This was like a start to a real shitty joke and Ronnie really didn't want any of it. Well maybe a little. Two deadly killers walk into a bar and all that. Where she was waiting to help a friend, Ghost hadn't figured out if he had any of those yet. Sure him and Rapp started seeing more eye to eye after the whole dream sequence bullshit where the roles got flipped and fucked. Understanding Mitch a bit tamed his own mental deficiencies around his own trauma.
Her own stashed weapon was much more heavy hitting than his own, but his own SIG Sauer P239 was stashed away more officially in a holster on the inside of his jeans. Equally hidden from sight. It'd make for an interesting standoff between the two of them, and just how the air around Fox was- Ghost wasn't sure he'd come out on the other end. That was exciting.
"Of course it does," Ghost acknowledged her statement. "Anything this old is worth of our respect." The bottle wasn't put away, despite the pair likely not dipping any further into the drink or not.
With a slow nod, Ghost swirled the booze in his glass. "Waiting on a friend for fun, or revenge." Not that revenge wasn't fun. There was something appealing about the act. Watching Fox from his peripheral, he had an appreciation of the woman. There was a lot you could tell about a person based how they sat, or stood, or even drank their whiskey. Someone as trained as him, or probably her had no wasted movements. Everything was very exact. An outside observer might have thought he was checking her out, and they would be correct but not in the fashion he was.
A devious smirk crept across his lips as he let his eyes fall on the liquor in his glass. "So, what did you do for a living?"