious. She sees the group, slowing integrating with the crowd. She wants to touch.
The fire, twirling, she bumps into one of the men. At least she thinks it's a man. Long hair and blue eyes. He looks at her in wonderment and she giggles under his gaze. He reaches out as if to poke her, an exploratory touch, but she swipes him away before poking his face with her own finger, feeling herself laugh more as she continues to dance out of his reach.
She sees the woman, staring into the fire, and grabs her arm before she can touch the flame. Together they twirl, faster and faster until they lose their footing and fall on the cool grass. Vala runs her fingers through the grass. It tickles. The woman, blonde hair plastered to her forehead from the heat of the fire watches. She reaches out her own hand, running fingers through Vala's long hair in imitation. The grass is cool, the fire is hot.
The woman sits up abruptly, peeling off her shirt and undergarment, before settling back on the grass. Vala watches her in the fire's glow. She crawls over the woman to touch her warm skin on the cool grass...
"Holy Hannah!" is the last thing Vala hears before stepping through the Chappa'ai the next morning, an extra shirt tucked into her bag.