Whisper was not having a good day.
He'd gone out to eat at a restaurant by himself, but his waitress had kind of reminded him of Rikki, so the man had made her think that her house was burning down to get rid of her. It had been fairly easy - all he'd had to do was slip in a little extra memory of the way she'd stoked her fireplace in the morning, and the way that a few little sparks had fluttered out like butterflies to catch on her furry rug. He'd enjoyed watching the way her eyes had widened in fear - how she'd dropped the plates she'd been carrying and run (literally run) out the back to grab her wand. Presumably, she was apparating home to put out the fire. He wondered what she'd think when she got home and the place was fine. He wondered what sort of repercussions she'd get for leaving work for nothing. He didn't wonder this for very long, however, because he didn't really care about her or her life. He went back to his linguine and wine.
When he'd gotten home, the man had drunk almost an entire bottle of firewhiskey. It wasn't his fault - one of his brown-nosing employees had sent it to him, no doubt trying to climb their way up socially and gain his favour. He'd been shitty, because he was trying to lay off the alcohol, but naturally he'd drunk it all. Then, drunk, he'd tripped down the stairs in one of his apartments and fucked up his wrist. It hadn't hurt that much at first - he'd been too out of it to tell - but over the next couple of hours as he'd sobered up, he'd realised that the injury was probably serious enough that he didn't know how to fix it himself. He had plenty of painkillers around his home, but not a lot of healing salves or medical potions, so he'd made a portkey and teleported to St. Mungos.
Apparently it was illegal to create portkeys, but he didn't care.
Whisper smelled like alcohol and sweat, and while he was no longer drunk, he was definitely angry. People who knew what was good for them moved out of the way as he made his way into the foyer of the hospital. "I need a healer," he told the welcome witch flatly. When she blathered things like "Waiting in line" and "Which type of emergency do you have?" he'd ignored her, opting to inject little memories into her head. He'd been here first - she remembered now. He used his power relentlessly, moving people around him out of his way. "You," he said, his words aimed at a young woman in healing robes. "Fix it." Whisper held up his arm in explanation.
