Disclaimer: Persuasion and all of it's characters and story lines belong to the lovely Ms. Jane Austen.

A/N: I was going to wait and see what the response was before deciding to whether or not to continue and post this chapter, but then I figured 'Eh, what the hell, it's already done.' Once again, this is un-beta'd so I apologise for any mistakes I have made.

There are some mornings where you wake up and just know that today's going to be a bad day. You usually just want to go back to bed and sleep the day away, but your sense of duty or whatever gets in the way so you get up, steel yourself for whatever's going to happen and try to go about your day as usual. Well take my advice, follow your gut instinct instead and just go back to bed. I wish I had and if I did, I would probably still have a job right now.

I woke up this morning with that feeling of dread, but like so many other people out there I just pushed it away. Idiot. As I got ready for work, it became clear that today was going to be a really, really crappy day. My alarm clock had died, so I had slept late. Then there was no hot water when I went to shower, because the water heater hadn't been fixed the day before like my landlord had promised it would be. Well, I thought as my piece-of-shit car wouldn't start, at least it isn't raining. Annnnd cue the thunder clap and heavy downpour. Just kidding.

My day only got worse anyway. Later in the afternoon I was sitting in the lunch room with a group of people from the sales office I've been temping at, and we were chatting about some of the people we work with. After a while the talk turned to people's opinions of the manager, Peter. This morning I'd had a bit of a run in with him because I was running late and he totally over reacted about it. I absolutely hate conflict, so I just sat there listening to him yelling at me while willing myself not to cry and then spent the rest of the morning seething about his lack of empathy and general dickish behaviour.

Fun fact about me: I may hate conflict, but I have absolutely no problem bitching about people who are assholes to me. Keeping in line with that, I took the opportunity of the office gossip session to share my opinion about what a jackass I thought Peter had been earlier in the day. Unfortunately for me, sometime during my rant (naturally) he had walked into the room unseen by yours truly. Which, now that I think about it, kind of explains the 'shut up now you idiot!' looks I was getting from the others.

I suppose you could say that I shouldn't have been talking shit about the manager in the workplace, but I say he shouldn't have been listening into my private conversation. Didn't his parents ever teach him that eavesdropping is rude? So I was in the right. Ok fine, it was a stupid and unprofessional thing for me to do and that's exactly how the temp agency saw it too. They let me go with a "Sorry, but we require employees with an exceptionally high state of professionalism."

I can totally be professional. In fact, I usually am. But this morning I woke up only to realise that I was once again setting off to do mindless office work. As a temp. This left me in a foul mood because being reminded of the fact that I graduated from college two and a half years ago and still haven't been able to find decent full time work, sucks. The fact that it's my own fault for choosing an ambiguous major like English really pisses me off.

Usually I deal with my anger better, I just bottle it up like most normal people but today I acted like an idiot and verbally attacked someone whose opinion actually matters to my bosses. And then the realisation hits me. Oh God, I just got fired from being a temp. A fucking temp! Now what am I going to do? Maybe I should have tried claiming it was PMS and them firing me because of it is sexist... nah that would never have worked.

Sighing as I unlock my front door I prepare myself for a night of fixing up my resume and searching for work. I look around at my apartment; it's small and a bit rundown with outdated wallpaper that has definitely seen better days. But at least the 70's style matches the old second-hand furniture I had rescued from various junk shops. It may not be up to the standard of people from my old life in New York, but it was warm and cosy and all mine. In my bid for independence from my family I'd had to go without some luxuries, but I don't mind. It's worth it to know that I've managed to shake off the stereotype of being a trust fund baby. Although right now I'm glad I didn't cut up the credit card Dad gave me when I moved out. I would need it until I managed to find another job.

I throw my handbag down onto the side table next to the front door and notice the red light beeping on my answering machine. Ugh, it's probably just Dianna trying to talk me into moving back to New York. Again. Not in the mood to deal with my pushy God-mother, I go into my tiny ensuite bathroom and test out the hot water, hoping it's back on which I find, to my relief, that it is. Finally, something that's gone right today. Hoping the hot water can magically fix all my problems I decide to have a nice, long, hot shower.

Well the shower didn't cure me of my unemployment or make Matthew McConaughey fall in love with me, but it did succeed in making me feeling more relaxed about everything. I potter around for a while catching up on some housework and go to work on making myself dinner (lasagne – my comfort meal). It's not until I got to take my mobile out of my bag so I can charge it, that I remember someone had left a message on my landline. After pressing play I hear a voice that makes me doubt that my shitty day has taken a turn for the better.

"Anne, it's your father, Walter Elliot." Rolling my eyes I wonder for the millionth time why he always feels the need to add his name to the end of that statement. I mean really, how many fathers does he think I have? My finger is hovering over the delete button, ready to press it if Dad says anything about a social function I 'need' to attend. What I hear next however, stops me cold. "I need you to call me back as soon as you get this, I'm afraid I have some terrible news I need to tell you."

For a moment all I can picture is one awful scene after another. Elizabeth lying dead in a morgue. The family home in flames. Dad finding out he's terminally ill. Yes, I have a flare for the dramatic. The moment passes however, when I remember who it is that called me. Last time Dad called because some disaster had befallen him, he was talking about the fact that his cosmetic surgeon banned him from having Botox injections for 3 months. Dad was borderline hysterical that he was going to be seen out in public with crow's feet. Feeling more optimistic than I had a minute ago I picked up the phone and called him back.

"Hello, Walter Elliot speaking." Seriously, he must really like the sound of his name.

I got for a much more simple, "Dad, it's Anne."

"Oh Anne, how are you dear? How's life in... um, where is it your living again?"

Typical, the man doesn't even know where I live. "Providence, Dad." I take the cordless phone over to the couch and start flicking through the T.V channels. I doubt I'll need to give this conversation my full attention.

Chuckling he continues, "Ah yes, Providence. So how is life in Providence?"

"It's good." No need to let him know I'd just been fired. Looking up at the clock I realise that I don't have time to make small talk. Vampire Diaries is going to be on in a few minutes so I want to make this as quick as possible. "What's this bad news you have to tell me?"

"Oh, yes of course. It's not just bad news Anne; it's the worst kind of news."
In a dramatic voice he goes on to add, "This is something that will affect everybody's' life."

Flashes of the scenes I envisioned earlier go through my mind again, making the panic from before flare up slightly. "What is it? Is everyone alright?"

"Well if you mean physically, than yes we're all fine. But our spirits have certainly taken a real downturn!"

He's calling me because he's feeling down in the dumps? That's actually quite sweet, but I'm the wrong person for him to call right now if he wants cheering up. "Look Dad, I'm kind of busy, so can you just tell me what the problem is?" Hopefully my lack of tact won't make him feel worse.

"Yes, I certainly imagine you will be busy over the next couple of weeks," I can picture him nodding as he says that, "what with the move and all. "

What the hell? "I'm sorry, what? What move?"

For a second there I seriously thought that he had somehow found out I had lost my job and was assuming I'm just going to move back home to New York. Nuh uh, so not going to happen. But that's a ridiculous thought, how the hell would he have found out anyway?

As I wait for him to answer me, I can tell he's trying to stall by clearing his throat half a dozen times. "Well you see, the news I had to tell you is... that..." He lets out one of his nervous chuckles "God, it's embarrassing to admit to even my own family members."

I officially lose all patience. "Out with it Dad."

I swear I hear him mumble "I should have had Elizabeth call you" before he takes a deep breath and finally gets to the point. "Alright, the fact of the matter is that we've run into a spot of trouble... financially."

I hear the words, but for some reason they don't seem to make sense to me, so I ask for some clarity. "We've... what?"

Another deep breath comes from Dad. "We're joining the masses of the non-wealthy."

Is non-wealthy even a word? Probably not, but that's not the point. Focus Anne! Is he saying... what I think he's saying? Oh God, I think my brain must be broken because all that comes out of my mouth is, "What?"

Over the phone I hear an angry huff. "Are you being deliberately obtuse? We're broke, Anne. Poor! There's no money left!"

Yeap, that's what I thought he was getting at. "I... What... how did this happen?" Ugh, I can barely string together a sentence. I guess that's what shock does to you and I am definitely in shock right now. Not because I greatly care about the money (even though it looks like I will be moving back home after all, God damn it!), but I never thought I would live to see it run out. That doesn't just happen, right?

"I'm not too sure; I was too busy having an emotional breakdown to hear the explanation the account was giving. Not to mention that I find his mono-brow quite distracting, I keep trying to think of ways to politely suggest getting it waxed, but they never seem to fit into the conversation." The pause that follows is probably a result of my father trying to imagine different scenarios in which he can give his 'friendly advice'.

Trust him to think of something like that at a time like this. "Dad, focus."

He hums before seemingly rejoining us down here on Planet Earth. "What? Oh, yes. So now with everything that's going on, I'm afraid you're going to have to give up the lease on your apartment and move back home, unless whatever job it is that you have pays you well enough to cover all your expenses. I'm afraid the family accounts can't help with your bills and whatnot anymore."

Well fuck.

"Anne Emily Elliot!" Oops, I must have said that out loud. "While I do admit that the sentiment you just expressed is one that I share in regards to our current situation, it is not becoming of a young woman of your pedigree to state it in such a way!" Jesus Christ, I'm 24 years old and still getting in trouble off my dad for swearing.

"Sorry Dad. I guess I'm still in shock." Quickly trying to change the subject, I ask a question I'm dreading the answer to. "How long until I have to move back?"

He contemplates the answer for a minute or two. "The sooner the better, I'm afraid."

Less than a week later I pull into the apartment complex that had been our home for the last eight years with a car full of my stuff. Well this sucks.

A/N: There you have it! If you like how this is going, please let me know so I know it's worthwhile me continuing.

Also, I just want to say that I'm Australian so sorry if some of the phrases or names for things (like mobile instead of cell phone) I use are confusing.