Dragon parade

"No, no, no! The silk dragon prop is completely torn, the festival starts in twenty minutes, and the board of directors is watching!" Vance frantically paces across the backstage tent, his green-scaled hands waving a clipboard wildly in the air. Suddenly, his large, expressive eyes lock onto you. A desperate, chaotic grin spreads across his snout. "You! You're perfect! Put this on!"

Before you can even utter a word of protest, Vance aggressively shoves a heap of pastel-colored fabric into your arms. It's an ultra-realistic Eastern Dragon parade suit—though it looks incredibly cute, completely ridiculous, and absolutely impossible to take seriously. It is covered in soft, marshmallow-like cream scales, a vibrant emerald mane, and an oversized, cartoonish head with a blunt, squishy snout.

Looking at it, you pale. "Vance, wait... excluding the long tail, the main body of this suit is way smaller than a human! I won't fit!"

"Nonsense! Just squeeze! Flex your core! We don't have time for logistics!" Vance barks, turning around to yell at a group of performers holding carrying poles.

With a nervous gulp, you force your legs into the tiny, plush interior. The moment the zipper clicks shut at the base of your throat, a bizarre, tingling warmth erupts along your skin. The tight upholstery foam begins to pulse. Instead of breaking the suit, your own bones and muscles suddenly begin to compress, melting backward into the long, serpentine spine of the costume. Your entire body downsizes, fusing directly into real, hyper-sensitive living hide. Your limbs become completely soft and doughy, and your hands and feet remodel into thick, heavy paws lined with incredibly squishy, marshmallow-soft toe beans. You look down, feeling your long, heavy tail swinging behind you, completely aware that you have just permanently transformed into a real, pocket-sized Eastern Dragon.

"Vance! Look at me! The costume is gone, I'm an actual dragon! I shrank!" you wail, but the words filter through your snout as a high-pitched, musical, deeply squeaky draconic trill.

Vance stops pacing. He blinks his large eyes, staring directly at your newly formed, fluffy draconic body. There's no panic, no screaming, and no denial. A massive, thrilled grin splits his green face. "Well, I'll be damned. You really are a real dragon! This is a million times better than a stupid silk prop! The board is going to lose their minds!"

Suddenly, a massive rush of pure, dog-like canine adrenaline floods your altered brain. A wild, dizzying wave of pure playfulness hits you like a truck, and you realize you absolutely love it. Your long, soft serpentine spine practically tingles with the absolute necessity to move. Your tail begins frantically swishing back and forth like a happy golden retriever, and a deep, overwhelming instinct commands you to interact. You have absolutely no concept of personal space anymore. You want cuddles, you want to perform, you need to sniff, and most of all, you need to lick.

Before Vance can step away, your soft, doughy limbs propel you forward, your hyperactive tail wagging fiercely. You shamelessly bury your blunt, squishy cream snout right into Vance’s crotch, inhaling deeply to catch his scent.

Vance lets out a surprised, breathless wheeze, but instead of pushing you away, he scratches you right behind your newly formed horns. "Whoa! Up close and personal, huh? Guess you've got some heavy tracking instincts now, big guy. Go ahead, get a good sniff so you know who's boss."

Thoroughly excited by the praise, you pull back, scramble right up his chest with your squishy-beaned paws, and throw your head forward to give him an enthusiastic, slobbery thank-you kiss. Vance happens to be mid-sentence, his mouth wide open in surprise—and your big, wet draconic tongue darts right inside his mouth, heavily slathering the very roof of his palate with happy, sloppy puppy-like dragon drool.

Vance sputters wildly, coughing and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, though he looks far more amused than angry at your completely inappropriate display of affection. "Pfft—! Blech! Okay, okay! Inside the mouth is a bit much, buddy! Real dragons have zero boundaries, huh?"

Eagerly seeking more attention, you playfully nip his wrist.

CRUNCH.

The thick wooden clipboard in Vance's hand instantly shatters into a dozen jagged splinters under the terrifying, alligator-like crushing force of your tiny jaws. You let go immediately, blinking your big, expressive eyes in total confusion—it felt like a gentle gumming to you!

Vance yelps, looking at the obliterated clipboard in his hand, his eyes wide with shock. "Y-Yikes! Remind me not to let you chew on the staff! You've got quite the bite for a little guy!" He laughs it off, entirely indulgent of your destructive playfulness, and claps his hands loudly. "Alright team, hoist our star asset! Let's get this show on the road!"

Instantly, your core handling crew swarms you, their distinct personalities clashing loudly.

"Move it! Come here, big boy! Get under the head!" Gideon, the bossy handler, barks as he firmly grabs your snout and jaw to keep your head steady.

"Ugh, he's way denser than he looks. Watch the green mane, it's getting in my face," Moxie, the rude feline crew member, groans as she shoves her shoulders under your chest section, lifting with a heavy sigh.

"Ooh, look at the squishy little toes! Who's a good festive dragon? You are!" Pip, the playful performer, chirps happily, wrapping his arms around your long, heavy tail and tickling your hind paws as he hoists the back end.

Because your body transformed cleanly into a dense, serpentine winding shape, it takes all four of them to safely carry you over their heads. This leaves Toby, the poor, overworked intern, stuck with the middle segment. He awkwardly wedges his large, trembling hands directly under your tiny lower groin to keep your balance. The poor guy immediately freezes, his face flushing a bright, furious red as his fingers press right against your unmistakable, living, hyper-sensitive warmth under the belly plates. Toby looks intensely flustered, sweating profusely and stammering as he tries to maintain a professional, overhead grip on your downsized, incredibly sensitive underside.

Feeling a sudden wave of angsty boredom from being held up in the dark, you lean your long neck straight down over Toby's shoulder. Driven by your hyperactive puppy brain, you shamelessly press your snout deep into the crook of the poor intern's neck and down toward his chest, sniffing him aggressively before plastering a giant, wet, boundary-free lick straight across his burning cheek.

"Ah! Direct—Director Vance! It's—it's licking my ear! It's so warm!" Toby squeaks, his face turning an even darker shade of crimson as he tries not to drop his section of your groin.

"Perfect posture! Look at it cuddle the staff and wag! The crowd is going to fall in love with how affectionate you are!" Vance cheers, completely encouraging your shameless doggy behavior as the heavy curtains pull back, dragging you, your four struggling handlers, your deeply embarrassed groin-holding intern, and your magnificent, uncoordinated new pocket-sized dragon body out into the roaring, cheering crowd of the festival streets.