If his Wilbur was doing this, it would be a bit. They've done this, as a bit; they did it a lot when Quackity was new enough at this that it would have been weird and uncomfortable to joke about him kneeling. If his Wilbur was doing this, it would be friendly, and it would be a joke, and it wouldn't matter, and if Quackity wanted to put that joke down and do something else he would be able to ask for that. He has asked for that. 

Imagine it's your Wilbur. You are comfortable with your Wilbur. You can ask for things from your Wilbur when you need them. You know you can do that; you've done it before. Also, be fucking normal. 

"...I meant get off the stepstool. Please." 

"Why."

"Wilbur--"

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I'm just asking a simple question. Quackity's a big boy, I'm not making him answer. I'm just asking a question."

It's Wilbur it's Wilbur it's Wilbur it's Wilbur you can ask you can ask you can ask-- 

"Because I do not like it when you make yourself physically more imposing when you're mad. So if you want to make things right with me, I need you to stop fucking doing that." 

"Okay. Thank you, Quackity." Aaaand he is standing on the ground now. He's still taller than Quackity, significantly, but he can always kneel again. "So were you lying when you said you weren't afraid of me, or is that new?"

"Man, if I was afraid of you I wouldn't have asked you for shit." 

“Hm.” Wilbur tilts his head slightly. “So you’re still saying you’re not afraid of me. But you were afraid, weren’t you? Just now but earlier, too, when you said you would hit me with an axe except Tommy wouldn’t let you. You were acting like you were afraid.”

"--yes. It freaks me out when we're talking and suddenly someone's pointing a weapon at me. Is that what you're flipping your shit about?" 

“Wouldn’t say that. Curious, maybe. Having a friendly conversation.” He spreads his hands out, palms up. “No weapons here. Promise. That was one of the first laws I made, did you know that? Got abandoned early during the first war.”

He's still a little shaky but he's coming down from it. He's normal. He's being so goddamn normal. 

(That went fine. That went fine. That went fine!!!!) 

"...nope, did not know that, and I can't say I'd ever imagined you'd be in a position to make laws. And, uh, the country I'm from hasn't had a war in seventy years." 

“—Seventy years?”

Thank fucking god for topics that are not 'whether or not Quackity is afraid.'

"Seventy years. Coming up on seventy-one, in a few months." 

“…How?”

They're in the woods, there probably aren't any mics around, but he can't check or ask or it'll be obvious there's something he doesn't want them hearing—

—wait, would that even matter, nobody here knows what Panem is, and Panem maps sure don't know where the Dream SMP is— 

—no. shut up. SHUT UP. 

"...I mean," he says, very carefully nonchalant about it (and by now he does a very good impression of nonchalance), "there's been, like, violence since then? But nobody who would want to pick a fight with the Capitol stands an actual chance, so— not war, not really." 

“Sounds like the Capitol’s lucky Technoblade isn’t in your world.” Pause. “My clone, what side is he on?”

"...no, we have a Technoblade. Other you is— Wilbur, there aren't sides. That's not a thing." 

Shrug. “You said there was violence. I’ve died for a hopeless cause before.” Then the rest of the sentence catches up to him. “—you have a Technoblade? How big even is the Capitol? Or is he helping them, is that why no one can touch it?”

Well, this is a completely different sort of not really feeling present in his body than usual. 

"The population of Panem-- that's the whole country-- is forty-five million and something. The population of the Capitol is, I think it was around a million? I could be wrong about that, it's been a while. The size of the military is classified, I could try to ballpark it if I had the budgets in front of me but I don't, it's at least a couple hundred thousand and it's probably not much more than a million.

I don't know Technoblade, I don't know his political leanings, maybe he has them, I doubt he's providing much military support. Please do not make me speculate on any treason my loved ones may or may not be doing." 

"Million?"

Okay. He is... recalibrating. He had figured the military had to be at least a hundred people, if Techno couldn't do anything, but-- wow. That is a lot of people.

"Okay. Wow. That's even bigger than hypixel, I reckon. ...I guess I've gotten a hundred thousand viewers before but that's not, like-- I should probably shut up before I offend somebody."

"Yeah. It's-- yeah."

There's a lot more that could be said. Saying it-- feels a little too much like a point of no return.

"L'Manberg was, what, five people? Me, you, Tubbo, my little furry son--Eret--no, six, wasn't Jack Manifold or someone there? --You get the picture."

"Your— your son?"

"...Fundy, yeah." (It sounds like it's maybe a bit of a sore spot for him. He doesn't look that much older than the Wilbur Quackity knows? His face looks mid-twenties, although there's premature white streaked through his hair.)