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The zombie hadn't had much experience with animals, let alone dogs. They didn't know what to do, so they just started for a moment. They stuck their head out more to look around, but failed to see anyone. They bent down a bit to look closer. They blinked and just stared for a few more minutes. They finally patted the dog's head, before stepping slightly to the side of the door, offering it to enter his home.

Was picking her teeth a bit, the zombie in front of her cuter than most zombies she had seen and she sniffs at him a bit... yep, smells of decay to her, she shrugged a bit "you seem to have a semblance of sense left in ya little one, come on in"

He would go to the large platinum and obsidian-trimmed temple doors and would push one open and he would glance up at her and perk a brow before looking out down the path that led to the Fate's Circle temple doors. After returning his attention to her, he spoke: "uh.....hi. Is there something you need? Food? A place to rest?" Even though he spoke softly, his words would echo within the vestibule area of the temple.

She hadn't been expecting any visitors.

And frankly, there was no reason for surface-folk to venture out this far on their lonesome. Unless they had a good reason to. An exceptionally good reason.

Once Mathius made it through the marshland, and beyond that, the dense gathering of woodland, he would find himself at the start of a path; the end of which pointed the way to a lone structure: a behemoth of a home, writhing with unusual energy detectable even by the mundane.

But to proceed onto the estate, he would first have to find his way past the tall wrought iron gate holding him- and any other unexpected visitors- at bay. For their own safety. Although the elven entity may have possessed some kind of otherworldly power, this was still no place for people from off-world, let alone the surface.

Seated not too far from the front of the gate, was the eldest Alptraum heiress. She was absent of company- which was not unusual when she was at home. Others were surely not too far away. There was always someone or something else around- even if they couldn't be seen. Xailah appeared content, digging around in a small garden riddled with belladonna. What she was doing with such a poisonous plant was anyone's guess. Presumably, she was harvesting some for the Moths.

It would be a moment before she realized someone had approached, but when she did, she rose to her feet in an instant, with the realization that this person was unfamiliar. And not just to her. She knew this one was from off-planet. He felt different, like the endless, consuming cosmos. She would address the man directly and make her way to the gate, however she would not open it.

"We were not expecting visitors at this time. You are a far way from home, Sir. What brings you to this residence? Are you lost?" She said, leaning slightly against the iron bars separating herself from the man. She'd look around briefly to see if he had brought more company. "If you are here for business reasons, know that I do not accept work here. You will have to find me at another time, outside of the estate. Or is there another reason as to why you have chosen to come here?"

The vulpine's ears perked when he heard a knock coming from the door. He sure wasn't expecting that...Who could it be?

Tails moved from his workshop, setting his tools down safely. "Just a second!" He called out, wiping the grime from his gloves to make himself at least look slightly presentable as he went towards the door and opened it.

He expected it to perhaps be one of his friends or another Mobian. He didn't exactly get visitors like this...It was odd, to say the least. And it got him rather curious.

A little intimidating, but that was alright!

"Oh! Hi there! Um- Do you need something?" The kit asked, giving am awkward smile up towards her.

He would open his door and looked right at Miles "wait, I remember you. You're that smart kid. Come in. Let's build you a suit!"

Meditating in her prey-hide tent was about the closest that Zakla could bring herself to inner peace.. so understandly, a permanent scowl carved itself into her face when that meditation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps ending at her door. Brow lowered and piercing yellow eyes cold and emotionless, she moved towards the leather flap that shielded her from the icy winds of the tundra. When she parted it, there was a man, there, clad entirely in black metal. She wanted to bear her fangs, but held her tongue. What could this stranger possibly want from her?

"Your armor is unfamiliar to me," Zakla growled, her voice curt and strangely accented. She looked the pantzered man up and down. He was mortal, alright, she could smell that seeping through the metal. "You must state your intentions." Heavy steel plate wasn't a favorable choice of armor up here in the North. It slowed its wearers down, usually, and didn't insulate body heat as well as hides and leather would. Perhaps the Metal Man was lost, then? Zakla sighed. Even if he wasn't of her kin, she couldn't let a fellow warrior die of cold. "Hmph.. you may enter, if you desire." It was only honorable. Zakla stepped to the side, still lifting the leather flap, her eyes fixated on the Metal Man as he could decide to enter or leave. Meiraänan willing, he might even remove his armor and grant her chance to draw his blood. Hopefully he wasn't one to squirm..

Opening the door.
Tyler's brows narrow slightly at the site of this person on his doorstep.
Tyler then slowly shut the door.
"Goodbye ...."

With a finale click he then walks away.
"Well that was weird" he mutters.

Barks at the door and runs around the house.

Doors. The bane of Emelia's entire unlife. As one who towers above grown humans by at least two feet, every door had to be met with a bend of her spine. She hated doors with every fiber of her being.

Upon hearing scratching and whining from the entrance to her woodland shack, the former Inquisitor's first response was a groan. Standing from the bed, she shuffles her way over. "I'm coming, I'm coming. Hold your horses!"

Leaning down, Emelia swung the door open, ready to question why someone would come out to the middle of nowhere, her irritation unrivaled. Instead, she found no one within her line of sight. Peering out of the door, she looked left, then right, and finally, down.

"Hello. . .?" Dropping down on both knees, the zombie inspected the dog before her. Gently, she began scratching behind his ear as she looked at the name tag.

"Thor? As in the God of Thunder?" Flipping the tag around, Emelia found it slightly disheartening to find no other information. No address, no owner, nothing. With a sigh, she picked up the dog, plopping his forelegs on her shoulder and carrying him inside as if she were holding a small child.

She should probably start looking for the owner, she thought as she kept giving him pets. Many, many pets. She would eventually start looking. Eventually.

Perhaps doors weren't so bad after all.

There was a bitter cold wind blowing outside Clickjaw's lair. Nestled deep into a crevice between the slate gray peaks of a mountain range unexplored, it lay quietly beneath jagged stalactites, its contorted chest motionless on the soft, moist bedding of its own secreted matter. It appeared to be in a docile, slumbering state: rather than shining brightly like a beacon, its tumorous stomach pulsed softly like a heart at rest. That was.. until the wind brought in a scent of death. Not a promise of prey, this time- rather, one of an encounter with kin. Interesting.. Robotic and unable to blink its rotten, ever-staring eyes, Clickjaw slithered onto all fours and dragged itself to the entrance to its cavern. Its paralyzed claws scratched across the ancient stone, and as it went, its grotesquely malformed jaw unhinged from its skull. Click, click, click.. Its head twitched like a rapid animal's as its echolation informed it of a stranger at its metaphorical door. A fellow undead. The clicking ceased. Clickjaw's spine moaned like a sinking ship as it raised itself to its back legs, towering high above what otherwise was one of the tallest humanoids it had ever encountered. No doubt that this one was able to conquer many of their kin. Though unable to see through its lid-less eyes, it fixated its milky, green-glowing gaze onto the strange undead woman, its jaw spreading wide. The same sickly glow that radiated from the pulsating mass on its stomach now emerged from its throat, as did the shapeless inky tendril that approached the woman's face. Indeed, He sensed great strength in this unusual humanoid. A resistance to what had been brought upon her, much like Krajar had before He took over their body- it was often that mortals regretted their hunger for greatness whenever it was within their grasp. The woman was of a crude make, yes, but He was fascinated by the stitching on her skin, the sheer height that her figure had gained. Who had made her into what she was, He wondered. No matter. This one wasn't to be feasted upon. He felt Clickjaw's seething desire to get rid of its own pain tug at the reigns that He held over it. It wanted to devour this woman.. but He wouldn't let it. Too much interesting truth would be lost if they took her life energy now. He wanted to know these truths first, so that He knew what kind of flesh He would let Clickjaw feed upon. This left them with only one reasonable response. A multi-voiced sign escaped the lumbering beast, and wobbling on its decaying legs, it stepped aside. The undead woman was allowed to enter. She wouldn't have to worry about bumping her head - perhaps for a change -, as the cavern was meant to accommodate a foul beast only slighty taller than her. Beyond the 'welcoming' monster and the sharp, craggy entrance, there was a moldy nest that glowed ever so slightly, and smelled of rotting meat, spilled guts and an unknown, acidic aroma. Whatever the zombie would choose to do, Clickjaw had its eyes on her at all times. He had noticed the weaponry on her, and it fascinated Him. Perhaps once they'd gone past the talking phase, this feeding could turn into quite the entertaining battle. A battle He wouldn't allow Clickjaw to lose..

"Nope." She closed the door almost as quickly as she had opened it. Krepta didn't know what that thing out there was, but it looked like a nightmare and smelled even worse. She casually pulled the chain lock into its slot and turned around, resting her fists against her hips. She took a deep breath, then let it out again slowly through pursed lips.

Right.

"Uncle Viro? Uh, I think you'd better go and get the shotgun."

Nine opened the door, getting ready to walk out of his lab, when he noticed Kepta standing there.

His metal tails snapped open and looked as if they were ready to attack. "Who are you?!" He loudly said, glaring.

The hangar where The Wreckers would open and he would transform from his vehicle mode to robot mode and he looked down at him "who are ye? Yer no staff 'ere. How did ye get here? If ye comin' tae cause trouble, yer gonna deal with me and the other Wreckers....if no, come on in" Somehow, the Autobot had a Scottish accent. He turned and he led the small fox into the hangar "Topspin! Leadfoot! We go' a visitah....." He would then turn and look at Nine and he asked " what're ye called, laddie?"

Hm? Oh, hi, whoever you are. You an Observer or something? What do you want?

It took absolutely everything in his power to pry himself away from the typewriter to find out the reason behind the incessant knocking at his front door. The New York suite apartment was well guarded by the doormen and typically anyone who had business with Alan had to do so through appointment only, so this unexpected guest was likely either an intrusion or Barry failed to inform him of any other arrangements.

"Alice, were we expecting company, honey?" he called out toward his wife's workspace and yet received no response. Must've not heard me...

The knocking persisted resulting in the author's hurried pace -- "Yeah, yeah, I hear you. I'm coming!"

Once he unlatched the lock and drew the door open, Wake instantly noted the unusual clothing and gravity-defying array of silvery white spikes on the youth's head.

"Uh, wow," he stated, uncertainty in his tone. "You gotta be here for some damn good reason. Did the F.B.C. send you?"

He opened the door with confusion on his face "hi.....are you okay? Do you wanna come in? I made some cheesy pasta and I'm gonna eat dinner. You can have some, okay?"

He called into his home "Piano, we got a hungry stranger over and he's gonna have dinner with us"

Hikari covered his mouth with a fan, someone absurdly strong appearing at his door.. but yet again.. he is the Villages role model.. "Ah.. come on in if you need a place to sleep for tonight, Ill cook you up something healthy.. next time I recommend an Inn rather than the Hokage's house

*The Pink dog opened the door only to see a... Ninja?*

Erm... Hi?