"No, so you know where your lines are." Mercy followed Santana up to the door, waiting quietly for the door to be answered. No sound rustled within the house, and the scent wasn't one of people. It was one of a place that wasn't lived in.
"Nobody's home," she said. She pushed the door open, stepping beyond Santana and onto the threshold of the house. It didn't stink too bad--little bit of mildewy scent, but nothing that kicked up her instincts for deadly, get the hell out. Definitely could use some candles and Febreeze, though, honestly. And that was coming out of Mercy, who categorically did not care for overly scented things.
She wrinkled up her nose. "I don't mind old jokes," she said, turning to face Santana. "Just make sure they're funny, or it won't be worth it." She jerked her head toward the rear of the house. "Let's check out the bedrooms."