Fox hadn't planned on grabbing a drink tonight. She wanted to keep her wits about her in case Wes needed her help, so she almost turned the man called Ghost down. All the pent up jitteriness from sitting still with too little to do was starting to get to her. The normally useful in a gunfight 'Assassin Time' reaction, that pumped them full of adrenaline and seemed to slow time down around them, was only amping her up and making her more restless. However, she wasn't about to make any moves while she waited for Wesley to decide when and how he wanted to exact his revenge. He was owed that.
Until then, she might as well have a drink and try to calm down what feels so keyed up. Fox made her way down to the lobby bar. Her custom Safari Matchmaster tucked into the back of her waistband, underneath her shirt tail, in case she needed to leave at a moment's notice. She wouldn't be surprised if it was 0 to 90 for Wesley sooner or later. He had a penchant for recklessness as it was. And now, stricken with grief, she wasn't sure what he would do. All she knew was, she wasn't about to let him go out there alone.
"That works," said Fox, eying the bottle. It was a whiskey that was old enough to order its own whiskey, so that was even better.
It didn't take long for her to get a beat on him either. She was a killer. So was he. Maybe not the same type of killer. She might have expected that, with a name like Ghost. Just as memorable but elusive as Fox. The details remained to be seen, but game recognized game. The brunette sidled up to the bar and slid into one of the barstools next to the man.
"Cheers." She nodded in thanks as she picked up her glass and took a sip. Yeah, it was good. "And not yet. Waiting on a friend."