[ Maybe some day Jon will look back on this moment and reason that it was likely that Aerith had access to a mop or two for cleaning the tubs. They're provided, of course, you merely need to look for, or ask for, one. If he reasons that, he might be able to figure out that Aerith is terribly bad at saying goodbye to people quicker than she likes; selfishly, she makes it so that the two of them are stuck scrubbing the tub down, just to keep him stuck with her for a bit longer.

Sorry, Jon. ]

Oh, you know... [ Aerith dips back into the bath, landing with a wet noise. She giggles, quick and soft, before she continues. ] Political assassinations. Cursed dolls that give you nightmares. Nightmare rain... Drugs from the black market... What else? [ She stops to think for a moment, gathaering up recollections of her time in Hell. It doesn't take long for her to think of something else to tell him about, at least. ] Oh, right. Parades.