Wilbur's taxi pulled up at the airport, screeching to a halt on the dry tarmac. He emptied a handful of coins and a note into the driver's hand and shoved the door open, heaving himself out and dragging his battered leather suitcase behind him. He'd had the damn thing since he was in his early 30s but he refused to throw it out. The thing had too much sentimental value and besides, it was still a worthy functioning item, so why lose it? Maybe he was just overly sentimental... but not everything in his life had to be high tech even if that was his core and soul.

He bustled his way through the airport, keeping his cap over his eyes in the hopes that no-one would recognise him or stop him for the time being. It seemed unlikely... most knew him for flying around in the steel deathtrap, not for being the short bald man who flew the damn thing. Just the attitude these days, remember the flashy cars but not the drivers. 

After a little bit, he was walking across the runway to the private jet he knew belonged to Red Jack. Even if he hadn't known the man personally, the signs were all there. Aesthetically worked all over, highly expensive materials and all for the sake of looking good. Definitely not Wilbur's style, functional over fashionable was always the way he'd made things... but, it was a decent enough model that he could remark upon its technical aspects. It was still a jet, at the end of the day. He hobbled his way up the stairs into the jet itself, dragging his suitcase behind him, action dictating him for the time being. 

Once he was on board, he gave Jack a nod of acknowledgement before he took a seat near the window and settled in. He slipped his cap and coat off, putting his bag in the overhead and just settling in as the other members of the Splinter group arrived. Wilbur managed to offer a smile unto each of them as they passed him. He had to be grateful, after all. Even if the few who had chosen to side with them were among the weakest in the Champions to begin with, they had still chosen to abandon them and side with them... he hoped for all of their sakes, they were indeed making the right choices here. It was very comfortable... for all of Jack's flashy nature, he certainly knew comfort and good keeping of ones company. Even the music settled him somewhat, reminding him of a strange combination of Beethoven and static. When you worked with machines as long as Wilbur did, you heard electrical buzzing and static a lot.

"Tea, please. Earl grey. Some biscuits too if you can." Wilbur spoke to one of the servers when they approached, keeping his manners about him. Even now he marvelled at how curious at was, these young looking things being his age and over in some cases. He wasn't much a fan of the big party style kind of gathering... he'd long since grown out of his partying days. He had occasional alcohol, and admittedly he'd had a lot more of it since Nagoya happened, 3 whiskeys in one night. But even so, maybe he just had a simpler idea of what enjoying himself was, even as Red Jack had some pretty looking thing moving all over him like that. 

"Both problems have a similar soloution." he spoke up, regarding Jack's suggestions. "A lack of information. We know nothing about where Tinhead's stocks are and we know nothing about this skeletal fellow, we can't really make an informed decision going off of just that." He cleared his throat slightly as he spoke. "I believe we should gather information first before we decide who to pursue. We can still ask about both and ask on whichever lead we can get a better grip on. There's little sense chasing after this skeleton if we can't even find out something about him."