Oh, now here was one hell of a handsome devil. Wilson could admire that about any alternate of himself he saw, of course, and many a time he did. It was only a simple statement of fact, after all. Higgsburys, in general, had a tendency towards the ruggedly good-looking. No narcissism included in any of these statements, of course.
It had been quite a while since the gentleman in the top hat had seen any of his old scientific constructs that he had utilised to further create other things, especially since the highest tier one (and therefore the last quote unquote ‘machine’ he had made) the Shadow Manipulator, was more in the territory of 'occult’ or 'magic’, which, despite his fairly reduced interest in anything science-related in general (Barring his experiment concerning Maxwell, which didn’t really count unless you included psychological breaking or whatever into the subject.), was still something Wilson was happy to see.
The particularly more scientisty Wilsons were always good conversationalists, even if the man with the wide smirk couldn’t quite remember how to contribute. Listening to aerodynamics and such was at least better than not talking (or listening to anyone talk) at all.
Keeping himself a little less in the direct illumination from the light of the other’s campfire and more in the shade, the shadowy man with the glowing green eyes watched his alternate for a moment more before greeting him with a simple, concise and rather informal, “Yo.”
“I can assure you that your mental health is as best as it could be, master Wilson.” The fuzzball hopped a little towards Wilson. “I am still the same Chester as before. I just thought you’d appreciate a conversation partner at the ready.”