Taking the Throttle

Licking that powdered sugar off my gloves was quick business, but this stone table had far better mechanics waiting nearby. Right behind the chess timer, someone had left an oversized stainless steel fountain pen resting uncapped beside a paper score sheet. A precision instrument just lying idle? Unacceptable. I vaulted onto the slick metallic barrel, planted both boots across its grooved grip, and used my weight to tilt the tapered nib straight toward the empty margin. The iridescent blue ink pooled instantly, dragging a bold, sharp strike across the fibers as I hauled the pen sideways. A true pilot leaves an unmistakable mark.