The elf, the dwarf, and George the dragon were sitting in a waiting room with overhead bright glowing plants that gave the room a harsh look. They sat in uncomfortable chairs — well, George sat on his haunches where it suited him for he tended to sit wherever he wanted and no one ever objected, oddly enough.
Across from them sat a nervous little rabbit wearing a tie and carrying sheafs of paper to bolster his case with HR. Next to him was a chipmunk looking defiant, and next to him was a hobbit wondering where the nearest snack cart was.
“HR will see you now,” said the officiously looking middle-aged weasel who opened the door and looked out toward the elf and the dwarf. They both got up and walked toward the door, followed by George ambling behind them.
“Oh no, not him,” said the weasel pointing at the dragon who was making the ground shake with every step.
“Whatever do you mean, woman,” said the elf quietly, “this whole matter concerns him.”
“But he can’t go into the office!” objected the weasel who was now backing away from the dragon who had reached the door frame and was struggling to push through the narrow entrance.
“Stop!” cried the weasel shrilly, but it was no use. George was in the office and hunched down next to the now seated elf and dwarf.
The weasel sadly regarded the bent door frame and half-hanging door, and did her best to prop up the door so it would close as much as possible while she stood outside.
“Now, let’s get to the matter,” said the HR rep behind the desk. “We had a report of damage to corporate property at the Faire.”
“Now wait a min—” began the dwarf before the HR rep cut him off.
“No, no, I wasn’t asking a question and I wasn’t done. Now, as I was saying, we lost a good tent that day. How do you explain that?”
“For one thing,” said the elf, “we had nothing to do with it. We were in our stall, dealing with a most annoying family—”
“Paying customers,” interrupted the HR rep.
“—er, paying customers,” continued the elf, “when he saw the commotion in the nearby field.”
“What did they think would happen when you tilt at a dragon?” asked the dwarf.
“Well,” said the HR rep, “we have our answer in the Employee Handbook, page 163, paragraph two, sub-bullet point four: ‘No corporate property is to be damaged in the operation of the Tilt-a-Dragon ride.’”
George now hung his head and let out a sigh with a small puff of smoke.
“See,” said the elf, “he feels badly about it,” as he pointed toward the dragon.
“Yes, I see that,” said the HR rep as he finally looked toward George. “Now, son, don’t you feel bad that you overreacted?”
George looked up and nodded eagerly.
The HR rep — also a dragon — raised his wings in a friendly manner that made George do the same thing.
“Not guilty, because dragons do those things,” said the HR dragon.
“Thanks, pop!” said George as the weasel listening on the other side of the door sighed a bit too loudly.
“That’s OK, son,” said the HR dragon, “just remember never to scare little children.”
George nodded vigorously.
Out of curiosity, how did George's father get into the office? Wouldn't he be bigger than his son?
If so, wouldn't the door be much bigger?
Or did he shapechange to get in the office?