[ In an inconsequential room on an indescribable floor in an unknown motel room, a man falls from the ceiling with such force that it kicks up a cloud of dust around him. His back protests immediately at the abrupt stop, and he'd groan if he felt like he could breathe enough to do that. He struggles for a second, and inhales sharply when he finally manages to inhale again. Unfortunately, with that precious oxygen comes an influx of carpet dust, and it has him rolling over onto his side in a coughing fit, struggling onto his hands and knees with the force of his hacking. He scrambles to tug the hem of his shirt up, pulls it over his mouth so he can stop sucking in dust, and once that circle is broken, his coughing calms to quiet gasping.

Only then does Neal get a look around the room.

Sort of. It's too dark to see anything except for the strip of light outlining a door, and his eyes flicker around looking for shapes in the darkness, discomfort consumes him. The feeling of being watched, the feeling that there's something waiting for him in this room, something that'll pounce of he doesn't get out of it, has him moving with purpose and determination toward the door. He gropes blindly for the handle, and when he finds it he tugs.

Light pours into unprepared eyes, and he lifts a hand to block out the glaring bulbs until his eyes adjust. When they do, his brow furrows slowly into a perplexed sort of frown.

...Not to knock it before he's tried it or anything, but he's gotta say, heaven paints a pretty disappointing picture. That's what this is, right? He remembers dying, remembers that clear as day. Remembers saying his goodbyes, remember stuff going dark, the last streaks of light leaving his mind, and then wham. Back-first into the afterlife, which means this is either heaven, or it's a much crappier alternative and he really, really doesn't wanna go down that road.

There's a distinct lack of angels, though. No fluffy clouds or harps or... beer fountains or whatever. Just a seemingly endless hallway that stretches out in either direction, looking like just about every generic motel Neal's ever been to, and he's been to a lot. The only blemish on this otherwise empty scene is a suitcase at his feet, one he drops down to examine, knees jutting out on either side of it as he gropes for the nametag. Flips it over, frowns when he sees his own name in handwriting he doesn't recognize. Sure as hell ain't his handwriting, he can tell that much right now, and he's not so sure he's okay with whatever it is that's going on here.

He glances backward one last time, back toward the darkness of that room, and it seems to make his decision for him. He wraps a hand around the handle of the suitcase and moves forward with determination, navigating the halls toward the stairs. Time to figure out what the hell (hopefully not literally) is going on here. ]

[ He's still got his suitcase in hand when he finds the front desk, and he doesn't hesitate to swing it up and thump it down onto the counter, breakables be damned. Whatever's in there isn't something he brought with him, he hasn't had the chance to look, and he's not all too concerned with the contents. He's more worried about answers, and so when he peers either direction beyond the desk and doesn't see a soul, annoyance streaks across his face. ]

Are you kidding- Hello?

[ He calls, frustration in his voice. There's no answer, so he brings his hand up to slap down onto the bell a couple times. ]

Seriously? Is this it?

[ He demands to no one in particular, which seems to be an answer in and of itself. He huffs incredulously, turning his back to the desk and streaking his hands through his hair. You'd think the afterlife would have some kinda welcoming party, or maybe like an instructional booklet or something. ]

[ After he accepts the inevitable lack of answers, after he runs into a few faces he never thought he'd see again, hours have passed and he's a little less freaked out by everything. He makes a detour up the stairs toward his room to get a good look through his briefcase. When he's as unpacked as he's going to get and his dreamcatcher's hanging somewhere he can see it from the bed, he goes exploring. Checks out the floor his bedroom's on first, then the one below it.

He searches the main lobby for an exit, tries pushing on windows and even picking locks that bizarrely don't seem to be pickable. He pokes around through cabinets, closets, basically anything and everything he can, just looking for any kind of answer. Feel free to run into him anywhere along the way.]