Was it really that surprising to hear that Atlas hadn't played many games as a child? He lived in a damn library, and with his whole family being massive and clumsy, they did enough damage to the bookshelves without roughhousing. So when he heard that his task would be to play a game — okay well first off, what kinda fucking task was that? He was expecting a chore, like clean up the leaves or... bury the dead bodies or some shit. Instead, he was searching for the flattest place to play this game, missing his books and his satchel, and trying not to worry about dying. (Like he'd worry about that anyway.) And second off (yes, he knows he's late with this), he doesn't actually know how to play, and the books he has with him aren't instructional things. So he asks around, trying not to feel silly as he admits to not knowing something as simple as a game. What he gathers is that it's sort of like tag, except you have to stay it even if you tag someone. The winner is the last person to get tagged.

Simple enough, right?

The dog has circled a suitable spot a few times now, clearing out any twigs or rocks. It's marked by his footsteps, dragged carefully through the dirt in straight enough lines. Not that it matters too much, since the goal is to make it across the field, and if someone really wanted to run and hide in the Observatory, that was their right. So Atlas takes a deep breath and shakes his head a little. "Anyone want to play... Bulldogs?"

｢ WORD COUNT: 273. MUSE LEVEL: 07. APPEARANCE NOTES. ｣