Why is there always so much sand? [entrance, open]
Facing a storm in naught but a dinghy was what was called “not good”. Not good at all. The skies and seas had been clear, if the water a bit choppy, when Jack set out after Barbossa and the Pearl, for the - what was it now? - third time. That man had got to stop stealing his ship. And after all the things Jack had done for him. But little to be done about it now, besides chase after him.
Except the storm was in the way. Harsh winds and flashing skies turned the waves from small and manageable to ferocious and overpowering, rocking his little boat to the point of wreck. Jack tried all he could, tossing the water out just as quick as it came in, and one hand on the mast to keep himself from being throw overboard. The storm had appeared as if out of nowhere and even with as much quick-thinking as Jack could muster, he couldn’t hold his own. The storm was overtaking him.
From the distance a large wave suddenly reared up, throwing its shadow over Jack and the boat. He stopped bailing water and turned to face the oncoming wave, the boat surging beneath him as the water ran to feed it into something larger and more deadly. Oh bugger, Jack thought just as the wave crashed down upon him. His last conscious knowledge was the mast being ripped from his grip.
Jack woke up dry. On land. He was sure it was land because he could feel sand beneath his fingers and the locked stillness of being away from water. He opened his eyes and looked around. Yes, definitely land. With lots of sand. How unfortunate. Why could he never ship wreck or be left on an island that had trees and birds? And a boat ready for sail?
Assuming of course this was an island. It didn’t look like one, the coast simply disappearing out into the horizon one way and sand stretching on the other. Vaguely in the distance there looked to be something of a building. Maybe there was a boat there. Or at least some rum.
Gathering himself up, Jack walked towards the structure. Upon reaching it, he realized how run-downed it looked, abandoned. Suddenly hesitant, he turned to look back the way he came, thinking it perhaps better to stay by the shore where he could scout for passing ships, but he couldn’t see the shore anymore. Couldn’t hear the lapping of waves. Couldn’t even smell the salt in the air. There was only sand. And this building, with a sign reading Hotel California.
Strange. Still... Jack wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity when he saw one. There might be something of worth in this hotel, if it was still a hotel, that he could use. Nudging the door open with his foot, Jack cautiously peered inside.
And his jaw very nearly dropped. Not at all like the outside, this wasn’t. So much shiny. Jack liked shiny.
Noticing a man at the desk, Jack approached him, with a mind to ask where exactly he was. He raised a finger and opened his mouth but the man cut him off. Holding out a key, he merely said with a smile, “Welcome to the Hotel California.”