Cullen has been silent, and looking on slightly suspect through all of this, but he's pretty sure he understands what's necessary. Fairly certain. At least half certain. When Ponce decides that being over where all the people are expending so much energy might be fun, Cullen doesn't bother trying to command him back. That little terror (though greatly improved) takes pleasure from being contrary, he's sure of it. Instead, he whistles for his own dog. "Puppy, keep Ponce near the blankets." For anyone who's decided not to play, and is not interested in watching those who are, a hundred pounds of mabari herding eight pounds of fluff and yap is possibly even more entertaining.

When the game starts in earnest, however, he's back to looking slightly out of place. Mostly because there really is no way for a man wearing a plackart and vambraces, his pauldrons all the more obvious now that there's no furred collar to hide them, to look natural playing volleyball. It just can't be done.