[hr][hr][center][h2][b][color=goldenrod]Dr. Jonathan Baynard[/color][/b][/h2]
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[/center][hr][color=goldenrod]Location:[/color]Port of Tortuga[hr][hr]

His head still aching from the sudden blow, he could feel the swelling of a bruise already beginning. He knew the strike for what it was. Short, fast, harsh, unexpected and sudden. It was a warning. A deterrent for future actions. 'Behave', they had said with violence as their voice. Scolding him like some worthless animal. Only Jon wasn't worthless nor was he some animal.
Despite their original deal it was clear the captain was eager if not a bit desperate to sell him off. It seemed nearly everything from the ship was up for grabs. Including many supplies and ropes that they may still need. 

He was glad to be rid of that crew, desperation was not a good state for man to be in. Nor could he handle the inevitable growing implications of Stockholm syndrome. These were the men who essentially kidnapped him, even though it was a willingly negotiated deal. They created the situation that keeps him from his home, for that he would never forgive them.

Jon scanned the crowd again. Millicent knew him, she knew his worth. Maybe, just maybe if he could get her attention then he could favour a deal with her in which he might actually end up home to his wife. Here he was a no one with nothing but back home he had influence and resources. Millicent knew this.

The dirty jeering face of leathery sun-aged skin, tattered with spots and scars smiled widely in amusement at Jonathan. The old spiteful man blocked his vision of the crowd as he moved so close that Jon could taste the mans last meal on his rotten warm breath. 
A silver tooth shone brightly with the reflection of the sun, only adding to Jon's growing irritation.

Jon was hit by a sudden sharp pinch to the left of his stomach that caused him to uncontrollably flinch.
With focus and determination he managed not to yelp but even in his silence the tormenting pirate found a sick pleasure in his power trip.
Jonathan could withstand that, he had come to accept much of the depravities of man since sailing with those void of true religion. What he could not stand for was this bell swagger getting his big buffle-head in the way of his view. As he tried to move or look around him he was only met again and again by that stupid grin. 

Another pinch caught him by surprise. This time Jonathan didn't resist keeling over, instead embracing it as he lurched forwards with all his momentum and throwing his forehead at the mans nose. A loud crunch was followed by a splatter but it didn't end there. Before the stunned pirate could even pull his hands back Jonathan had reached under his own chain, grabbed the mans pinching index finger and with a sharp yank dislocated it sideways over his shackle.

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The subsequent beating that followed was almost worth it. After a fierce blow to the back of his knee Jonathan quickly collapsed to the floor, his shackled hands barely cushioning his fall. Once on the floor a flurry of boots hit him from the front and from behind. His face, his head, his back, his legs. They kicked anything and everything. Jon desperately tried to curl up in a defensive ball. Due to his restraints he couldn't protect his exposed ribs. After he heard his captains loud booming voice presumably trying to bring an end to the violence, one last heavy hate-filled boot caught him square in the side. 

It drove the wind from his lungs along with a splatter of blood. Jon lay on his side, dazed and numb. He stared at his crimson spit as it settled into the grooves of the wooden planks just beside his face. 
Never in his life had he taken such a beating. So cruel and malicious, kicking him while he was down. His frustrations and spite soon spread beyond his attackers, beyond his captain and to the many gathered onlookers that stood idly by. Either drawn to the commotion or simply pausing while passing by to take in the free entertainment. Jon imagined they were doing so without a single shred of compassion. He heard very little objections under the jeering laughter and shouts. That was when he understood just how alone he truly was, just how far from his home he really was. Here in this place he could get kicked to death and dropped into the ocean and no one would ever know or care. No funeral or prayer. As he lay there on the cold hard floor freshly battered and bruised, that realisation is what hurt him the most. This was just the way of things here, and Jon had to get used to it.

Physical and emotional pain aside Jon just prayed that the pirates bloodlust was now satisfied. His actions were not as reckless or as without reason as they may seem. Now he only prayed that this jolter-head hadn't the coin to just throw away on petty vengeance. 
Over the droning commotion of the crowd Jon swore he could hear the quarter master seemingly try and force the man into a sale. Jon couldn't imagine the 'you break it you bought it' argument to hold when he had attacked first. He saw no logical way it could or any sense in this man to throw away money on a disobedient slave. With all desperation he hoped his calculations to be right, but with a gut wrenching fear he realised not all followed logic and thought as him, especially not here. 

As long as Jon seemed valuable, he was pretty sure his hog-grubber of a captain wouldn't freely allow anyone beat him to death. Not completely anyway.
So despite how unpleasant the beating was, the violence had served its purpose. Jon had hopefully discouraged some prospective buyers not only with his defiant attitude but now also his newly attained injuries. This should buy him a little more time. It had also drawn quite some attention to himself. Now in that extra time, with those extra onlookers, hopefully one of those people to notice him would be lady Millicent.