Nathan Hendricks

I'd like Wanda Maximoff to have access to prescription cannabis. Doesn't have to be an inhalant; she might be better with a tincture.

Her anxiety is at a high and we're working on non-chemical coping mechanisms, but she thinks it'll help and I happen to agree. If anyone could counsel on usage and possible interactions with her current regiment that'd be great.

[Hendricks has been doing his backreading. Strange days. He wonders how common they are. ...and look, people are the same all over, from any culture or technology level. He's not surprised that the Stanford Prisoner Experiment was invoked recently, although he's more surprised that on the balance, there isn't general rule by the more literally super-powered. That's something worth having some renewed faith in.

Also he's going to have to pay attention to the rights of non-humans-- the vampires here aren't the Black court scourges or the White court soul eaters he's used to and he has to be better than preconceptions to do this job. He'll have to figure out how to talk to the local werewolf about what form her theriomorphy takes, because she seems to be halfway between a Lycanthrope and a Werewolf in the terms of his universe.

He thinks all that and he says:]

Hey. Name's Hendricks. I'm from Chicago. New warden.

Nice to meetcha.

[The following can be found in a small notebook labeled '2010 day planner' in a locked footlocker under Hendricks' bed. Occasionally updated. ]

( Hendricks's no good very bad shameful poetry journal. )