John Paul turned to the pilot with a nod as he moved back around the table to his own seat, and his hot cup of something vaguely coffee-like. He laughed and shook his head, words rolling off his tongue smoothly like cool water in a stream bed, laced with that thick Alabama drawl. "You as well Ray, you as well - been looking forward to the chance to talk, if LV-223 gives us a break. But whatever it is you've heard about me? Heh... Lies, all lies - unless it's good, in which case it's the unvarnished truth."

He chuckled softly, swiping Alice's booted feet off the table as he passed without missing a beat. "And of course He's with us, but I like to think God's brought us along for the ride, more like. We'll need Him here, there, wherever, rather like a good parent for those raised by wolves - or maybe just those brought up in the heathen wilds of Georgia, without a lick of sense 'bout how to act in polite company." Preacher glanced at Alice, one eyebrow cocked meaningfully as he settled back into his seat beside Lena.

He listened of course, as the conversations floated about him, waving back at Diego as the SO dismissed his smart ass comment with a wave of his own, winking conspiratorially at Sergeant Winters, and simply enjoying the buzz of human voices as he sipped his hot black coffee. Not even the conspicuously late and obnoxious arrival of Reddick could spoil the man's zen, mostly because his captain was more than up for the challenge of a pain in the ass civilian with way too much self-importance and not near enough know-how. 

Preacher settled in with a contented sigh right about the time Lena hissed something to the Wey-Yu lackey he felt sure contained a fair amount of obscenity [if his lip reading skills were still up to snuff of course]. When she finally let that arrogant shit have it with both barrels at the end, he decided it was wiser to forego jumping out of his chair with a triumphant shout and an [i]'Amen sister,'[/i] and simply settled for a smug little grin in Reddick's direction. 

He blew over the rim of his coffee, and took another sip. It was bad enough for morale, he mused, knowing a company bean counter was along for the ride, looking over their shoulders and ready to scrutinize every little fuck up. No one at this table, light years from home and family and people who loved them, needed to be reminded that the priority given to the lives of their predecessors - and by extension, their own - was about as low as the seventh circle of Hell on the their boss' list of important shit.

What an asshole.

John Paul did not ask any questions of his own, the XO standing to his feet and quietly making his way to the coffee dispenser, leaving the floor open to the rest of the crew to float Lena any queries they had left. His cup refreshed, Preacher leaned easily beside the doorway, ready to head to the bridge, help field a question or lend a hand where needed during mission prep.