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Everyone knows that Wilbur is a talker.
It's kind of his thing, isn’t it? The charismatic guy with a silver tongue. It's the thing everyone is afraid of; the thing that gives him power. They say that ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me’ but anyone could tell you that's a lie. You twist your words in just the right way and say just the right thing and you can accomplish just about anything.
Wilbur is a talker, sure, but it's always a power thing. Watching what he says and how he says it in order to get the best possible outcome out of every situation. He doesn’t talk just for the sake of talking; doesn’t truly say anything unless it's relevant. Frankly, Wilbur doesn’t talk about himself very often (unless you count speaking about how awful and bad he is, which everyone knows now anyway). There's nothing to gain from it. What point is there in speaking about say… his interests, what will that get him?
Despite how pointless it seems though he still wants to talk about it. Finds facts and ideas and all kinds of things popping into his head and resting on his tongue just waiting to be spoken. He feels a bit like a clogged faucet; drops of water dribbling out but the majority of it getting stuck and the pressure just growing and growing.
The thing about clogged faucets is that eventually they burst.
It happens when he’s with Quackity which is… just Wilbur’s luck honestly. They’re walking around Las Navedas, cigarettes in hand as usual. Quackity is talking about designing a flag for Las Navedas and Wilbur can feel the ramble just sitting on his tongue. There's this desperate urge to talk, talk, talk and yet he can’t. Not here, not ever. He’s Wilbur fucking Soot and he has play his part which does not include going on random tangents about stupid shit like flags.
Except… well, flags aren’t stupid; at least not to him. He knows a lot about them too so… maybe it would be okay? After all, Quackity was the one who brought it up. Maybe Wilbur could help him with it. Prime, wouldn’t that be fun?
“I designed the L’Manburg flag you know-” Wilbur blurts out before he really thinks about it. He freezes at the same time that Quackity does, face going red. Not only had he indulged that stupid little… habit of his but he’d also interrupted. The worst part is that he can’t bring himself to apologize. All he can think about is continuing because now he’s said it and he has to finish and really he’s already begun so why not- “Tommy had done the sewing but I’d done the designs. I used this vexillology thing which is just this-”
For once he’s talking just for… just for fun. Quackity isn’t interrupting him, instead listening intently and making conversation. It's- it's weird and yet Wilbur doesn’t stop himself. Who’s he to look a gift horse in the mouth?
“This is nice,” Quackity hums at one point, lips curved into that rare, smaller smile Wilbur loves but hardly ever gets to see.
“What is?”
“You talking.” The shorter takes a quick drag, “it's nice to see you so… excited about something.”
Wilbur can feel his face warm, a smile creeping onto his face against his will. It's nice to be met with something positive to his rambling other than the typical annoyance or irritation he’s come to expect. People tend to get bored when he goes on for too long; even when what he’s saying is important.
“Tell me more,” Quackity says softly.
And Wilbur does.