Notes: Can anyone guess what Anthony's problem is? It's a good thing I don't seem to have any Anthony-fangirls reading this story or someone might be starting to get upset during this chapter. I may have butchered the Asylum scene, or possibly how Asylums used to work, but I couldn't help it. I spent parts of this chapter giggling insanely. And don't worry, the next chapter will be almost entirely about our dear Mr. Todd.

It was enough to drive a person insane. For Johanna, who had never really been in a stable environment, it was enough to confirm what she'd always known of the world. The world was a dark place with very little light in it, just like the big cell-like room she inhabited with other girls of her age. It was dirty, filled with crawling things that would bite if you tried to shoo them away from you. The light filtered in from a small window high up in the stone wall, the window had bars fitted into it, no shutter, and no pane. The world was cold, damp. Only small barriers kept its cruelty at bay; A thin blanket, a patched smock.

Johanna felt like the only sane person in the world, which really made her the only insane person.

The other girls were a lot like her in some ways. They were quiet, except for when they talked to themselves or cried in their sleep. Some of the girls talked with one another but they were always cautious, they always spoke as if someone hostile might hear them and come swooping down from the darkness to break their conversation apart. Sometimes something did swoop down from the darkness. Preceded by a clank and the sound of expensive shoes against the stone floor, the warden would arrive to peer in through the doorway. Sometimes he came inside to see how they were doing, and to administer sweets to those girls the doctor had said were doing nicely that day.

There were no nurses. Only doctors. Faceless, spectacled doctors who all look the same and spoke from behind the same clipped accent. Their bags were full of strange things used to measure and poke, vials of liquid that made Johanna want to throw up... but never on the doctor's shoes, or she would be slapped.

Sometimes she wondered whether this was a better fate for her than the one that had awaited her at home. Better here than married to the only father figure she knew? Better here where they aknowledged that she was locked away than pretending that she was free inside a gilded cage?
Sometimes Johanna wondered whether anyone remembered her at all. Would Judge Turpin come to get her after a reasonable time had elapsed or would he let her languish in the sanitarium? Would she want to go home if she could?

In the plan of his life, amongst the list of things that Anthony once saw himself doing, impersonating a wigmaker was not on that list. It was funny how life did that sometimes, twisting and writhing in on itself until the things you thought you would never do were the things you now had to do. Ever since his very first job Anthony had been saving for the life he imagined for himself. A small cottage in a small town, a wife, children, and a steady job at sea to provide income and adventure. His plan hadn't wavered a bit since he was a young boy, even then he'd known exactly what he wanted. Until he first saw Johanna. Now though many essentials of his plan hadn't changed, their execution had become a little different from his imaginings. A suit, bought with a little of his savings, draped neatly over his frame, his hair recently trimmed to be respectably short, his shoes shined. His jacket was heavy with the revolver pistol that Mrs. Lovett had given him - he had needed to weight the other side so that it hung right. Consequently the weight on his shoulders had been given physical form, dragging him down a little and making him nervous.

Today, as Anthony Pierce, apprentice wigmaker, the sailor had an appointment with the porter at Fogg's Asylum. He had already needed to hand over a small bribe to ensure some of the man's time, the inherent greed in men of such self-inflated importance made Anthony wonder how much more he would need to pay just to buy his time. Not that paying was a problem. Anthony would sell his soul for Johanna.

Anthony waited as calmly as he possibly could under the circumstances, silently reciting everything that Mr. Todd had made him learn about hair. He had just gotten to Johanna's description when a small, pasty man entered the room. Anthony hastily stood and offered the man a quick bow and a handshake; The porter's hands were soft and unpleasantly sticky, his grip limpid enough that Anthony couldn't help imagining that he was shaking warm seaweed and not a hand.

"Mr. Pierce," the porter spoke with his nose in the air, an affliction not entirely caused by Anthony's height, "I understand that your master is interested in the purchase of hair from this establishment."

"Yes," Anthony confirmed, "we currently have a very difficult customer who was very specific in her wishes. It is my master's hope that you may be able to help us."

"Of course. We believe it's good for our patients to feel themselves to be a useful part of society."

What rubbish, Anthony thought to himself. Perhaps, if his experience of the world has been nothing but men like this, entitled and unpleasant, Anthony felt he could understand why his friend Mr. Todd was so bitter. "That's very conscientious of you," Anthony made himself reply, covering the way they wanted to stick in his throat with a polite cough. "Now, I don't pretend to know what a man like yourself knows about hair. Just how knowledgeable are you in that area, sir?"

The porter smiled. If anything it made him appear even more unpleasant, exposing teeth that were an odd shade of gray. "I know one colour from the other," the porter said, "though I would gague myself as far from an expert. Your master didn't say what colour hair you were looking for in his note."

"Yellow hair," Anthony provided in the layman's terms, "pale yellow hair the colour of cornsilk."

"I know just where to look. Follow me, Mr. Pierce. Don't be alarmed now, all of our patients are practically harmless."

The porter led the way further into the asylum, which was as dark and forbidding on the inside as it had been on the outside. Damp, with very little light. It reminded Anthony of the very bottom level of the last ship he had worked on, all covered in slimy green algae. "We keep the blonde ones in here," the porter spoke suddenly, drawing Anthony from his musings. The porter had stopped at a large door with an iron bolt for a lock, a small window high up in the door hinting that it was brighter inside the room than in the corridor, though not by much. The porter struggled with the bolt, twisting it this way and that before it would open. The door swung in on its hinges without prompting, exposing a large room lined with many rotting bits of furniture and filled with grimy young women. "It's as good a way as any to sort them," the porter added. "Alright girls, come stand in a line so the nice man can see your pretty hair."

Slowly, reluctantly, the thin, pale group of girls and women formed a line near their beds. Each and every one looked cowed or scared in some way - Anthony was struck by just how much this place looked like a prison. A prison for people who's only crime was not their fault. Anthony began to feel ill but he forced himself to remain composed. Without waiting for a prompt he began to inspect the girls one by one, even though he knew with just a glance which one he had come for. It would be too suspicious to go straight to her, no matter how much he just wanted to draw her into his arms and never let go.

Anthony was careful to look at each girl, inspecting their hair, perhaps touching a lock as though to see how coarse or how fine it was. Each girl tugged a little at his heart, pretty soiled doves with haunted eyes, most of which were red with tears... But when he finally came to Johanna he knew without a doubt that she was the one for him. Recognition flared in her eyes as he looked at her hair, a lingering touch confirming that her curls were just as soft as he'd always imagined.

"This one," Anthony announced, "this is the one."

Johanna's eyes filled with tears. Anthony was momentarily struck dumb by her beauty, rendered breathless. All at once the moment was pushed aside, ruined by the porter who came forward to usher Johanna out into the hall. "I trust you've brought your equipment," the smaller man said, waiting for Anthony to follow.

"Yes," Anthony stuttered breifly, looking at the open door, the passageway back into the sun and light. A flash of inspiration made him stop in his tracks, a hand slipping into his coat. "Yes," he said firmly, drawing out the pistol, "now don't make a fuss, sir, and I wont have to shoot. I'm taking the girl and there will be no arguments. Now please, release her and step back inside with your hands where I can see them."

The porter's jaw had dropped. So had the hand pushing Johanna along. The man gaped at the gun, completely flummoxed. Then he said something that made Anthony feel much the same as the porter looked. "Are you a relative?"

"Excuse me?" Anthony asked, now looking uncertainly at the smaller man over the top of the gun which, despite the sailor's bafflement, remained firmly pointed at the porter's chest. The ensuing silence gave him time to realise that the girls were all silent, most of them staring at the floor or across the room. Anthony's unease grew.

"Are you her family," the porter repeated impatiently, "a blood relative or guardian?"

"I'm her," Anthony paused, skipping over the word 'fiance' at the last second for something a little less presumptuous. Johanna would marry him, he was certain of that, still he wanted to actually ask her first. "Brother," Anthony provided finally, "I'm her brother."

"For heaven's sakes," the porter exclaimed, glaring at him as if he'd just done something incredibly stupid. "Then there's no need for ridiculous theatrics! Asylums only exist because families don't want to be burdened, you silly boy. Put that gun away at once. Quickly, before you hurt someone!"

Confused and yet heartened (it appeared he wouldn't need to break any particular laws after all) Anthony put the gun back into his coat. He dared a glance at Johanna, his heart pounding, she looked so hopeful that it hurt. "So... I can just... take her?" Anthony asked, not sure he should dare to believe it.

"There is a fee," the porter explained, shooing Johanna and Anthony away from the door so that it could be shut again and locked; "For housing and medical care. However you are essentially free to take your sister with you. Next time," he snapped, small, beady eyes flashing, nose stuck in the air, "you should simply ask before wasting my time with juvenile schemes."

Anthony couldn't stop the grin that crept onto his face. He couldn't wait to tell Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett about this!

The next hour passed in a blur. Anthony waited in the same room as he had been shown to before while Johanna changed out of the overlarge white smock she had been wearing and into the dress she had been admitted in. He signed and official looking piece of paper and paid the large, though not exorbitant, sum of money required for the care Johanna had recieved. Finally she herself reappeared, a strange mix of worlds in a sportless blue dress, her hair and face still grimy. Anthony escorted her outside and immediately hired a carriage to take them away before someone thought to check who Johanna was and saw that she had no brothers.

They had been in the carriage for only a few short minutes before Johanna spoke. "You came for me."

Her voice was enchanting, Anthony thought. Soft and musical, it was like listening to a song. "Of course I did," he told her, "I love you."

"You've hardly met me before now," Johanna's pretty blue eyes were downcast, her small hands clasped demurely in her lap.

"I don't need to have met you," Anthony said, giving in to the urge to gently lay his hand on top of hers. She flinched a little at first but didn't pull her hand away. Anthony smiled, "to know that you were sad. Johanna, all I've thought about since I first saw you was how I wished I could make you happy. I'm not a rich man, or an educated man, but I would like to give you a new life, one where I can see you smile. Johanna, I would like to marry you."

Johanna looked up at him then, her blue eyes filled with tears and her face torubled. "I have never even heard your name," she whispered, voice catching in her throat.

"It's Anthony. Anthony Pierce. I'm a sailor, or I was until very recently."

"Anthony," Johanna repeated, now looking at where his hand lay on top of hers. "And you love me." Johanna's forehead creased with a tiny frown but Anthony didn't push her. Johanna remembered him from when he had watched her sing. She must have liked him then, he knew, to have thrown down her key. "You rescued me," Johanna said softly, a single tear carving a white, clean path through the grime on her face. "I... I will marry you, Anthony Pierce. I know you are a kind man..."

Johanna's voice gave out then. The tears came fast and furious, falling from her chin and onto their joined hands as the young lady was overcome by everything that had happened to her. A handkerchief was gently pressed into her hands, a clean, white square of cotton that felt like a symbol of everything her life was to become. She expected no luxury in her new life except that which she scraped together, but that was ok. Much better to be living free in a world where she had to make her own way than caged in a life of luxury.

And Anthony's heart leapt. He had never seen her looking more beautiful.