Mushrooms

Deep in the forests of North Umberland, a beam of sunshine falls upon a circle of mushrooms on which the Council Of Elder Faeries sit.
Stroking his long white beard, Gonfall the Elder spoke first. “For our first order of business, can we agree that we need to buy chairs and a conference table?” he said.
The other elves agreed. “These toadstools are always damp,” said Glistensparkle. “Going around with wet spots on our pants sucks.”
“And Pollygoogle is allergic,” mumbled Tinkerwhiskers. “Swells up like a peach.”
The Council moved to adjourn, and they flew off to the furniture store.