Robin is catching on. Phalanx's attention is wrangled and focused on the soap and bubbles, their head lolls to the side within the blanket hood, and the memories start floating up. It's something to look at, something easy to scan bits of lifetimes for.

Information comes together in a very roundabout way, but it still makes a picture that Phalanx can understand.

"Small ones. Small, like... small bowl, small water, small... me? And-- what is it?"

Phalanx lifts their hand under the waterlogged blanket--probably intending for a gesture while they think--but the resulting slosh of water is distracting. The rest of the thought is immediately gone.