#dustyevent

For: @dustanddevilsstarters

Rocky was all business, even if this was technically a celebration event. But he would be lying if this shit wasn't just a bit amusing. All these people, with all sorts of alliances. The one's that had their doubts could obviously be seen from their facial expressions. When one didn't show up, everybody knew about it so he was almost certain that was why some of them ended up making an appearance. Not wanting to deal with the aftermath and rumors that could stir from it. "You know, if that's your idea of a poker face - you probably should stay away from the tables." A smug smile was set free, perhaps finding humor in the other's stiffness.

The doors of the Gold Dust Casino open with an almost thundering sound. As Sheriff Clayton, flanked by a team of deputies, marched into the Burning Hearts Celebration the music stopped and the house lights came up. The clock was 28 minutes from midnight when Paradise Valley’s formidable law enforcement stopped at the end of the entrance just before it spilled into the casino floor. The Sheriff’s hard gaze moved over the forming crowd, already scrutinizing and observing but clearly looking for specific subjects in the gathering. There was a long pause when he spotted his daughters yet even then his expression remained stoney and unreadable.  When he broke away Sheriff Clayton cleared his throat and took a couple of steps ahead of his entourage and rasped, “at approximately 8:18pm a body was found on the border of Paradise Valley. Dumped, already deceased …”  His scanning gaze then stopped on Noa Andreas. “preliminary identification is Montrose mayor William Altman. Ma’am,” his finger curled at the mayor’s assistant, “you’ll need to come with us.”  Attention then moved from her to notable figures littered amongst the crowd. “This is a homicide investigation. We do have a warrant,” Clayton held out his hand and a deputy filled it with a folded legal document right as his eyes locked with Hakan Yazici then Rocky Savona, “we’ll need access to your surveillance and camera footage from tonight. Especially the entrance to see the comings and goings of all individuals here.”  The Sheriff then shifted attention to Roman Kane, then Chip Pierce, Adrian Vasiliou, Dara de Vos, and Azra Dogan.  “As of right now everyone in this casino is under suspicion and suspect of the murder of Montrose's mayor. Party’s over,” the final statement delivered directly to Le Syndicat’s second in command.  A hand was then held up to quiet the noise. “You may leave but if you do without speaking with a deputy we will come find you. Your cooperation will make this much easier on everyone. If you have any important or pertinent information come forward immediately.”  Once more Clayton's eyes moved over the crowd, then he approached Ms Andreas and gestured for the young woman to come along with him. As the two of them walked off the sheriff’s deputies fanned out and approached the celebration’s guests. 

Jasper  Calder  stepped  into  the  Burning  Hearts  celebration  like  it  was  just  another  arena—different  lights,  higher  stakes,  same  rush.  The  casino  hummed  around  him,  red  and  gold  reflections  catching  in  his  glass  as  music  rolled  through  the  floor,  and  he  wore  it  easy:  jacket  loose,  smile  slower,  eyes  sharp  enough  to  count  exits  without  breaking  stride.  Rodeo  taught  him  how  to  read  a  crowd,  and  this  one  was  a  mess  of  money,  power,  and  people  pretending  not  to  recognize  each  other.  He  leaned  into  the  bar,  elbow  resting  easy,  tipping  his  drink  toward  a  familiar  face  across  the  room—or  maybe  someone  who  felt  familiar  in  that  Paradise  Valley  way.

“Funny  thing  about  places  like  this,”  he  said,  voice  smooth  and  teasing,  pitched  just  loud  enough  to  be  heard.  “Everyone  shows  up  sayin’  they’re  here  to  celebrate.”  His  grin  widened,  all  charm  and  confidence,  but  there  was  a  flicker  of  something  watchful  behind  it  as  his  gaze  swept  bikers,  law,  syndicate  alike.  “Truth  is?  Half  of  ‘em  are  lookin’  for  trouble,  and  the  other  half  are  hopin’  it  finds  someone  else.”  He  took  a  slow  sip,  eyes  returning  to  whoever  had  his  attention.

This wasn’t Jamie’s scene and never would be, and it showed in the way he kept adjusting his tie and fidgeting whenever his hands didn’t have a drink or an animated story to occupy them. Small talk could only get him so far, particularly when the bulk of it normally consisted of taking brief medical histories and getting down to the root of a problem. He couldn’t exactly do that here, at what was supposed to be a party, a chance to get out and about and actually mingle. But that’d always been admittedly a bit hard for the veteran, especially now when he was still so fresh in his newfound civilian life. He didn’t know how to do this, and the longer he lingered in the casino, the more unsure he was that he even wanted to know. 

Stopping at the bar, he ordered a whiskey on ice and leaned in, resting his forearms against the countertop. “Feel more at home in a war zone than this shit,” he half-chuckled, half-sighed to the person next to him, more out of impulse than an actual desire for conversation. It just helped betray how uncomfortable he truly felt. “Sorry,” Jamie snorted, taking his drink from the bartender, “Not trying to shit on the occasion here– you having fun at least?”

open  starter  /  @dustanddevilsstarters on  the  casino  floor  around  10:30pm

patience  had  been  running  thin  for  jeremy  lately  and  this  guy  was  grating  on  what  little  control  he  had  left  before  he  snapped.  the  anchor  owner  had  been  using  up  the  tokens  he'd  been  given  for  making  an  appearance  at  this  ridiculous  celebration  at  the  casino,  technically  the  last  place  he'd  want  to  be  if  he  were  taking  a  night  off,  and  had  avoided  most  everyone  since  he'd  entered  through  the  doors  a  couple  of  hours  ago.  at  most,  jeremy  had  given  a  nod  here  and  there  ⸻  sure  that  le  syndicat  people  had  seen  him  so  that  they'd  be  off  his  back  for  a  bit.  but  then,  about  ten  minutes  ago,  this  fool  had  begun  messing  with  him.  the  legacy  son  of  timber  cove  had  told  him  to  fuck  off  and  then  tried  his  best  to  ignore.  this  heckler,  likely  someone  from  le  syndicat  assigned  to  poke  and  prod  at  him,  hadn't  seemed  to  get  the  memo  and  mentioned  one  of  jeremy's  sisters  in  a  disrespectful  way.

his  elbow  flying  backward  and  connecting  hard  with  the  nuisance's  mouth  was  quick  and  precise.  jeremy,  who'd  had  enough  and  would  never  tolerate  slander  on  his  family,  stood  from  the  slot  machine  seat  to  his  full  and  imposing  6'3''  height.  "say  whatever  the  fuck  you  want  to  me  and  about  me  but  you  don't  ever  say  shit  about  my  family,"  he  said  with  anger  in  his  throat  and  the  promise  of  further  damage  coiled  tightly  around  each  syllable  to  the  man  with  a  bloodied  mouth  on  the  fancy  carpeted  floor.  one  hand  was  up  trying  to  dissuade  jeremy  from  further  advancing  on  him,  he  was  on  his  back  trying  to  push  himself  away  while  asking  'what  the  fuck?'  over  and  over  again.  "i've  told  you  guys  ..."  the  fisherman's  son  growled  before  bending  down  and  grabbing  the  guy  by  the  shirt  and  yanking  him  up  onto  his  feet  only  to  toss  him  backward  into  a  pillar  and  drive  a  forearm  across  the  man's  throat.

For: @dustanddevilsstarters

"I suppose I am not going to win that new car that is being offered for best dressed." Concern though was far from his tone. If it were up to Cale, he would have skipped whatever this event was. People were dressed in fancy suits, while he was in blue jeans and a button down. And obviously a cowboy hat. At least he wore his new boots, which were only worn for special occasions. Not that this occasion was special but it felt like the right time. "I just hope this is enough to get me by." He found himself musing, while grabbing on to the flask from his back pocket like it was some sort of safety net. Filled with his favorite type of Whiskey. The man refused to take any sort of handout from this event and who was behind hosting such. Which meant no food or the drinks they were offering. In the end, he held on to that control tightly.

Tessa  hadn’t  planned  on  staying  long  —  grief  had  a  way  of  shrinking  her  world  lately  —  but  the  pull  of  the  casino  lights  had  coaxed  her  out  of  the  quiet  she’d  been  hiding  in.  Red  washed  over  marble  and  glass,  music  thrummed  low  and  constant,  and  the  air  smelled  like  smoke,  citrus,  and  money.  A  celebration  built  on  heat  and  excess,  layered  over  a  town  that  didn’t  pause  for  loss.  She  stood  just  off  the  main  flow  of  the  floor,  dark  hair  loose,  a  drink  untouched  in  her  hand,  watching  couples  laugh  too  loudly  like  nothing  fragile  could  break  tonight.

There  was  an  ache  beneath  the  polish,  a  stiffness  to  her  shoulders  that  hadn’t  been  there  before  —  the  weight  of  being  back,  of  being  seen,  of  stepping  into  public  when  all  she  wanted  was  distance.  Ballet  posture  kept  her  upright,  kept  her  steady.  When  someone  drifted  close  enough  to  catch  her  attention,  she  turned,  expression  soft  but  guarded,  lips  curving  into  something  almost-smile,  almost-brave.

“Of  all  nights  to  leave  the  house,”  she  said  quietly,  lifting  her  glass  a  fraction.  “Tell  me  —  are  we  here  for  the  love,  the  luck…  or  just  to  pretend  nothing’s  been  lost  yet?”

The night is glowing red.

Gold Rush Casino & Resort is celebrating five years at the top — and they’re doing it the only way they know how: loud, lavish, and dripping in temptation. BURNING HEARTS: A 5th Anniversary Valentine’s Celebration is set to light up the valley this Saturday, February 14th at 5PM sharp, and whether you were invited… or strongly encouraged… you’ll want to be seen. The city plans to flood the casino floor for a night of live music, an over-the-top buffet, open bar, high stakes poker, and enough glittering distraction to make anyone forget who they came with — or why. Word around the docks is that syndicate leadership has insisted certain fishermen, smugglers, and harbor regulars make an appearance — a “show of unity,” they’re calling it. Free drinks. A mountain of seafood. A stack of starter tokens to try their luck at the tables. Hard to say no to that kind of hospitality. The bikers? Expected. With ties that run deeper than the poker tables, their presence won’t go unnoticed. And in a rare public gesture, the syndicate extended an olive branch to Sheriff Clayton himself — an invitation framed as peace. A celebration of business and community. The sheriff’s answer? Keep eyes on it. Fellow ranchers attend. Which means the cowboys will be in attendance too, hats tipped low and watching the room just as closely as the roulette wheel. The stakes? ♦ Best Dressed of the Night wins a brand new car. ♦ The highest hand at the final poker table walks away with a $50,000 grand prize. ♦ Raffle prizes, champagne towers, private VIP rooms, and more. It’s Valentine’s Day in Dust and Devils. Love, luxury… and a little leverage. When the lights glow gold and the hearts start burning, everyone has a reason to be there.