Miller is, thankfully, blessedly unaware of the conversation the Martians are having about him. Instead, he's making his way up to the mess, just a short jaunt for him on Deck Three so he would've been there before them even without all the heavy conversating. His head is pounding as he beelines for the fabricators, punching in any old random combination since it all tastes the same to him anyway. Mmm, space slop, his favorite. After a handful of minutes, he makes his way to the most secluded table he can find, satisfied as his headache begins waning at the first taste of his radioactive-looking orange juice.

Whenever those idiots are done having a heart-to-heart about him, Joe is drinking his awful coffee and staring at his food like if he does long enough it will climb into his empty belly of its own accord. He really needs to soak up some of that kerosene he ingested last night (early this morning...?) but throwing up in the mess hall is too rock bottom, even for him. He spots them come in together easily, and when he sees Alex and Bobbie together he realizes that she must be from Mars, too. Tall, nice-skin-having motherfuckers. He holds up two fingers in a lazy greeting. By the time they get their food and make it over to him he's gotten through most of the orange juice and almost nothing of the rest.

"How sweet," he commentates dryly. "Gang's all here."