This essential update brings you general bug fixes, notable performance improvements, and the exciting next chapter in the A Salon Story narrative.
Mysteries of the Dressrious Salon — Chapter 44
Hey Upper East Siders, Gossip News here! My little birds have confirmed the nuptials of rookie polo player Mateo James Style, son of Senator Style, and the talented violinist Fiona Nora Franco, daughter of the illustrious investor Connor Edward Franco, will be held today. The after-party? Shockingly, it’s at the Dressrious Salon, a place famous for little else but its scandals, conspiracies, and high-profile murders. The guest list isn’t just prominent politicians, but top-tier sports and musical celebrities as well. The disappointment of the century: Swan Tiger and her Mayor’s son won’t be attending. Did this wedding—a combination of power and money—fail to attract our Music Diva? Or couldn’t the newlyweds afford the appearance fee? Perhaps they should take notes from Mr. Franco, who arrived in the Fairylands as a poor, retired military man from the Neverlands, rose as a financial giant, and cultivated an elite social circle. What’s the secret to his Fairylander Dream come true? We shall see… XOXO, Gossip News.
Trevor never thought he would be invited to the after-party of Style and Franco’s wedding, and neither did the other three. They had all been invited by Senator Style’s brother, James Style, with an email that arrived just last evening after Trevor finished his workout.
“Sorry for sending this invitation so close to the event. The newlyweds, my brother, and I hope all four of you will attend, because I have a case for you. We shall discuss it after the party,” Style had written.
What was the case? Trevor wondered. But what troubled him most was the dress code: Classic Black Tie. To most people, especially the fashion gurus, the Classic Black Tie code felt like an outright fashion tyranny, forcing men into a dull, repetitive uniform while women commanded infinite variety. Absolutely unfair.
But to Trevor, it was fine; it was simple, meaning he didn’t need to consult the Dressrious app for an outfit, since he owned only one tuxedo. Trevor was never a fashion guy; in fact, if his father hadn’t secured the work to paint for the Salon, and he hadn’t gotten the job to set up the network, he would never have entered the Salon, downloaded the app, and started this journey to change his style.
The one thing he liked about dressing well was that it was similar to coding: you need to pick the right tool for the right occasion. Clothing for the gym should never be worn for a proper dinner, just as Golang was not a good solution for modern game development. The Dressrious app could suggest outfits for the right occasion, saving him time on self-coordination. The other thing was, he didn’t want to wear a hoodie and sneakers, sitting in front of a computer all day until he lost his hair and developed a massive potbelly. As his sister once said, dressing well would give you an excuse to get outside and socialize, helping you avoid dying alone. Wasn’t a party the best opportunity to be social? He wished this time he could meet someone, or perhaps that girl from the Halloween party again.
However, this party wasn’t as fun as the Halloween party. It was very old-fashioned. The party hall gleamed with golden and crystal decorations, playing Vivaldi’s Concerto. Men in satin tuxedos and women in sumptuous gowns covered in glittering jewels moved stiffly. Even the wine glasses and silver trays were engraved with the names of the bride and groom. Most guests wore serious expressions or fake smiles, currying favor with others. Only the occasional bursts of laughter from the groom’s polo teammates and college jock friends brought a little life. Trevor wondered where the bride’s friends were; maybe he could find some beauty and kindness there…
“There you are.” Spion patted his shoulder, interrupting his search.
Trevor looked at Spion, who was wearing a sleek velvet tuxedo, looking more handsome than usual. “Nice tuxedo.”
“Borrowed from my roommate. He’s super rich and had his servant send it over this morning. Fits quite well, doesn’t it?” Spion grinned.
“Yeah, it suits you,” Trevor agreed. “Have you seen the others?”
“No. Check the bar, maybe. I don’t think Lady News could find an empty booth this time; they’re all taken. I saw the Mayor talking to two guys with headsets there, with two bodyguards blocking the entrance to their booth.” Spion said as they walked toward the bar.
“Maybe they were listening to some bad-taste pop music they didn’t want the public to know about,” Trevor joked.
They found Lady News and Report Man at the bar counter with James Style.
“Gentlemen, over here,” Style greeted them. “Join us for a whiskey.” He gestured to the bartender, Daniel, to pour two glasses of a fine Bourbon.
“Style is teaching us how to savor whiskey,” Report Man said.
“A rich lesson. It makes me realize all that drinking before was for nothing,” Lady News said, looking at Style with a faint, appreciative smile.
“You two flatter me,” Style grinned. “Come on, take small sips. It’s the best Bourbon in the city.”
Trevor and Spion took their Glencairn glasses. Spion gently swirled the glass, took a tiny sip, and nodded with satisfaction. Trevor drank, found it a little spicy, and frowned. “It may not be my favorite.”
“Neat isn’t my thing either; I prefer cocktails.” An elegant, elderly lady in a deep violet dress embroidered with roses approached. She said to Daniel, “One Old Fashioned, please.” Then she looked at Trevor and Spion. “I presume you two are Mr. Edson and Mr. Frank, the other two members of the Salon’s detective team.” She smiled warmly at Lady News and Report Man, indicating she had already met them.
“Forgive me, this is my sister-in-law, the mother of the groom, Mrs. Style,” Style introduced the lady.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Style.” Trevor shook hands with her, as did Spion.
“I met your father last Friday at the charity auction. I was so close to buying his painting, but the Duchess snatched it at the last second,” Mrs. Style said, a wry smile crossing her lips.
Trevor nearly snorted. His father hadn’t told him this part. He wondered if the Duchess did it on purpose, if Bella knew, or what the Duke might think. It would be quite hilarious. “He has plenty of fans,” he smiled at Mrs. Style.
“Indeed, he has an extraordinary gift,” she replied. Her drink was ready. She thanked Daniel, then turned back to Trevor. “I hope I can meet him again soon, so I can provide an offer to buy one of his paintings without competition.” She smiled again.
“He’s not in the city now. He’s on a trip to Oz with his artist friends, but he’ll be back before Natalis Invicti,” Trevor said.
“What a vibrant life,” Mrs. Style sighed. Then she saw a man in a black suit with sunglasses approach. “My husband sent his bodyguard to notify me that I need to attend a terribly boring meeting. Some Siren Prince is here to discuss business. We have to use a special device to communicate with them—not fascinating at all, especially compared to solving murder cases.” She winked conspiratorially at the group, then left.
“Your sister-in-law seems quite interesting,” Spion commented.
“Sometimes,” Style shrugged, taking a drink.
“You said you have a case for us in your invitation. What is it?” Trevor asked, ready to get down to business.
“It’s about the bride’s father, Mr. Franco. I’ll introduce you to him later,” Style said. He looked at every one of them, his expression suddenly serious. “But first, do you know Olivia Holle escaped?”
“What? Really?” Lady News was shocked, as were Trevor and Spion.
Report Man was not. “I heard it this noon; it’s on the news,” Report Man said. “A ninja motorbike gang intercepted the police van escorting Olivia Holle yesterday afternoon. They all escaped in a heavy fog.”
“That is infuriating,” Trevor outraged.
“The criminals are formidable, out of your league. Don’t bother with it,” Style said dismissively, then pointed to the stage. “The bride is coming on stage now. Let’s enjoy the party.”
A quintet for violin and winds appeared on the stage. The four winds were men in tuxedos, but the violinist was wearing a gorgeous mauve silk evening gown with a splendid diamond headband. She had to be the bride, Fiona.
The entire party hall was quiet now. Lights and eyes focused on the stage. A single, soulful clarinet began, establishing a bittersweet theme. Then, the violin soared into the melody, its tone full of nostalgic elegance, transforming the theme into Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2.