The zombie look is not lost on her. It also isn't lost on her that this isn't her Seattle, and in theory, nobody knows about zombies or Max Rager or utopium. And of course, she doesn't know him, and he doesn't know her. There's no fear there - no reason to believe he even knows what her last name represents, the very name of evil, the fingerprints of the people trying to kill the bugs before they infest the city and then the world. For all he knows, she isn't even from their Seattle, and Rita's fine letting that be for now.

He's kind of hot, after all - or he would be if he weren't a living (arguably), breathing (very slowly) STD. Who'd he piss off anyway that waking up in the fountain didn't cure him? Whatever, not her problem.

She shuts the door as asked, brushing the snow out of her hair, dusting it off her sleeves and shoulders. "Ugh." Dismissive, as she shakes snowmelt off her hands. "Glad I wound up here, at least." She flashes him a smile, not quite dark but definitely not bright either. About neutral, if a little playful. "What's your name, my generous host?"