[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/inij1PF.jpg[/img] [i]Inspiration for areas in Merridel from right to life: random image of fantasy town, Zurich, Lisbon.[/i][/center][hr]
“Well,” Esme cocked her hip playfully and put her hand to her chin, ”I have to pick up something at the tailor.  It’s in the Retiro district—yes, the fancy one—but there’s also a weekend market in the area.  Crafts, food, colors all around.”

They started walked, and soon from grass they transitioned to the cobble stone streets of the city.  The sound of her boots clacking on the stone was a familiar one, and she immediately felt more relaxed; hands in her pockets, she whistled a sprightly tune, and led the way to Retiro.

Yellow trams powered by magic cut down the middle of the streets, and the buzz of city life increased as they neared its center.  Children scampered through alleyways and parks, chasing each other and giggling, while every man and woman seemed to be outside, either seated near tables outside of restaurants or on benches or just standing and chatting, soaking up the day.  Summer tended to do that to a city.  

Meridell was one of the biggest port cities in the country, situated on a river connected to the ocean a little further down, from which other countries could reach the inner continent.  From where they were, they had to cross a small strip of the river to reach Retiro, which existed on it’s own isolated peninsula of land.  It was mainly home to upscale establishments and a few noble homes, so you’d rarely find reason to go there except sightseeing—but the weekend market was something of note.

Lines of triangular steamers connected the stands in the main square of Retiro, vibrant blues, reds and yellows alluring the passing visitor to stay and look.   Trinkets lay on the stands of many merchants, who chatted amiably with whomever took took time to pass.  The smell of baked bread and pastries drifted amongst the stands, wafting from bakeries in the area that opened their doors and windows.  Birds chirped, people chattered, money traded—she was always hit by the stark richness when she visited; this was the greatest deception of the district.  Had someone taken the time to look across the river, to where there was bridge, they would see the shanties and poor that piled up in a peninsula of their own.  

“Esme!” 

She stopped where she was, gently putting down the glass vial she’d casually examined back onto the clothed merchant’s table and looked over her shoulder.  It was Edward, the uncle of Lord Edmund Rivers whom she hadn’t seen since the night at the bar.  Impeccably dressed, he bounded towards the trio with a grin under his bobbing mustache, thick and perfectly groomed.

“What a pleasure to see you here! I figure I’d come down to grab my nephew something a little more humble than the lavish gifts he’s accustomed to." 

“Edward, It’s good to see you, too." She plastered on an easy grin, and cocked her head, “and here I thought you’d still be recovering.”

“You scoundrel,” he guffawed, cuffing her on the shoulder again, “Let's have another go, and we’ll see who the victor is this time.”

“Most surely,” she lowered her head in joking acquiescence. 

An awkward pause.  Esme moved quickly to introduce her companions, to whom Edward had spared no glance.

“—and these are my good friends, Trill and Mara.  We’ve known each other for some time.  Trill is a talented bard and Mara a skilled healer."

A switch turned on as he turned to her friends. 

“Any friend of Esme is a friend of mine!” He boomed, exuding jubilance.  As Esme watched him turn his attention to Mira and Trill, she was hit by relief at how fond, almost trusting, Ed had become of her.  It made everything a little easier.