Poor Audra

Audra looks around in despair at the never-ending shit - not mud, actual literal, shit - that covered the ground. Human, horse, and dog.

Every now and again, still convinced this is a dream or a joke, she scrubs at her eyes. Or else scrunches them shut and opens them again, hoping to see a different, cleaner, quainter scene.

She unblinks just in time. Slop arcs through the air towards her, and she ducks aside to avoid it.

Suspecting what that slop was, Audra would quite like to vomit, now, please. And not just because of the smell, either. Some of it has splattered the hem of her skirt, but it's so long it was dragging on the ground anyway, getting caked in filth. Reminding herself of this does not make her feel any better.

Her clothes itch. She isn't sure if it's the poor quality of the fabric, or if there's or things living here in her clothes with her. Trying to still her fingers (it's not lady-like to scratch) is pointless. Of course she eventually gives in.

Audra forces her attention away from her ugly, rough clothes and the crawling of her skin underneath them, and looks again at the bustling streets. She doesn't recognise any of it. The townhouse she shares with Greg near the old carriage works is gone. So is the Costa she always gets a mocha from on Wednesday mornings with Paige and Tori.

Feeling dazed, Audra stumbles on her stupidly long skirts. Why is she wearing these? She wouldn't be seen dead in these!

These thoughts are interrupted by some kind of cart clattering past. The heat and stink of horse hits her like a wall. A man (at least, between the hat and the beard, she assumed it was a man) yells something. The words were lost in the city bustle, but the tone was not. It was something like, watch it, stupid woman!

Audra hitches angrily at the silly skirt and stomps further into the shit at the side of the road, away from the wheels. Several people look disgusted or shocked and turn their faces away. It takes Audra a moment to realise what she's done.

Seriously? My ankles? That's stupid!

Just yesterday, Audra -

- fastened her apron more tightly at the waist, sucked in her tiny belly, and resolved to skip dinner and do more crunches. Already painted and polished, hair painstakingly arranged to look as if it hadn't been, lighting set up, and an adorable fluffy mic (purple) pinned to the front of her blouse - she was ready. Cranking a smile into place, Audra aimed herself, all poise, at the camera.

Yet another reel, entitled, "When I don't feel like cooking, but my man is due home in twenty minutes". She'd done loads of these, sometimes with slight variations on the title. She could do them standing on her head, if that wouldn't have made her retro style dress fall down around her ears. Cooking videos were popular. The message about taking care of your man? Not so much, but Audra felt like they were getting somewhere.

Perfectly manicured hands sliced onions and chopped garlic, practically juggling stainless steel pans, absurdly thick wooden chopping boards, and willow patterned dishes that her grandma might have, if not used, as such, definitely kept in a dresser on display and thought about using.

It was important to show modern women that these things were both desirable and doable. That the world needed home makers, mothers, and wives, just as much, if not more, than female CEOs who farmed out their dubious parenting to an army of nannies.

There is a power in submitting. Take care of your man properly, and he will take care of you. That is the contract.

Be beautiful, and charming, and you'll attract a high quality one. Fulfill your proper role, and you'll keep him. It's that simple.

Of course, part of that is taking care of yourself. Including your appearance. Men are visual creatures. But more important, it needs to show that you're making an effort for him, and he can see that. It will make him feel loved and happy, and why shouldn't he, if he's paying all the bills?

Fighting your natural place in life will only bring you misery, and-

Audra gazed around again and something slotted into place. That was the old carriage works, over there. She recognised the shape of it. But instead of being a smart, modern building containing expensive flats, it was selling actual carriages.

That means her home is hardly more than a stone's throw away from where she's standing, but she shrinks from going there. What (and who) might be waiting for her? Is it still her home? Might someone else be living there? Has Greg been transported back here as well?

Audra hopes so. If not him, she might be alone. Or shackled to a brute from this time. Just as smelly and rough as everyone and everything else. Audra doesn't know which might be worse. Her pockets are empty. She has nothing. Her safety and wellbeing depend almost entirely on things outside her control. Charm is her only hope. The better she can wield it, the better her chances. How charming can anyone be, covered in muck and stinking of need?

Panic rises, and she swallows it back down.

How is she going to get home? Her real home? Is it even possible? She rubs tears from her eyes, and tries very hard not to cry. Crying is ugly, and makes your face puffy and red. Right now, she needs desperately to be beautiful, and she has none of her usual arsenal to hand.

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Thank you for reading!

Effie & Simon should return later today/tomorrow