Fightin' Dirty

"But can you pull it out of your ass on demand?" He jabbed at her chest. If she let his paw get close enough he'd flick her chin when she went to look down at it. "Is that not what I just said? You got servants back home who do the listening for you too? Come on, now, pay attention and don't make me repeat myself." As for the orphan... Jupiter squinted at her, pretending to take issue with her request. Being a bit of a contrarian he was awfully fond of saying and doing the opposite of what was expected of him, so she wasn't going to get the answer she wanted. "What kind of awful dipshit makes fun of an orphan?"

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Jupiter threw up a paw as Pestilence mentioned learning how to talk dirty. She didn't mean it like that but it made him squirmy anyway. "Okay, whoa, hey, let's get one thing clear: when it comes to language I'm teaching you how to shit talk. Talking dirty is..." Oh fuck how to explain this... "The kind of thing you do to people you wanna..." He squinted at her and blew out his lips in exasperation. "You know what? That's the sort of thing your parents should teach you." Hah. He would give anything to be a fly on the wall when she brought up that topic.

Jupiter stepped back to give himself room to demonstrate. As he did so he acknowledged her accomplishments absently, "If that alpha's your mother it don't count for shit." Wait a what epidemic? He tilted his head and looked at Pestilence sideways. "Really? Hm," he grunted thoughtfully. "You lose points for the 'almost' but that coulda been some funny shit."

"Okay, let's get down to business. Rule one of fighting dirty is this: go for the soft stuff." He paused to let that sink in. "So you go for the eyes, poking, biting, kicking dirt if you can do it sneaky otherwise you'll get pegged as a chickenshit. If you're squaring off with a guy dem balls are wicked painful. A solid blow there will knock the thoughts right out of his head." Jupiter side-eyed Pestilence. "You with me so far? Soft spots are important."