After considering a range of responses, Peter resorted to staring in confusion, furrowing his brow at her, and blinking a few times. Something strange was happening here, fine, he could understand that. But he'd honestly thought the woman claiming to be a princess had read one too many Tolkien books and banged her head someplace.
Now, this one. How should he begin to address this?
In order, for now.
"That," he said, pointing, "is a Lincoln Mercury. It's a kind of car. 'Traffic' is what happens when you get a whole lot of cars," he waved his hand, indicating the street at large, "on one road at the same time. And everyone is probably staring at you because you're wearing a ballgown, in the rain, in the middle of Los Angeles. Last, I don't know where Andalasia is, so I can't answer that, but I'm guessing it's not a suburb."