[hr][hr][center][h2][b][color=goldenrod]Dr. Jonathan Baynard[/color][/b][/h2]
[img]https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Wep9pUnX9qE/hqdefault.jpg
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[/center][hr][color=goldenrod]Location:[/color]Port of Tortuga[hr][hr]

Jon didn't know where he was going, he just kept walking. Fearing that to stop would mean drowning. Drowning in the filth of this place, the wayward violence. The morale-less, fractious lawlessness. The vile depraved inconsiderate egomania. To Jon these people were the epitome of all that was wrong with man. Jon feared that to stop moving would mean he was apart of it, that he would somehow get sucked right back into it. That his freedom would be instant snatched right back from him and he would be forced to return to all the slavery, the torture, the abuse, the killing. But there was no escape. It was not like he could just keep running and somehow end up at home. Not from here.

Finally pausing, a great distance from the docks, he turns to look at Millicent. Unknowingly he had been squeezing her arm tight as he pulled her behind him. Clinging to the faintest slither of comfort and familiarity he could find.
 [color=goldenrod]"My lady, what, I mean... Why are you here? What brings you to this godless place? You must take me home with you! When do you leave? Where are the others?
When do we go home?"[/color] 
It was clear in his eyes and on his voice. Jon was reaching for what he desired most. He was tricking himself, refusing to consider anything else or see things as they were.

Hope could also be a cruel thing to one as desperate as Jon.