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Rick Castle is running down a New York City sidewalk. Not skipping, not jogging, flat out running. Thank God the street is empty. The reason for this frenzied pace is that he is being chased. The verbs, adverbs and adjectives behind him are quite real and armed with a variety of medieval weapons. There's a flail, a sword and a bow. However, the one that Castle is really scared of is the huge, towering, RED deadline that brings up the rear. Why you may ask? Well because this deadline has a bazooka.
Castle isn't a runner. He's not a jogger. Sure he tries to keep in shape but running for his life isn't part of his exercise regime. He's pretty sure his chest is going to explode and he knows if he gets out of this alive, he's going to have to consider just how far his victims and his leads can run without having their hearts explode. He'll have to experiment with Kate.
He dives into an open doorway, rolls in a very dramatic 'Derrick Storm' fashion to his feet. He looks around an a grin sprawls across his face.
Beckett is on a stripper pole.
Dear God, Castle loves his dreams.
[ooc: free for all. Feel free to bring angry parts of speech with you as well]
Castle isn't a runner. He's not a jogger. Sure he tries to keep in shape but running for his life isn't part of his exercise regime. He's pretty sure his chest is going to explode and he knows if he gets out of this alive, he's going to have to consider just how far his victims and his leads can run without having their hearts explode. He'll have to experiment with Kate.
He dives into an open doorway, rolls in a very dramatic 'Derrick Storm' fashion to his feet. He looks around an a grin sprawls across his face.
Beckett is on a stripper pole.
Dear God, Castle loves his dreams.
[ooc: free for all. Feel free to bring angry parts of speech with you as well]
