#dustyundersuspicion

open  to  aces  &  eights  members  /  @dustanddevilsstarters 25  minutes  following  the  plot  drop

"this  ain't  us,  right?"  an  unlit  cigarette  was  between  his  fingers  as  he  approached.  the  president's  blue  eyes  held  something  wild  and  dangerous,  a  barely  contained  rage  simmering  under  the  surface.  "tell  me  we  didn't  have  a  fuckin'  hand  in  this,"  the  outlaw  demanded.  it  wasn't  that  roman  didn't  know  what  was  going  on  in  his  club  or  was  out  of  the  loop,  he  was  just  also  aware  that  the  syndicate  still  tried  to  control  the  aces  despite  the  mc  having  gone  independent.  there  was  always  a  chance  some  fucking  idiot  got  convinced  to  do  something  incredibly  stupid.  roman's  jaw  flexed  and  his  expression  remained  stern.  "spoke  to  a  deputy  a  bit,  there's  no  doubt  it  was  murder  ...  you  heard  anything?  anybody  talkin'  about  something?"

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. 

“You question everyone this hard?” Rio fired back, rage burning like low glowing embers in the dark backdrop of his eyes as he stared down the officer in front of him. Like the sheriff had warned, they’d all be questioned, but this felt excessive– it felt like baiting, at least to him. “Or just ex-cons?” He let the question hang between them for a moment, dangling like rope he wasn’t about to shove his neck into. On paper, he might have looked like an easy target– out on parole after fourteen years, presumably with an ax to grind. But Rio wasn’t about to allow that narrative to take any shape or form. “I been out less than a month– haven’t really had much time for murder in between all the bullshit parole meetings and piss tests,” he pressed, clearly on the defensive as he dared another step closer towards the questioning officer. Had Rio not been so passionate about his own freedom, he’d have hardly reacted so strongly. He might have listened to reason, or at least to a distant voice he could scarcely make out behind him, urging him to stand down. But he didn’t, at least not yet. Instead, he stood his ground like he should have done fourteen years ago, “Get your head outta your ass and start lookin’ somewhere that matters.”

open  starter /  @dustanddevilsstarters  1  hour  post  plot  drop  near  the  open  bar

the  moment  the  brunette  was  released  from  the  private  room  where  she'd  been  questioned  by  the  sheriff  of  paradise  valley  noa  made  a  beeline  for  the  bar.  maybe  the  bartender  understood  ⸻  had  seen  her  taken  off  with  law  enforcement  first  and  foremost  and  felt  sympathetic  while  cleaning  up,  or  perhaps  they  noticed  the  tremble  in  her  hands.  she  hadn't  even  been  able  to  hide  how  unnerved  she  was  when  requesting  a  drink.

with  a  strong  margarita  on  the  rocks,  essentially  tequila  with  a  splash  of  juice,  in  her  hands  noa  went  to  a  nearby  table  and  took  a  couple  of  swallows.  she  then  cradled  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  moment  before  suddenly  looking  up,  too  many  emotions  in  her  emerald  eyes,  "fuck,  does  this  mean  i'm  unemployed?"  again?

there  was  no  way  noa  could  go  through  that  another  time.  she  had  too  much  financial  responsibility  bearing  on  her  shoulders  and  the  shock  and  weight  of  everything  brought  tears  to  sting  her  eyes.  "i'm  sorry  ...  that's  so  insensitive."

He’d glimpsed it upon so many faces ever since the sheriff had stopped by and put on his little show– people were rattled, and perhaps understandably so. The mayor had just been murdered, after all. The crowd had dispersed, forming little pockets here and there with distinction– there were the bikers, the cowboys, members of his own organization, and then of course, the select few who had no idea where to turn. Looking at everyone now, Hakan managed a smirk– they’d all existed under one roof well enough for the bulk of the night, but it was an entirely different scene now that the script had been flipped. It wasn’t all fun and games anymore, and the suspicion they’d all lightly regarded one another with felt more like an iron hammer. If he hadn’t been wrapped up in the middle of it, Hakan might have been more amused, and more keen to just sit back and watch. But that option had flown out the window the moment he reminded himself of where he was, and who he was.  Approaching the bar, he noted one patron helping themselves to a refill, and his smirk widened for a moment before his expression flattened, nearly turning stern. “Didn’t you hear the good sheriff?” He started, gesturing between the bottle and their freshly filled glass, “Party’s over.” He held that look for just half a heartbeat longer before his crooked smirk returned and he reached for a clean glass, only to pour himself a mouthful from the same bottle. He’d only been joking– at this point, he didn’t give a shit who drank what. Raising his glass to his lips, he sipped at it, his expression turning contemplative as he shifted towards his newfound company, “So,” he drawled, a brow lifting, “who do you think did it?”

Once his debrief– or his interrogation, more like– and the immediate aftermath of both were over, Rio found himself wandering back through the casino, still fuming from the interaction. Everyone had been subject to questioning, he understood that, but he couldn’t help but feel like he’d been looked at with increasing scrutiny. Engaging without the club attorney beside him had been a mistake, in hindsight– at least she might’ve been able to help him keep somewhat of a level head. Spotting Azra by the bar, he made his way over, head shaking, “Cops rode my ass pretty hard,” he announced with a brief chuckle, his clenched fists loosening just enough to reach for a drink, “Probably shouldn’t have talked to them without you, but,” he shrugged, taking a quick swig, “here we are. Went about as well as you’d expect.”

''I can't tell if those two are about to throw down a fight or aggressively make out,'' Zeke pondered, nodding at the two men who'd started shouting over a game of poker. The fighter was leaning back against the bar, nursing his third drink of hard liquor, the alcohol making him chattier than he usually was. He turned to face Calypso, immediately chuckling at the scowl on her face as she studied the screaming pair. ''You're gonna draw suspicion from the law squad if you don't wipe the murder off your face, Cal,'' Zeke pointed out with a teaisng smile, leaning closer to her.

Carla had been nursing a drink at the bar for a while now, eyes bouncing from one patron to another, making a mental list of who was in attendance and what she knew of them. Conducting her own investigation was the best use of her time now that everyone seemed on edge, the ever-present tension magnified by the recent news of a murder. When she felt a presence move to the stool beside hers, she turned, ready to claim the seat taken, and was met with Ari's towering figure. A foreign heat crept up her face, one she promptly hid behind the glass she raised to her lips, sipping from the cocktail to cool herself off. ''I didn't know you'd still be here after the big reveal,'' she pointed out, aware of the tension in the room. ''Figures you'd be gravitating towards the bar. How does it feel to be on the other side?''