Here's the idea: Take 3 completely unconnected words (the more incongruous the better) submitted by someone else and make a maximum 1,000 word story based on them.
Three Story Words: Tarantula, Typewriter, Tablecloth
Words Submitted by: corelliakid
Chapter Rating: K
Word Count: 809
Story Completion Time: I have no freaking idea. Word crashed 3 times(!) while I was writing this. Could have been an hour, feels more like four days after having to retype it twice.
"Tarantella?"
"Tarantula."
"That says tarantella."
The ink pen in her hand skitters to a stop, hesitates on the cheap carbon paper leaving a solid O in black.
"That's a U, Castle. Not an E."
"Looks like an E. And tarantula only has one L."
"That is one L."
"Looks like two. There are clearly two loops."
Kate turns to the chair next to her, to the man leaning halfway across her desk to get a better look. She tries spearing him with her glower. He seems not to notice.
"Why do you have to list the spider anyway?"
Still she stares. Maybe if she stares him down hard enough he'll at least feel a little prick, a needle mark of her irritation. Make him stop antagonizing her. She's in no mood. Surely by now he should know her moods well enough to pick up on that.
"And why do you have to fill all this out by hand?"
"What are you, four? What's with all the questions? You already know the answers anyway."
He raises his eyes to her. Completely blank. She sighs.
"The *tarantula*" – she puts extra emphasis on the word, underlining disdain – "was found on the body. Therefore it's evidence. Even though we're 99% sure it has more to do with the fact that our vic was a nut who had a terrarium full of creepy-crawlies than it does the case. And the forms are carbon so either filled out by hand or by typewriter. Do you see a typewriter?"
He is undeterred, not appeased. More questions.
"You seriously can't fill this out on a form on your computer and print it when you're done?"
"No, Castle."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't. Now will you please stop asking questions so I can finish this and we can go?"
"Yes."
"Thank you." She poises the pen, straightens her spine.
"If you'll answer one more."
The glower is back. He flinches. Good. He felt it this time. He opens his mouth like a fish to say something and then shuts it again.
"Just ask." Kate sets the pen down and turns her full attention to him. Hopefully it will make him speak faster.
He hesitates then spits it out.
"Where are we going to dinner?"
"We're not going to dinner."
"But you said-"
"I know what I said but I'm not going to dinner with someone who looks like a dirty tablecloth."
"I take offence to that."
"You are covered in ketchup from lunch. You look like our vic except fewer holes."
"It's not that bad it's just a little bit here on my-" He casts his eyes down to the lemon-sized spot and accompanying inches of arterial-like spray. "-yikes. Okay, fine. I'll run home and change." Castle turns to the coat draped across the back of his chair and shakes into it.
Kate tries and succeeds at stifling a sigh of gratitude. A clean shirt and half an hour of quiet time to finish up her paperwork will go a long way in lightening her mood and enjoying their dinner. And she wants to enjoy their night together. She's wanted to take him there for weeks; been craving it.
"Before I go please tell me where you're taking me."
"Fine." She smiles genuine and happy. "Momofuku."
"Mmmm. Pork buns…." His voice low and sultry, eyes roll back slightly in his head at the thought. He's not exaggerating. They're perfect little pillows of deliciousness. That's why Kate picked it. "My god you're smart woman. How did I get so lucky?"
"You must have been very good in a past life." She teases him. Because she knows she's the lucky one. It's difficult but she tries to show him, tries to make sure he sees that she knows she is fortunate. She wouldn't have waited for him. She hadn't. Not like he waited for her. She's grateful every day for his patience.
Castle changes at a land speed record. Still has twenty minutes before he needs to be back to the precinct. He sits at his desk, awakens his laptop, checks his email. As he turns to leave a few minutes later the antique metal sitting on the shelf behind his desk catches the corner of his eye.
Without looking up Kate knows it's Castle emerging from the elevator. The speed of his gait, the squeak of this shoes, the jangle of keys, coins, cell phone, chap stick, ink pen and – for whatever reason – a length of string in his pockets identify him to her like a fingerprint.
The heavy thud of metal atop the stack of papers next to her is a surprise. He didn't. He did. She raises her eyes to the crisp white sheet of paper threaded through the wheel of the typewriter. Written only there the word – T A R A N T U L A