Bela tried to keep up with the strange little man, but she felt way too out of her element here. For all of the strange characters that she had come across in the last few days, this was the first time she truly felt like she had to *think* about what was going on.
And she didn’t like it.
Plus, there was far too much going on; she could already feel the narrative drifting away from her.
She reached into her pocket and fingered a fragment of potato, thinking wistfully about the faraway time, about an hour or so ago now, when she had multiple brooding men fighting over her.
She sighed dramatically to no one in particular and started walking faster to catch up with the man, whom she could hear still rambling in the distance.
Suddenly a pale orange sports car screeched to a halt right in front of her. The passenger door flew open on its own, and music blared from within. The tune sounded familiar, but the words were horribly wrong–
“…hash browns, potato cakes…”
“What the hëll?” Bela said, peering into the car.
It was empty.
“O-o-o-o-kay…” she continued warily, backing away as the music grew louder. “YOUR GREASY HANDS, YOUR SALTY LIPS–”
She turned to hurry away, but the car blocked her path. If she didn’t know better, she would think the car was acting impatient.
Now a Billy Ocean song pretty much *screamed* out of the car’s considerable speakers. “Okay, okay!” she cried, climbing into the car. “You didn’t have to go so cliched with it.”
The door slammed shut and the car sped off, blowing aside the trenchcoat of the masked monologue-r. She wondered if he would notice she was gone.
The world blew past as they swerved through traffic, eventually screeching to a halt in a rather boring-looking residential neighborhood. She looked out the window as a rather panicked young man ran up to the car.
“Honeycomb!” he screamed. He was far too worked up, really; his problems could not *possibly* be bigger than hers.
This had *better* have something to do with her, or she was going to be pìššëd.
He jumped into the driver’s seat and clumsily shook her hand. “Hi. Stan Whitaker. Sorry to drag you into this, but you may be able to help us.”
“…Help you?”
“We understand you’ve had some friendly encounters with what we believe are ’Pretenders,’ robots that–”
“Robots?”
Stan took a deep breath, trying unsuccessfully to settle down. “Do you always repeat everything someone says to you?”
“Do I–” Catching herself, Bela restarted her sentence. “I mean, I don’t–know any robots. Personally. Well–”
“Wait wait wait, we’ve gotten reports of wolves that–”
“…Oh. Well that’s something else. See, I’m married to a vampire but there’s a werewolf that is deeply in love with me, and–”
The car door flew open.
Bela frowned, annoyed at being unable to explain her fascinating backstory. “Well, you can’t leave me *here.* I don’t even know where I am.”
Stan rolled his eyes. “*Fine.* Where do you want to go?”
• 
I’ve been waiting for a Weird Al reference — especially *that* song for *this* theme.
I’ve been waiting for a Weird Al reference. That song was perfectly apropos for this.
“The door slammed shut and the car sped off, blowing aside the trenchcoat of the masked monologue-r. She wondered if he would notice she was gone.”
I liked that part a lot, he probably didn’t. Anyway, maybe with the Transforminators (legally distinct name, I guess) showing up, we can get a Megatron-ish, “GIVE ME THE POTATO, BOY!!” yelp. And, in the end, if it doesn’t make much sense, they were all still Jakob’s avatars.
Or an evil Mr. Potato Head.