(Revivedbur time)
Phil walks around near the crator of Lâmanburg, looking at the hole, heâs reflecting.
Wilbur was stood under a tree close by to what used to be Lâmanberg as he lit his cigarette, and the scent of cigarette smoke was soon to fill the air. It fucking reeked, but it covered up the smell of old smoke that practically radiated from Wilburâs clothingâ Which, arguably, was worse. You would always know when he was near because it would fucking reek of a cigarette.
He glanced up and saw Phil in the distance, but he didnât say anything, or (intentionally) do something to get his attention. Wilbur sat criss-cross on the ground, his long, dark brown coat engulfing his legs. With his free hand, he picked at grass, ripping it from the dirt and tossing it to the side. Taking a drag of his cigarette, he sighs, then smirks a little at the sight of the smoke emitting from his mouth.
















