"No, no, no. It's a good plan, Wilbur," Tommy said, idly kicking at the sandy dirt around the burger van, "You just look like a dumbass building a road no-one will use." He looked up and waited for a reaction.
The afternoon was hot and the sun was high in the sky. Wilbur sweltered as he placed metre upon metre of black, bubbling concrete powder into the desert sands. The thermostat was his enemy and the city in the distance shimmered like a mirage. It was a simple plan in his mind. To build a diversion away from Quackity to his burger van, a more appetising meal for the tired wanderer in the deserts of Las Nevadas. Served hot, medium rare and non-fungible. The people would simply rejoice, flocking from far and wide to get a taste of the succulent steak, grilled with american cheese, crispy red onions, lettuce and a single tomato. At least he hoped it was. Wilbur had tried Las Nevadas' burgers before and they were good. Very good. Ranboo would surely be able to compete but he needed the correct marketing and to devote his energy to the right places. He would show Quackity who was really the mastermind figurehead. The only problem he faced was inaccessibility and infrastructure.
"Shut up, Tommy" He spat, kneeling as he smoothed out another air bubble from his road "People will use it. I asked around, everyone said they'd come buy from Wilburger they just didn't know where it was."
"It's because they don't want you to fucking blow them up again." Tommy muttered. Wilbur chose to ignore this.
"It's because they don't want Quackity to have a monopoly, actually, Tommy." Wilbur was visibly exhausted despite little work progress "They understand the dangers of an uncompetitive economy."
"You're an uncompetitive economy, prick." Tommy retorted proudly, his smile wiping quickly off his face as Wilbur turned and looked up at him, his eyes casting daggers. "What‽" Tommy whined, "Jesus Christ I'm so bored. You haven't even served a single burger in the entire time you've been doing this van thing."
Wilbur paused his progress and dropped his weight onto both his palms pressed into the sand.
"Just get me more concrete, Tommy." He said quietly. Tommy did not respond. Wilbur turned his head sharply, squinted up into the sun behind Tommy's silhouette and waited. The silhouette nodded and scampered back to the supply tent down the hill.
It had been 4 hours but felt like 10. At least a dozen scorpions had been disturbed in Wilbur's construction and a king cobra almost brought a sour end to the efforts but still Wilbur persisted. The road would be phenomenal. Wilbur's Jacket and socks sat in a damp sweaty pile on the junction as he worked smoothing out a stubborn bulge on the edge of the road.
Tommy brought him his concrete. Tommy also brought Wilbur a glass of water. Wilbur took both and said nothing. Tommy paused and walked quietly back to the van.
Across the sands in the city, Quackity would watch Wilbur from atop the needle restaurant. He wore a suit, no tie and idly fiddled with a poker chip he took for his own during the casino's construction. He saw no threat in Wilbur's activities. So why did he still feel a twinge of stress in his temples whenever he would set up his next competitive venture? Quackity could not determine whether it was guilt, jealousy or simply annoyance at this proverbial fly buzzing 'round his soup. He chose to hatch a plan.
You see, the mind has a strange way of making one want to react even in situations where to remain idle would benefit it. The mind always wants to throw water on the grease fire, pull-up into an aerodynamic stall and pick at the scab. Quackity always felt a desire to react to his nemesis.
Wilbur would receive Quackity's summons not long after laying the halfway point of his road in early evening. The irony that Wilbur would be invited inside into a cold Las Nevadas restaurant just as the sweltering sun crested over the hill and began disappearing into the horizon was not lost on him. He smiled and chuckled into a cough before hoisting to his feet and strolling up towards the city lights.
Wilbur thought that the Las Nevadas' skyline was bare. Propped up haphazardly in the middle of a desert and held together with concrete and tape, there's not much that could be lost if a tornado swept through the entire place. He had written a poem about it before while ignoring Ranboo, talking about something he was far too interested in.
I am the gilding of the gold
I am the painting of the lily
I am the crushing of the sand
I am the tirading tide of bland
I am the taunting silver light which penetrates and scars the sky
I am the remnant hopes and dreams of all good men that come to die
I am the surgeon's chromium dagger
I am turgid Las Nevadas
