📺 The Quiet Work of Belonging: A Conversation at the Marmaduke Homestead

Interviewer: Elena Park, Senior Features Correspondent
Date: June 11, 2440
Location: Private Home Theater, Marmaduke Homestead, Missouri Freehold

The camera finds a semicircle of chairs in a darkened, wood-paneled room. At the center sit Matt Marmaduke and T’mari Th’ron. To their left, M’rak Y’eslin and S’rala T’all. To their right, Yuri Vladislavovich (16) and Dtra Vant (17). A low table holds water, tea, and a neat stack of cloth napkins. The tone is calm, attentive, unhurried. The conversation takes place alternatingly in English and V’ren, with near-simultaneous translation provided for clarity and respect.

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PARK:
Thank you for letting us into your home tonight. I want to talk about the part that rarely makes headlines—how life is actually lived. To begin, one simple question for each of you: what was the smallest moment today that made this place feel like home?

T’MARI TH’RON:
A label on a pan that said, “Use this one.” I realized someone had thought ahead for me. That kind of care feels like home.

MATT MARMADUKE:
People settling in and making this place feel like their home, too. T’mari made the tea this morning and left a note: “Don’t forget to eat before your meetings.” It was next to the coffee. I listened.

S’RALA T’ALL:
Story circle at midday. A child corrected my pronunciation and then hugged me anyway.

M’RAK Y’ESLIN:
A freight schedule that included “library hour” as if it belonged there. Matt has been encouraging us since day one to read from his personal library to help us understand him and his people.

YURI:
Dtra left a note on the kettle: “Water first, then tea.” It made me laugh. It also worked.

DTRA:
He said my name in two syllables instead of three. He’d practiced.

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PARK:
We’re twelve days into a new rhythm for all of you. What does a “good day” look like here? Not the perfect day—the plausible one.

MATT:
Waking up and having breakfast with people I want to be around, who will let me sip my coffee and not try to banter with me until I am awake, but won’t stop it with each other just because the laird of the manor isn’t yet functional. It reminds me of how things used to be.

T’MARI:
It has been quite a whirlwind for me, but any day that involves strong, sweet coffee and good cheese is a winner for me.

S’RALA:
A good day is one where I walk farther than yesterday without thinking about it. And one bedtime story told in V’ren and English both.

M’RAK:
Lists that shrink. People who grow into your life.

YURI:
Finishing chores before sunset and still having time to teach Dtra a new idiom.

DTRA:
Understanding the idiom and what he meant by it.

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PARK:
I’m going to ask about roles. T’mari, you were introduced to many of us as a systems engineer. Yet we’ve watched you in rooms where you settle debates with a sentence. How do you decide when to be technical and when to be diplomatic?

T’MARI:
Human media likes to focus only on one part of my previous job as a communications officer. They neglect the part where I am delegated to interact with other people—be they part of the crew, other V’ren, or other species.

PARK:
Matt, same theme. You wear titles that other people argue about. How do you keep your own role from swallowing your life?

MATT:
I learned long ago how to delegate and then keep from micromanaging the people I delegated to.

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PARK:
Let’s bring in the June 4 pavilion event. You hosted dozens of journalists, then pivoted to local duties almost immediately. What did that day teach you about your neighbors—human and V’ren?

S’RALA:
That hospitality here is built, not staged. We had music and tea, yes—but also spare blankets, clean restrooms, and a quiet corner for a baby to sleep. Someone planned for gentleness.

M’RAK:
Logistics is trust you can measure. The pavilion was a proof of concept: if we plan well for strangers, we can plan well for each other.

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PARK:
M’rak, your discipline is logistics. Before, that meant ships and cargo. What does logistics mean in a neighborhood?

M’RAK:
It means the school reading hour doesn’t collide with meal prep. It means the clinic has spare socks next to bandages. It means the man with a truck and the woman with a list sit down at the same table once a week.

PARK:
S’rala, you walk with a brace on your leg from the battle injury. You’re also visible—by choice—in spaces where people are learning how to look at one another without fear. What does visibility feel like to you now?

S’RALA:
Like I am a person who lives here. Strangers I have never met recognize me and ask about my leg, our son, and how we are getting on.

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PARK:
Yuri and Dtra—you registered as spouses on June 2. That’s young by some standards and exactly right by others. I’m not going to ask you to justify it. I am going to ask: what promises did you make that day, in your own words?

YURI:
To tell the truth, even when it’s clumsy.

DTRA:
To leave notes where he will find them.

YURI:
To learn her language in my mouth.

DTRA:
To keep a place for his in mine.

PARK:
And what boundaries did you set?

DTRA:
Study hours are real.

YURI:
So are meal times. No skipping.

DTRA:
We wrote down who to call if we are unkind. It helps to have witnesses to your promises.

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PARK:
Let’s talk house rules. Every home has them, written or not. What are a few here?

MATT:
At present there are 302 house rules for the homestead, that have been set by previous heads of the household, or more often than not their wives. There are a bunch of unofficial ones that might be more important like giving people the space they need, never being unkind with your teasing and never try to make a guest feel uncomfortable.

T’MARI:
Always make enough food to share.

S’RALA:
Children are allowed to interrupt with good questions.

M’RAK:
Adults are allowed to admit they don’t know.

YURI:
If you cook, you don’t wash.

DTRA:
If you wash, you still get pie.

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PARK:
Language. You’re living in two, sometimes three at once. What words have you adopted that surprised you?

T’MARI:
“Fixin’ to.” It is not “fixing.” It means preparing oneself to be ready. Useful.

M’RAK:
“Y’all.” It is efficient and kind.

S’RALA:
“Welcome.” We use it differently now. It used to mean “enter.” Here it also means “stay.”

YURI:
“Neighbor.”

DTRA:
“Home.”

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PARK:
I’d like to ask about quiet conflict. Not the dramatic kind—just the friction of new habits. What was your first argument here, and what did you learn from it?

MATT:
The closest thing we have had to an argument so far was over food. I make time to eat properly at a table, not rushed and not in my car. If people have to wait on us to eat, then they have to wait. I am never deliberately late, but it is in the contract of everyone I employ that meetings begin when I arrive and scheduled times should be taken as likely start times.

T’MARI:
I learned that disagreeing out loud is safer than agreeing in silence. And that he will change his mind when the reason is good. I wanted to argue with him for letting me make bad food choices that left us standing in long lines last week in Columbia. He said it was a learning experience.

S’RALA:
I tried to carry too much on a bad day. M’rak took the basket from me without asking. I was angry because he was right. We agreed: ask first, then help.

M’RAK:
I learned that efficiency without consent is just control in prettier clothes.

YURI:
I put tools in the wrong drawer. Four times. I learned the drawers are labeled for a reason.

DTRA:
I learned to label them in both languages.

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PARK:
Let’s step into tradition. You’re weaving two worlds, and you’re doing it quickly. What ritual have you begun here that you hope survives you?

T’MARI:
Morning notes. Small instructions that are also love letters.

MATT:
Tuesday supper where anyone can pull up a chair without invitation.

S’RALA:
Story circle with shared languages—no translation, just repetition and patience.

M’RAK:
The weekly list meeting where people admit what they cannot do alone.

YURI:
Tea at night. No devices. We talk.

DTRA:
Saying grace with eyes open, so we see who we’re grateful for.

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PARK:
You are public people whether you want to be or not. How do you protect private joy?

MATT:
We schedule it like anything else important.

T’MARI:
And we defend it like it defends us.

S’RALA:
Ten minutes of silence that belong to no one but the two of us.

M’RAK:
A walk after sunset, even if it is short.

YURI:
We don’t post everything.

DTRA:
Some things are only for a kitchen table.

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PARK:
Final round—one sentence, each of you. A year from now, I hope we are…

M’RAK:
…on time where it matters, and late where it’s kind.

S’RALA:
…still telling stories that make children drowsy.

YURI:
…brave enough to keep choosing each other.

DTRA:
…speaking both languages with laughter in them.

T’MARI:
…trusted to hold what we’ve been given.

MATT:
…exactly as ordinary as we dared to be.

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As I leave the theater, I’m struck not by their differences, but by how deeply ordinary their hopes are. The June 4 junket had been high energy—chaotic, exuberant, world-shaking. But here in the quiet, over soft tea and shared words, I see the revolution for what it really is: gentle, deliberate, and built from small kindnesses repeated daily.

—Elena Park, June 11, 2440

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