You've Got To Move, Sister

Amelia took an inhale of the cigarette and the Irish whisky with the older man, who definitely pretended not to be interested. He had to be interested, damn it. She even smoked and drank with him every Blues night after her ten-hour shift serving overpriced coffee. Her feet hurt, but she could ignore that; he was kind of a prick to everyone but her - she could ignore that, too.
"Amelia Bailey Blunt and Todd Thomas!" the barkeep shouted, "You're set, get up there and muddy some waters!"
"That's us, lass," he said with his grizzly voice.
"Yep," she said as she snuffed the cigarette on the table, "Um, Todd..."
"Mel?"
Mel? "Wanna hang out... after this, you know, the vibe's good?"
He grimaced, "I dunno, you're like ten years too young. There's boys your age and I'm bloody thirty-"
Crest-bloody-fallen. "I don't mind," she picked up her guitar and followed him to the door.
"I'll buy you a Valkyrie."
"Valkyrie?"
"You don't know your whisky." He chuckled, "What do you play?"
"Thanks," she replied, "You shove people out of the way and shout at your team for being shit."
"Sure." His Irish accent started to come through, "C'mon, wine'll ferment if you start your chatter 'bout gamin' again."
God, he sounds delicious. If this went well, maybe she could finally get some action? Too forward, no, Todd'll hang with her and perhaps something more. A relationship with a guy in his thirties was a bit too much, but nobody'd question that she has her needs, too. It's twenty-twenty-five for god's sake, and they were playing Blues in a fancy pub on Drury-bloody-Lane for crying out loud. There's no shame in little Ammy getting some willy for the first time in a year. All of her favourite characters were living the dream in harems, be it human, wolf, or minotaur dick these days, with how wild erotica's gotten.
She followed big Todd through the door, broad shoulders, a good physique. Not a fighting man by any means, her teacher would probably tell him to focus on distance control and running first and foremost, but the strength of a construction worker's better than the boys banging gym all week.
The smell of pastry and meat flooded her nostrils on re-entry of the pub, as they passed between the tables, she could smell the cheap shit beer and strong liquors in the air. Ladies, of course, drank their cheap fizzies and sparkles with a few who preferred beer and gin. Amelia couldn't help but swing by the bar as Todd went to set up to get herself an orange gin and juniper berries with her bubbling excitement.
"Good luck up there, you," the barmaid said sweetly.
"Thanks, Mavis."
Mavis gave her a wink, "What you got for us today?"
"Smokestack Lightning, Garbage Man and a surprise song by Mississippi Fred McDowell."
"How much for somethin' by Big Colter?"
Amelia glanced over to see Todd had just finished talking to the sound engineer and raised his chin for her to come. "Depends on which song?"
"Sleepin' On The Blacktop."
"Another one of these for free?"
"Deal." Mavis winked, "Get up there, Ammy-Mel."
As she approached the small stage in the middle of the lounge, she felt slight dizziness- she had had a bit to drink. Surely it wasn't too much, no, that's ridiculous. She's put away bottles before with no issues. Was she sick? She flinched when a string of text appeared before her eyes and almost puked up her steak and chips.

Gyden fram þǽm eall-scyppende, ó ealdor ealra daga.

"What the fuck?" she whispered.

Úre woruld þearle wundaþ and wælm, scadu swéopþ ofer hyre bréost and land wepaþ blód...

Okay, Ammy, settle down and hold yourself, girl. Maybe something was in the drink or in the air, or some loon is pulling a prank with lasers and drones in the air. Nobody speaks this nonsense old English anymore. A conspiracy to inject text into people's eyes, that would make more sense, so she could go and tax the government and then go to Japan and bang some of the bar boys that like to tease and entertain. She strode over to the stage and took another sip of her gin. Set it down on the nearby table and gave her guitar a few strums.
"Good evening, everyone," Todd said.
A cheer of raised glasses and high spirits came in response. Ammy had some fans here, maybe some admirers. She gave them her best smile and stood up as Todd started with a full chest, rich and sultry - to her. 'Oooh, yeah...' Muddy Waters style.
My guy, Todd. She started playing.

Wisdom, gentle and true, light to break the shadow.
Renewal, body and spirit.
Rise again with fresh strength and clear eyes, be given new life again and again.
And again and again.
🜍 🜔 🜍 ☉

Her legs trembled as something in the pit of her stomach took root, the dizzy spell came down on her like a jet-powered sledgehammer of a hangover.
"You alright, Mel?" She could barely hear Todd...

Anima renewal, active transfiguration upon thine soul to cleanse the enemy in our lands.
🜍 🜔 🜍 ☉

Amelia wiped her lips and tried to blink away the bleary eyes, only to see the curvature of the Earth-- You what!? She looked around as her breath got shoved down her throat as she tumbled downwards. A surprise skydive, the messages in her eyes and a potential lay... this was the most vivid dream she'd ever had in her life. The air stinks, like it's full of rotting flesh and rubbish left to bake in the sun. She clamped her mouth shut for fear of flies and other insects.
Alright, Ammy, focus. You're tumbling to your death, you're not seeing anymore text in front of your face. This had to be a dream, but it wasn't enough texture for her senses.
This was the concussion of going from living in the Scottish Highlands to the fetid reek of Mumbai.
The ground approached fast, she was going to die!
Oh God, I'm going to die! No, no, no- stop falling-
The fall slowed as if her weight had been reduced to a leaf, slowly drifting down in the smelly winds.
"Okay, Amelia, you've got this," she whispered to herself, then snapped her gob shut when she heard a nearby buzz of flies. You've got out of one horrid situation, if you land now, you won't break a nail. Now she had to solve this problem, she'd been ripped out of her previous life and chucked into some stinkhole world like in fiction. She should've finished Narnia instead of dropping it for Gentlemen Bastards. But who doesn't mind some Jean Tannen? Maybe Peter was handsome... she'd have to go back home to read and find out for herself... William Moseley is a good-looking fella...
An acrid smell of the fetid rot, like an open sewer in Bradford. The most repulsive stink she'd ever smelled in her days, and something screamed it was lunging right for her. Okay, if she could think, stop falling, maybe she could think, go right.
Didn't work, gutted, she allowed herself to fall a bit faster. So if she could think it, she could adjust her... mass? Her first thought was adjusting her E-cups to not weigh her down as much, so she could maybe fight for money when she got back home. She did feel lighter there, too, now.
Her teeth chattered when she plunged into a cloud, but the clean smell only lasted a few twinklings of an eye before the reprieve ended and she went back to sewer-city-smells. She glanced up at the black and silver thunderhead clouds above her, her makeup was waterproof, and she was wearing blowjob lipstick. She was fine, but wet hair was a pain in the arse. Maybe she should speed up and land soon-
The clouds shattered open.
The giant rotting maw of a dragon consumed the streaks of cumulus mass. A dragon made of rotting flesh and bones, strung together by what looked like metal threads in triple cords-- A- you fucking what!? A dragon!? OH MY DAYS WHAT THE FLIP!? FALL FALL FALL FALL!
She plummeted like an anvil toward the ground so quickly she had to shut her eyes else they'd be yanked into the back of her head and show her what colour her brains are.
Amelia turned over to look up and see the dragon hurtle down like some obscene leviathan from a Lovecraftian dream. Bits of its green, black and blue flesh ripped off as it descended. The scale of the creature almost obscured her vision; the head dwarfed skyscrapers. Its body too massive, bone and muscle strung together by cords too expansive to be real, whatever stitched this thing together had to be... something like Cthulhu?
Well, Ammy Bailey Blunt, you've got yourself in a shit pickle bind creek and about to be dead dragon's dinner. She forgot she was on a trajectory downward, turned around.
And splattered on the ground.