John thinks he should have never gone into the army. At the time, he'd thought it would be worth it, helping those fighting for Queen and Country and all that. And he had helped a lot out there, until he'd gotten bloody shot. It was enough to get him taken out of the army, but did they send him home to London with an army pension? Oh, no. Wounded, damaged goods, he was instead sold to slavery. He'd been told that when he'd signed up for the army, this had been part of the deal, and somewhere in the back of his then drug-induced mind, he thought that sounded familiar. Now that he's here, he wishes he had fought harder to get free. It hadn't helped that his shoulder, bandaged up now beneath his shirt, was still healing, and on top of that, he had a limp. The slave traders weren't selling him too cheap, however, insisting that he had a special talent - medicine. That and, well, he came in good working order, should a master want a companion to fill their every desire.

John was shackled and bound, and there were armed men there, to boot, so it would have been pointless to struggle too much. That didn't mean he wasn't glaring at those looking to buy him, or the other slaves on display that day. He'd already gotten a whipping for his attitude, but defiance still shone in his eyes. It didn't matter that Joan was a woman, and a pretty one at that. He averted his eyes from her, anyway, shame mingling in with his defiance. This wasn't how he wanted to be seen, as a slave to be bought and used.