Wilbur was currently sitting at his desk, which was filled to the absolute brim with paperwork. He had a fountain pen in his calloused and ink-stained hand, writing furiously on a document. He was mumbling incoherent words as he tapped his long, shaky fingers against the desk. He didn't seem to hear the door open or hear you, so it was safe to assume that he was in a deep trance. As he always was, nobody had ever seen Wilbur take a break off of work.