"Bullshit!"
The outraged cry came alongside an angry slam as hands connected with the top of the table, palms flattened against the surface and fingers splayed out so wide it seemed they were in danger of coming free of their joints. The enraged bride of the storm was bristled almost visibly, sparks of electricity crackling to life around her person - off her coat, between her antennae-like bangs, and even from the electrical outlet on the wall a few feet to her left.
"You have a terrible poker face, dearie," the bearded man across from her returned smoothly in response to her outburst, spreading his cards out along the top of the glossy white desk. "Read them and weep."
Indeed, there was a royal flush spaced out across the table, and it was as definite as the smug smirk on the blond's face. While the young woman most certainly did read, there would be no weeping happening here - at least not on her part. If Luxord was lucky, there'd be none on his either.
"You are a cheating bastard!" the Savage Nymph persisted, starting in his direction as if she were going to lunge over the whole length of the table just to get to Luxord.
"But you're the one who wanted to play," replied the male Nobody, calm all over his words like light on the Keybearer.
Larxene gave her best imitation of a gameshow buzzer before lashing out with, "Wrong! It was your decision to play cards, dumbass!"
To which Luxord replied smartly, "You said, and I quote: 'Hey asshole, entertain me.' You in no way specified that you did not want to play cards, and if you hadn't desired to do so, you could have made any objections at the beginning of the game."
He smirked at the awed and furious silence on the other Nobody's part, reveling in his brief moment of victory. Unlike the other members of the Organization - who he affectionately referred to as "pansies", - Luxord was not afraid of Larxene. Of course, this didn't mean he was stupid enough to go around provoking her (Unlike Number VIII, the Gambler of Fate thought wryly); but he never quailed when she raised her voice. If people would stop falling at her feet - either from admiration or terror - then Luxord doubted she would be so eager to spring into verbal arguments.
Eventually the woman let loose an aggravated shriek and threw her hands up, retreating from the game table before the sparks - especially from the outlet - set something aflame. But before she was through the doorway, the British-accented voice of Number X halted the temptress in her path.
"Well?"
"Well what, idiot? You won your game," she snarled, elegantly pointed face contorted in a sneer.
"Exactly," the blond started patiently, gathering his cards from the table with a single sweep of his hand. "Are winners not entitled to their prizes?"
Larxene wore a look somewhere between rage and awe at the sheer audacity of Luxord's demand. "What? You expect a prize? I'm not giving you anything, dumbass, not after you cheated."
She keeps bringing that up, Luxord mentally noted, almost amused. She's probably just peeved that whenever she cheats, someone catches her. "How can I have cheated," the gamber began as if explaining a simple concept to a dumb child, "if there were no rules set in the first place?"
The nymph's jaw hung agape, and she made a few frustrated syllables resembling the beginnings of swear words before spitting, "What are you talking about?!" A catch-all inquiry for when one is too mind-boggled to think of a proper retort, for certain.
He smirked again and sidled up to the mistress of thunder, close enough that his height advantage over her became ever the more apparent, Luxord standing almost a full head taller than Larxene. "House rules, dearie." Then in one swift motion, he had her pointed chin between his index finger and thumb, and his lips were upon hers in a chaste kiss.
Before Larxene could properly react and proceed to slaughter her ally, Luxord had pulled away and was disappearing into a blossoming egg-shaped portal of swirling black and purple; the last she saw of him was the smirk on his face, taunting her like the grin of the Cheshire Cat.
Another feral growl and Number XII stalked off, hissing under her breath, "Like I said: a cheating bastard."