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Demon Marcus, Sunday

Sparkle was antsy today. For a few reasons, really, not the least of which being that he was going to be heading to Coruscant tonight, partly to play buffer between Atton and Mical, partly because he actually found himself missing the place, and partly just because he was telling himself that he could. It had been almost two years since that thing with the Iridonic Horn, and if two years wasn't enough time to get his head around something that he knew, logically, probably wouldn't happen again, then he never would.

And he couldn't afford to keep writing off even those places that had been good to him up until some fluke caught him off-guard.

The other reason, and this wasn't a small one either, was the stupid holiday today. Which he'd forgotten about until he came in and some little kid wandered in looking for something nice for a gift, and he wound up spending twenty minutes going through cute scarves, kind of resenting everything. It wasn't the kid's fault, and so he'd been polite and helpful the whole time, but if any of his customers came in and asked him what he was planning for Mothers Day, he was going to lose it.

Anyway, Demon Marcus was open, and the end of Sparkle's shift couldn't possibly come quickly enough. Shit.

[OOC: Open!]

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Spring was here. Most of Seivarden's clothes were more suited to colder seasons. That was the reason why she was now entering the shop.

Sparkle didn't have to worry, though, Seivarden wouldn't be looking for a gift for anyone. Especially not for someone a thousand years dead. She might be trying to distract herself from thinking about that. That might be another reason to go shopping today.

"Seivarden," Sparkle greeted, nodding her way. "About time for a wardrobe update, is it?"

"How did you guess?" Seivarden asked, completely unsurprised at Sparkle's conclusion. "I will get warmer, won't it?"

She glanced around the shop, less dismissive now than the first time she had visited.

"Yeah, we're barely even into the summer weather yet," Sparkle agreed. "So, what do you need? Little bit of everything, or anything in particular?"

"A little bit of everything. Thinner gloves if you have."

She didn't count of that. She could see a few nice shirts though.

"What's that?" she asked when her gaze fell on the nail polish bottles. There were some nice colours.

Sparkle raised his eyebrows a little at that question.

"I'd tell you, but you'll be totally scandalized," he warned.

She probably would.

"Really?" Seivarden said. "Don't you think I'm used to scandalous things by now?"

She knew better than to say 'uncivilized'.

"Used to, sure. Doesn't mean I want to hear how disgusting it is when I hold up my hand to show you..."

His sparkly purple fingernails!

Neatly manicured and being proudly displayed for her to see.

Seivarden flinched just a little at the gesture.

"You... paint your nails?" she asked.

"Actually, that sounds like something someone would do in the kind of entertainments from my universe that the island has decided I can't watch. Please don't tell me you do that in public."

"Riiight here," Sparkle drawled, barely containing his glee. "Right behind this counter."

Because there was one person on the island who was bothered by it, and frankly, he didn't give a shit about what Seivarden thought about it.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Seivarden snorted, not terribly upset. "I'm sure you have places on your body you wouldn't apply paint to in public."

"Sure," Sparkle replied, "but that's just 'cause I don't see any reason to put paint on my dick."

Seriously, Seivarden.

"If somebody else wants to, that's their issue, not mine."

"Yes, it was the in public part that was important. I'm sure some people get of on nail painting in the Radch, but it's not like you'd do it in a shop. Or if you did you'd probably be sent to medical."

Actually, Seivarden was a little curious what it would be like to paint someone's nails in an intimate situation. Not that she had anyone to suggest this to.

"Yeah, we aren't in the Radch."

Thank God.

"Medical?"

He didn't want to know, did he?

Everything would be so much better if they were.

Seivarden looked at him. "Yes? What would you do here with people who painted their genitals in public? If we decide that's an equivalent."

Sparkle probably didn't want to know too much, no.

"Put them on trial and charge them for public indecency. That's a fine or a jail term. Possibly an order to stay away from kids. What's medical?"

No, he was stuck on this, now.

Seivarden snorted. "I'm not sure Security here could deal with that. Have you met that officer?"

The one who called tea hot leaf water.

Then something caught her attention: "You have jails? And medical is... medical. Medics? Drugs? Medical treatment?"

'That officer' really didn't narrow that down any. Fortunately, Sparkle was stuck on the meds thing, and Seivarden was stuck on jails. They'd have plenty to discuss.

"Of course we do. What the hell do the meds do?"

Because that sounded worse than prison pretty much immediately.

"Why would you lock people up?"

Seivarden still wasn't using the word 'uncivilized'.

"If someone is behaving like that because they're not well, it's best to help them get better, isn't it? Oh, I suppose Security could have them locked up too, that depends on the place."

And on who it was.

Good fucking god, Sparkle was defending the prison system over medicating for something that might not even be a medical issue.

"You didn't answer my question," he said, tersely. "What do the meds do?"

Seivarden made a gesture with her hand. "Calm them down so that the medics can assess what to do next, I assume. Make sure they're not having some kind of breakdown. I don't know, I'm not a medic. You didn't answer me: why do you lock people up? After a trial?"

"Assume? You don't even know? You think it's better to have your brain chemistry fucked with than it is to be incarcerated? Really? Because I promise nobody is getting an accurate assessment of mental health after the chemical lobotomy or the sedation or what the fuck ever it is they do that they aren't telling you," Sparkle ground out. "Or that you never bothered to pay that much attention to."

He lifted his chin a little.

"Sometimes we even lock them up leading up to a trial. You know. To assess whether they're a danger to other people and to keep them away from other people until they can be sure. You can't just cure bad decisions, and if it is a legitimate mental illness, there are medications for that. They don't replace supervision and therapy, though. They work with it. Not every crime can be medicated away. Not every crime is an indication of being sick!"

Sometimes it was an indication of anger, or pain, or a lifetime of being hurt and just fucking wanting to hurt somebody back, or desperation, or greed, or sexism or racism or being taught that shit like fixing crime with drugs was normal.

Oh, so Sparkle was doing this again.

"You are the one assuming things," Seivarden said, irritated. "All I said was that rather than locking people up, they are given a medical examination to make sure they're not unwell. And then if they're convicted, they're not locked away."

She snorted.

"I'm not surprised really. Do you know I've been to places with prison planets? We put an end to that, and I'm not saying the Radchaai system is perfect, but at least we offer criminals a way to be part of society."

And while she was at it:

"Have you considered that the reason you can't solve a lot of things here with meds is because they're... bad." She held back herself here. "Medicine is useless here. You can't even grow back limbs."

Sparkle had been about to argue, until Seivarden had added that bit about medication again. About growing back limbs, as if that was somehow at all comparable to mental health. He fell silent for a few seconds, piecing all of that together.

"There are different types of medicine," he said, finally. "Triggering regrowth of an arm is a totally different thing from balancing brain chemistry. I'm not a doctor, but I know that much."

He pulled in a deep breath.

"What do you do with the people who aren't unwell, who still commit a crime?"

He could guess. He had talked with Breq, after all.

It's hard when I'm stuck in just one body. I used to have hundreds, and they were all replaceable.

Using criminals as ancillaries was no longer necessary when you had thousands of prisoners of war in storage.

"Oh? How is it different?"

Seivarden didn't really like talking about re-education - most Radchaai didn't - and especially not since she suspected it would upset Sparkle further. She had sort of painted herself into a corner though.

"We make sure former criminals find a new place in society. We don't keep them on drugs or lock them up."

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