“Cor,” said the pseudo-British Vole. “You ain’t half baked, Guv.” He nibbled again at the Potato Goddess’s feet, which greatly annoyed her while also slightly turning her on.
“Stop that!” she shouted. “I did not construct a flaky, tender mortal form, swathed in butter, sour cream, and just a little bit of chives, so that you mortals could consume it!”
“You’re covered in butter?” said Jakob, who was also now a little turned on, which was a new and troubling sensation for him, given that his new object of fascination was above the legal age of consent.
“Wait, wait, we’re getting off track,” said Woeisme, dismayed that no one had paid her any attention in the last five seconds. “Mr. Vole,” she said, kneeling down to where Shaun was pulling a pair of matched salt and pepper shakers from his long overcoat that the previous author had neglected to mention, “Can you lead us to the One Onion Ring of Power, or Righteousness, or Beauty, or Whatever, so I can marry Fig here, who’s a ghost but still turns me on a whole lot more than Werewolf Boy the Creepy Emotional Tampon?”
“I’m right here,” Jakob said. But no one cared.
Symblor turned into a bullet-riddled soldier in totally sweet blue armor and fell down, his head encircled in a puddle of gravy. “I-am-your-total-pwnage.”
“Crikey,” said Shaun, his accent slipping, “You lot are Planters, right enough. Take you to King McGillicuddy, I will, let him buzz you with the jumpers.” After taking one last bite out of the Potato Goddess’s heel, he turned and waddled deeper into the vaguely cave-like surroundings.
The walk to the hall of the Vole King McGillicuddy was long and gooey. Each member of the group preoccupied him or herself with an interior monologue, reflecting on the strange twists of fate that had led them to this place and time, except for Woeisme, who mostly thought about how much she liked shoes. And pancakes. And what bears might write haiku about. She had, after all, inherited her mother’s brilliant literary mind.
As for the others, do you really want to spend any more time than you have to inside these people’s heads?
After quite some time, the group finally emerged into a wide and spacious chamber, like the inside of Bela’s skull, but with a bit more decoration. On a raised dais that floated towards them on a thin sea of gravy (the ubiquitous presence of which was really starting to weird everyone out, except Symblor, who was getting a bit turned on) sat a large, fat vole wearing a crown made of those little plastic rings on soda bottles that are left over after you break the seal. What the hëll are those things, anyway?
“I am the Great Vole King, McGillicuddy. State your… oh, Christ, Shaun, it’s you. What is it this time?”
“Got Kennedys, y’r majesty.”
“What? What the hëll is that supposed to mean? Speak proper Vole English!” He turned to the group. “I’m sorry about him. Ever since we hooked up the BBC, he’s been like this.”
“We really don’t care,” Fantom Fig said. “We’re here for the One Onion Ring of… Something.”
Five hundred or so miles away, give or take, Woeisme’s little brother felt a vague itch, and slapped at it. “Stupid running gags,” he muttered.
“The One Onion Ring?” King McGillicuddy said. “Yes, we could lead you to it. It lies not far beyond this chamber. But first, two of you must pass our ancient ritual of cleansing!”
“If-it’s-got-something-to-do-with-the-gravy, I’m-totally-down-with-that,” said Symblor.
McGillicuddy, along with the minds of the audience, recoiled in horror. “Sweet Vole Jesus, no! We are civilized Voles, having passed our rituals down from generation to generation! No, the ritual of cleansing involves… battling your friends to the death like on Star Trek! Guards, sieze them!”
And suddenly, before any of the party could reflect on the relative shortness of generations within the vole family…
The chapter ended.
• 
This “wearing a crown made of those little plastic rings on soda bottles that are left over after you break the seal. What the hëll are those things, anyway?” made me laugh very, very hard.
I’m so lost, I really should look up the genesis of these posts.