Somehow, out of everyone on this entire ship, his bunkmate seems to have an equal appreciation for alcohol and McCree starts thinking he's lucked out on that point of common interest.

"You know your stuff." He chides with a smirk, short-lived as it is. Once Qrow put that thought into the air McCree can't get it out of his head, as if bad ideas were also similarly addictive. Or because it involves potentially discovering an alien drink he's never tried before.

"Might require us finding the source of it first."