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Kathryn McAdams

Perhaps it was inevitable that Kathryn would have to learn CPR. Perhaps it was not. Alright ... so the environment was less than stellar and she wasn't feeling one hundred percent after donating blood but she had learned an essential skill that would perhaps come in handy down the road. Sitting back from the mannequin that she had been practicing on for the duration of the class the woman swept back a lock of her hair and winced as her hands began to protest the change in positioning. Keeping her hands positioned as so had led to stiff appendages. Very gently Kathryn began to gently flex her fingers in an attempt to ease the cramps that had developed. It was at this time that the instructor of the class called for everyone's attention and began to inform them that they were now well-versed in the Hands-On version of CPR. Feeling relieved that her hands could now deserve a rest Kathryn eased herself backwards and stood rather cautiously in an attempt to gauge how steady she was.

It was strange to admit it to herself more than anyone else but perhaps she wasn't cut out for donating blood. Considering that she was still affected from the donation lent some credence to her theory. With care Kathryn gathered up her bag and decided to pick up the instruction booklet. A step by step guide wouldn't hurt in case her skills got rusty. Knowing that she now had an hour to wander around before she could return for her certificate Kathryn walked towards the room's exit. Her gaze took in the practice mannequins before she nodded to herself. The lesson had been worth it. Knowing that she had the knowledge to help save a life brought a smile to her face. Passing Julie Kathryn thanked her before exiting the room. She would be back in just a little while ... but where could she go now that the class was over?

(( 326 words ))

Slate Blackwell

Realizing the proper depth, timing, and placement of his hands demanded another few rounds of ardent concentration. Slate squished the chest of the dummy well enough eventually, and he figured he had enough of an idea of how CPR was to function when he glanced about the room and noted other occupants performing in much the same way. The nurse on duty seemed fairly amenable to these practices, too; Slate watched her pass someone when they demonstrated their CPR rather indifferently than he.

Emboldened by the progress, the tired redhead waved the nurse down. Calling for help felt ridiculous, given the dummies before them, but everyone else in the room looked just as embarrassed by the prospect. Slate shrugged off the ridiculousness of it shortly and promptly proceeded into the gambit of chest compressions. In timing himself, he went off rhythm once or twice but quickly recovered into the proper speed. He started to feel proud of himself - despite all the exhaustion that claimed a ubiquitous role in his daily life, Slate managed to pull together enough energy and focus to really work on the CPR certification. And if he performed well enough, he'd be walking out of the room with his very own certification card.

Which meant people would probably look to him in times of crisis and expect him to pull his s**t together.

Which definitely wasn't going to happen.

But he had a certification card, which meant he did something productive.

And could probably go back to bed.

Sighing, Slate stepped back from the dummy when he finished his demonstration. Off to his right, the mint-haired girl had her own CPR demonstration to give. And, as he looked about the room, others began to filter out with their exercises having been completed. Was he supposed to go now? Was he allowed to? Did he need to come back later and pick up the card? Maybe they just needed to sharpie his name onto a piece of paper and hand it back to him. Slate didn't know, and while he would've looked to his brother for quick answers on the subject, the man disappeared from his life.

Well, so much for that segue into distracting himself. With a sigh, Slate pushed himself toward the exit door.

As you return to the seminar room, an array of cards lay sitting across the desk. Printed, laminated and ready for pick up, you are invited to find yours - you've earned it, congratulations!

A few got eaten by the printer (whoops!) and will be uploaded asap. Thank you for your patience (and your participation!)


If you haven't finished your three posts, please do so before Monday! I'm putting my faith in you, heroes! <3

"T-thank you," Poppy murmured with a dip of the head to the Nurse, clearly pleased her work had been deemed somewhere near satisfactory - not that she thought she'd have to use it, as Chrysocolla, that was. But as Poppy she needed interests, for god's sake, activities; it was years on and somehow she did less, now, even closer to the age of independence. But that thought made her think about college -- it made her think about her sister -- it made her think about how her whole life would be in this city forever and ever until she died --

her knuckles clenched white on the dummy's arm. Whatever. Whatever. It was all just stupid, stupid thoughts stuck inside her head that didn't matter. She had no proof to back any of that up; she could go to prep school before she went to college, figure out her major, figure out her life. She'd be more useful that way, right?

Whatever. It didn't matter.

"Do you have any other seminars you'd suggest," she asked the nurse a few minutes later, quiet, when most of the people had filed out.

[wc: 859 words this thread]