Vignette Poker Face
'Poker Face' is a song by American singer Lady Gaga from her debut studio album, The Fame (2008). It was released on September 26, 2008, as the album's second single. 'Poker Face' is a synth-pop song in the key of G ♯ minor, following in the footsteps of her previous single 'Just Dance', but with a darker musical tone. Smoke curled around Nuttal & Mann’s saloon in sweet-smelling clouds that enveloped the clientele in its heady aroma and partially masked the figures seated around the poker table. One of them, wearing the flash of gold that marked him as a Marshal of the law, shifted position slightly, the chair creaking ominously beneath him. Vignettes By: Armel Gibson and Pol Clarissou. This is a complete walkthrough guide to help you find all the hidden secrets in the new spooky content update of the iOS and Android game Vignettes. It’s more fun to find them all on your own, but if you’re desperate you can try this guide.
Poker Face
Author's Notes: Tales of Symphonia, and all of it's characters, belong to Namco. I'm just borrowing them. Please don't sue me, I don't have much to sue for.
Vignette Poker Face Emoji
This vignette has SPOILERS. Don't read beyond this line if you haven't played the game and don't want it spoiled for you.
Enjoy.
Dirk sat sullenly at the table over tea. He barely looked up when Lloyd, his foster-son, and his friend Colette walked past him and up the stairs to Lloyd's room. Normally he would have prevented them from doing so, little Casanova that Lloyd thought he was; however, he was just in too sour a mood to bother tonight. Besides, this being such a sad night, what with Colette and Raine leaving the next day, well, he might as well give the two some privacy. After all, it would be a very, very long time before they saw each other again, if ever.His tea-sipping was interrupted by a heavy-handed knock on the door. Puzzled, Dirk stood. 'Just a moment.' Who of them would actually knock on the door? Genis, Raine and Colette were practically family. They knew they didn't have to knock.
Dirk opened the door and was confronted by the man he'd totally forgotten was there, the mercenary the kids picked up on the way to the Church of Martel earlier that day, Kratos. The man's expression was completely blank; even more so than when he'd been first introduced. Something was bothering him, clearly, although he was trying very hard not to show it. 'May I speak with you for a moment?' Kratos asked him.
'Sure, sure, come in,' Dirk acknowledged, backing from the door to let the mercenary past. 'Have a seat at my table. Would you like some tea?'
'Please.' Kratos seated himself stiffly; now that he was in the light, Dirk saw clearly that Kratos was very tense. Dirk poured the man a cup, then refilled his own and sat down again. 'Something I can help you with?'
Kratos took a sip of the tea before answering. 'Do you know if Lloyd's father is alive?'
Dirk shook his head. 'If he is, he hasn't taken much interest in him.' The dwarf was startled to see a flicker of emotion cross the mercenary's face, so momentary that he wondered if it was merely a trick of the light. 'Why do you ask?'
Kratos stared at him for several moments. Say something. A blink, a stutter. NOW, damnit! 'Just curious. I wasn't aware that he didn't live with his parents.'
The dwarf was intrigued, the mercenary's answer struck him as odd. Very, very odd. He watched Kratos's face intently, now, as he spoke. 'He never knew his natural family.' A thoughtful pause. 'His father may be alive; after all, it was only him and his mother when I found them.'
'Found them?'
'On the cliffs overlooking the Human Ranch.'
'I... see...'
Kratos's interest in his foster son was beginning to make a bit of sense. Dirk knew he had to tread with care, now, as he had the feeling that one wrong move, and the conversation was over. He had to be sure his guess was accurate, however; the mercenary's interest in Lloyd struck him as a bit creepy and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with it. Dirk shrugged slightly, and sat back. 'I guess it's not fair to condemn his father for not being around. After all, he might not have a clue his son is alive himself.'
A terse, 'Indeed,' was the only response he got.
Dirk sipped his tea a bit more, thoughtful. Yes, it was obvious, Kratos thought that he was Lloyd's father. Humans were so easy to read. 'You know, I wonder if Lloyd wouldn't have a right to know that his natural father were alive, if he is and aware of him,' Dirk said slowly.
Kratos shook his head. 'He may have that right, but it might not be in his best interest.' Dirk cocked his head at the mercenary, who explained further, 'You are his family, as far as he's concerned. Discovering that his natural father is alive, and knows of him, would shake Lloyd's whole life. It would bring unnecessary grief for him.'
'You have a point there.' Dirk watched Kratos as he sipped his tea. Silence between them stretched for several moments. Kratos was deep in thought, and off-guard; here was Dirk's chance to put it in concrete. 'He has your eyes, you know.'
Kratos's head jerked up, the indifferent veneer shattered like glass falling to the ground. Dirk smiled. 'If you're going to hide it from him, you're going to need a better poker face.'
The startled expression vanished, replaced once again wit the blank, apathetic glare. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Of course you don't, lad,' Dirk replied kindly. 'You're out of tea. Would you like some more?'
'No, no thank you.' He stood. 'I'm going to start back to Iselia. Tell Raine and the children to follow when they're finished here. I won't go too far ahead.' With that, the man retreated, trying with all his might to hide just how hard he had just been shaken.
Don't you love how the lovely Sarah Cawkwell spins a yarn?
Welcome to the newest instalment, all 'bout the Marshal...
Eight of Clubs, Eight of Spades.
In fairness, it wasn’t a bad start. He’d certainly played games where he’d been in far less appealing situations.
Smoke curled around Nuttal & Mann’s saloon in sweet-smelling clouds that enveloped the clientele in its heady aroma and partially masked the figures seated around the poker table. One of them, wearing the flash of gold that marked him as a Marshal of the law, shifted position slightly, the chair creaking ominously beneath him. He was a big man; broad of shoulder and his powerful build loaned him the ability to loom over the rest of the players at the table. He knew that his was an intimidating presence and it was just possible that he basked in it.
When he’d first taken his seat, he had ceremonially removed his hat. When “Wild Bill” Hickok did that, people knew that he meant business. All Lawmen needed a release from the daily grind, a release from the stresses that went with enforcing the laws of the country on those most desperate to break them. For Hickok, it was poker. He was not invested enough to become a frequent gambler, but he still relished the adrenaline thrill and spike of danger that the game brought.
Not to mention the relief that the occasional win brought in terms of monetary gain that kept the wolves from his door.
The lawman ran nicotine-stained fingers through his unruly mane of dark hair, drawing admiring glances from more than one pair of eyes in the room. Hickok was a favourite among the ladies of Nuttal & Mann’s. He ran his hand down his jawline, smoothing his well-tended moustache, before taking up the glass of whisky in front of him. He knocked the fiery amber liquid back in a single, practised move and studied the cards in his hand.
He was no professional player, but Hickok had mastered the art of the ‘poker face’ early on. That, coupled with the fact his mind was sharp as a tack and well trained to understand statistic and probability made him a danger at the table. It was a latent skill that many so-called ‘sporting gentlemen’ unconsciously utilised. Had Hickok taken to poker seriously, he’d
have been a real threat.
“Draw.”
The dealer made the call and Hickok considered his cards again, giving them the same sort of due care and attention a new mother gave her infant. He retained the pair of eights and, on a wild whim, the ace of clubs. He accepted the replacement pair of cards and took them into his hand.
Ace of Spades. Queen of Diamonds.
“I’m out.” One of his opponents threw down his hand in obvious disgust and pushed his chair back with a cringeworthy scrape along the sawdust-covered floor. Hickok glanced over at the abandoned hand. It took every muscle in his face to keep the grin at bay. The discarded hand was a mishmash of cards and suits and even a player in possession of no tells whatsoever would have been hard pressed to bluff their way through to the end of the game.
Hickok chewed on the end of his cigar and took a long draw from it. He inhaled the smoke deeply and blew it out again. Other than that, he made no further move. His remaining opponent reached up to rub at the side of his nose. It was the smallest gesture, but the story behind it was important. He grunted, nodded and threw his money into the ante pot.
“Fifty dollars. Charlie’s still in. How ‘bout it, Marshal?” The dealer turned to Hickok who considered only briefly before matching the ante and adding more. Another fifty dollars more. Opposite him, Charlie Rich could not help but quirk an eyebrow.
“You’re on, Marshal,” he said, eventually matching the bet.
Hickok simply shrugged one shoulder, an eloquent gesture; a sort of indifferent, uni-shrug that gave away precisely nothing.
“Draw.”
Hickok disposed of the queen and glanced once more at the four cards remaining in his hand. There was a strange feeling; a kind of tingling that urged him forward. Hickok had never been the kind of man to endorse the concept of Fate or Destiny, but still he moved
forward as though something, some unseen, cosmic force was making him. He looked down once more. As a two-pair, the eights and aces were a good call.
His hand reached for the last card and as his fingers closed over it, there was a bone shuddering crack of a gunshot which reverberated through the saloon. Hickok was one of only two men present who did not jump instantly to his feet. He was so used to sudden gunfire that he barely twitched an eyebrow and remained seated right where he was.
Behind him, a man swayed unsteadily for a heartbeat or two and then toppled unceremoniously into the dust and dirt of the saloon floor. An unemptied revolver clattered from his lifeless fingers and it was that noise, rather than the gunshot, which finally
encouraged the Marshal to turn his head.
He studied the dead man who had already been kicked over by an enterprising deputy. He vaguely recalled the visage of Jack McCall, with whom he’d had a run-in a day or two before. Then he lifted his gaze to meet the defiant stare of the barmaid, who stood several feet away, a still-smoking shotgun in her hand. Hickok’s head tipped to one side as he looked from her to the corpse and then he simply nodded, once. The woman turned and disappeared into the back room.
“Well now,” said the Marshal, reaching for his hat and setting it carefully on his head.
Poker Face Lyrics
“Apologies, Charlie. Guess I need to get to clearin’ up this mess. But… let’s get this finished seein’ as we got this far, eh?” He put the new card into his hand and looked at it.
Poker Face App
The Ace of Diamonds.
Vignette Poker Face Drawing
“Call,” he said and for the first time in his life, gave away his fortune with a wicked grin.