Fightin' Dirty

Jupiter lifted a hind foot and began to scratch his belly with it. While doing this he shrugged and retorted, "I'll have you know I pull it out of my ass on demand." The quality of his shit talking largely depended on who he was up against. Lightweight bullshitting was easy and thoughtless. He said the first thing that popped into his head and added expletives on as necessary. Versus a heavy weight he would have to flex a bit more and work a bit harder to figure out what made his opponent tic. Jupiter liked to personalize and he considered the difference between general mouthing off and personalized slights to be similar to the difference between swinging blindly and swinging intentionally.

He fixed Pestilence with a serious look, his first one through their whole exchange. Funny how she thought the only alternative to staying home was joining a "boring" pack. Where was her imagination? "So what I hear you saying is that you ain't shit on your own. What, you can't make something of yourself so you're going to stay in your sister's shadow forever? That's the social equivalent to eating her table scraps - and that's some piddly weakass shit. 'Aimin a little higher' my ass. If that's how you think maybe you are just a pillow-sitting princess."


Jupiter sighed dramatically. "Kid your lack of creativity is fucking disheartening. Shit." He looked her up and down speculatively and then shook his head in exasperation. "You don't fight dirty in the training sessions, you dunce. That's how you get in trouble. Are you sure you're a kid? This is basic 101 kid shit. You find a lowlife piece of shit willing to give you nuggets of wisdom." He quirked a brow at her, clearly hinting (or maybe not, her lack of creativity was seriously depressing) that he might be one such lowlife piece of shit.