(OOC -- And you can imagine my guy in a forest in that first post and now on the beach. Context, context, context. ;))

Killian most certainly hadn't expected to find a person inside the crate. In turn, he most certainly hadn't expected to get smacked in the face by the door. The strike was so hard that it threw him back into the surf, nearly unconscious.

He regained his senses, rising out of the waves to cough out vast amounts of seawater. Another wave hit him, then a third and a fourth. Finally, Killian rose from his knees to his feet. He wobbled back and forth, the swimming brain and moving water confusing him.

Eventually, he caught sight of the woman running up the beach. She wasn't having much more luck that Killian was in remaining standing. He looked into the crate, finding what might have been clothes and a blanket or two. A bucket was half submerged. He would realize later that it had been a [i]shit bucket[/i].

It didn't take a genius to understand that the woman had been being held captive in the box. Killian started up the beach toward her, only just now seeing the shackles on her wrists. He reached his gear and donned it once more. Then, moving toward her, he asked rather bluntly, "[i]What the fuck?[/i]"