My translation stuff

Typica finished her breakfast and grabbed Varrell by the arm before he could escape. “Not so fast!” she said. “Why is the first son of the honorable Art Family trying to slink away like a petty burglar?” “To get away from his annoying sister! I’ve already told you everything I wanted to say. Leave me alone. This is a waste of time.” “W-What?! How dare you talk down to me? That’s it, no more excuses! It’s time for our final showdown!” “How many ‘final showdowns’ have we had, woman? You should think twice before humiliating yourself in front of the children.” Typica looked over her shoulder at Stella and Rye, who were watching the altercation with interest. Marie wasn’t here; she was busy with the washing. “Don’t mind us,” Stella said. “If you’re going to fight, though, take it outside. Remember, both of you are responsible for anything one of you breaks.” “Why?! I can’t be held accountable for what she does!” Varrell protested. “Yes, you can. That’s how human society works. Parents are...

“Miss Stella,” Marie said, “There’s a letter from Mr. Mace.” “I’ll see to it. Thank you.” Stella took the letter from the Company’s messenger. Before opening it, a sip of coffee. Then a sigh. ‘Stop sighing and open it already, eh!’ “What’s the rush? It’s still going to be the same letter whether I read it now or in a few seconds.” Still, Stella opened the envelope and took out the letter. It was a status report of the Company’s activities. “Mace is actually thinking things through. That’s what I like to see.” ‘What about me, eh? I’m getting jealous!’ “Oh, I like to see you too, Clever,” Stella said, chuckling. ‘Yipee!’ Stella softly stroked Clever’s plumes, eliciting an expression of pure bliss. She skimmed the letter again. “With the continent in turmoil and everything in a constant state of uncertainty, taking over the town would be a reckless move,” Mace had written. His current plan was to wait for Greggs to pick a side and capitalize on that. It would happen soon. “Not bad,” Stell...