[ The types of games - the added inflection he puts on the word isn't lost to her, nor has Aerith forgotten the series of surreal, sordid events that led to her absolutely needing a cake break to continue soldiering on. ]

So, like the champagne they put in that suite I woke up in, but worse? And all the time?

[ There's a note of concern in her voice, but it's barely more than a trace, missable entirely unless a person was listening for it. That he seems to have been exposed to more dire games where he comes from is the distraction she needs to pull her thoughts away from the picture her imagination is painting of the casino and its stream of perils - though what he must have gone through before coming here isn't exactly a more consoling notion to entertain. ]

I guess if you're coming from somewhere with real dangers horny champagne doesn't seem that bad, does it?