Certainly—here’s a cleaned-up and polished version that preserves the emotional resonance and clarity of character voice:
Leonard arrived via the north path, a cup of strong, diabetically sweet tea in hand. His eyes, tired but sharp, swept over the gathering. There was quiet relief in his posture—he’d successfully escaped Marie and the Sorority Seven, along with her unfiltered joy at reuniting with so many younger sisters.
He snorted when he spotted Alex and MJ already on the move, having bolted the moment etiquette allowed. The two teens had vanished into a growing crowd of V’ren youth claiming the dance floor, leaving Leonard behind with only their laughter and the distant shimmer of neon to mark their path.
“Lord Marmaduke, Rina Cassel, The Atlantic Review.” A journalist’s voice carried lightly through the crowd. “You speak often of memory and legacy. With this circle around you—military, medical, infrastructure—are you building a future government… or a chosen aristocracy?”
Matt turned slightly, catching Navan Rell’s eye with a grin.
“Rell, do you want to be an aristocrat?”
Navan didn’t blink.
“Do I still get free drinks on ladies’ night?”
“No,” Matt said, deadpan. “You’d have to pay for the free ones everyone else is getting.”
Navan raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.
“I’ll pass,” she said, her gaze drifting toward Leonard’s suspiciously large glass of tea. “But I do want to know where the general got that—and whether I can get one with bourbon in it.”
A nearby server took the hint and leaned in toward Leonard before disappearing with a nod. Matt considered seconding the order.
“Doctor Th’ron,” Rina pivoted smoothly, “as both a physician and a senior V’ren matriarch, how do you reconcile your people’s social hierarchies with the Freehold’s informality? Have you had to adjust what deference looks like?”
T’monn inclined her head. Her voice was measured, deliberate.
“It is a work in progress—some adapt more easily than others. Lord Marmaduke has issued a standing order that those of lower social rank address him with the same informality his human staff use. As their High Lord, they are following the command, even if it feels unnatural.
“For those of us above that threshold,” she added, eyes flicking briefly to Matt, “he has made it a request rather than a demand. A grace period, if you will—so we can better come to terms with who he is. Not just as leader, but as man.”
“Kelai,” Rina continued, softening her tone, “you’ve spoken of co-parenting across species. Do you see that as a personal journey—or the beginning of a new hybrid culture forming here?”
Kelai’s smile was soft, contemplative.
“My own father died when I was very young,” she said. “He had no brothers, and my mother had no male kin to step into that role. She raised me mostly on her own—with only minimal help from my grandfathers and great-uncles. That’s rare among our people.
“She once told me that it brought her more joy than she expected. I’ve always believed our bond was special because of it.”
She glanced toward Matt.
“If I can offer that kind of bond to a child—and share it with someone willing to be fully present—then yes, it’s personal. But I also think it’s cultural. I think we’re building something new here. Together.”
