[LUCID]Brainstorm

The island broke through the clouds like an oil tanker breaks through waves. Thick mist whirled out of the way of the massive amalgamation of dirt, stone and machinery. The thing was the size of a cathedral, and shaped like a rough impression of a bullet cut lengthwise. The flat top half hosted a garden, with a neatly trimmed lawn, asymmetric flowerbeds and a few stray trees. The lower half looked like it was torn straight out of the earth; rough, compact earth, veined with roots that dangled over the empty sky below. Six metallic fins protruded from the side, just below the edge of the garden. They seemed to move on their own, and moved the island along with remarkable efficiency.

In a shady spot under one of the trees sat two individuals, with an small, round table in-between. Tea, milk and cookies were spread out on its surface, as well as several sheets of paper, notebooks, entire encyclopaedias and a few odd contraptions. The clutter spread around their chairs in a radius of several meters, and somehow, the wind didn’t seem interested in snatching any of it away.

“Nah, that’s no good,” one of them mused to himself. Despite the pleasant weather, he seemed to be dressed for winter; thick, dark blue coat and gloves, and a woolly light blue scarf tucked into his collar. A navy-coloured theatre mask covered the rest of his face. The only things about him that lacked some shade of blue were his messy blond hair, and his orange, glowing, almond-shaped eyes. “Your turn, Coda.”

The other man (Coda, presumably) looked at one of the many things on the table – this one looked like a salamander with a top hat – before he reacted. “No, please. I can feel you have a good idea coming. Keep going.” His own mask looked like a purple badger or skunk with particularly prominent whiskers. He wore a purple hoodie with cream accents – once again, like the markings found on certain mustelids – and a rainbow-striped belt in his jeans. In one hand, he held a closed book. With the other, he gestured his friend to continue.

The man with the scarf took a deep breath, and his eyes grew dim for a while. Just when it seemed like he had fallen asleep, they blinked back to life with renewed intensity. He unceremoniously brushed the salamander of the table – under squeaky, dapper protest – and started moving his hands above the table, as if touching an invisible object in the space he just cleared.

“Alright, how about this. A Praise Drive.”

As he spoke, the invisible object started taking form. At first it was only a translucent silhouette, but it quickly took shape. It grew in density, gained texture, then colour.

“It is a machine that requires constant reassurance to function. Magical, of course. It powers nearby objects, as long as it is told it is important and beautiful.”

The imaginary box took a more solid form, and it started to cast a shadow. It looked like an engine or generator, but with more buttons and levers. It also looked like it was in severe disrepair; rusty, broken, and like more than a few parts were missing.

“Even though it cannot speak, it is sentient. If it grows too uncertain of itself, it will eventually die, but when taken care of properly, it can power a small town on its own.”

“See? There you go, Deluxe.” Coda briefly put his book on the table so he could clap his hands. “I like this one a lot, actually. Very cute.”

“Eh, you lose some, you win some,” Deluxe replied. “Now I want to hear one of yours, though.”

The island continued to aimlessly float through the air. It was passing under the clouds now, giving the two passengers some more relief from the harsh sun. Up ahead, where the clouds grew dense and dark, massive shapes extended from the thunderheads to the ground miles below. As the island flew closer, they revealed themselves to be colossal gears, rolling along the surface and seemingly carrying the clouds on their axes. A thunderous rumble grew more and more prominent, but it came not from far-away strikes of lightning. It was the cogs, continuously churning and crushing the ground they rode on.

The masked men paid little attention to it all. Coda had started scribbling in his notebook, with Deluxe watching him closely.

“So,” the man in purple started, “I’ve done some research towards cryptids. Lots of interesting history, variation, origins- but I’ve noticed a recent trend of sorts. Most modern cryptids all share a few common traits. They’re all vaguely humanoid, tall and spindly, with disproportional limbs… And murderous of course.”

“And knowing your aversion to clichés,” the man in blue guessed, “you’re in the process of designing a short, friendly cryptid that doesn’t even remotely resemble a human shape.”

Coda made a puffing sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. “In most company, I’d think I grew predictable. But basically, yes.” He put down his pencil, and started paging backwards through the notebook. “I haven’t finished it yet – hell, I still need a name – but the concept is there. Want to hear it?”

“Of course, that’s why I’m here,” Deluxe said, and leaned forward. His orange eyes had an eager glint to them, despite not being attached to his face. “We should really do this more often. I always get great ideas when we talk. Eventually.”

“We definitely should. Now where was it…” Almost on cue, Coda found the page he was looking for. “There we go. It’s a bit disorganised, so… Settle in.”

Slowly, the island rose back up into the clouds. Mist enveloped the garden, and an eerie darkness fell over the once so idyllic scene.

“I’m all ears.”