Lost Carnival | IC Contact

[periphrasing]

✆CHANNEL FREQUENCY: 319.03058
DESCRIPTION: Don't ask her about the significance of the number of her frequency. It's something about the production code of her favorite episode of CPH and some other significant numbers from that show, who even knows...

✉MAIL BOX LOCATION: Mailbox is on her door, it's shaped like a chicken???
DESCRIPTION: She doesn't really see the point of correspondence by mail. You're better off hitting up her radio or finding her in person if it's something important.

Comments

[periphrasing]

[Peridot wrinkles her nose at that and considers that explanation for a moment.]

Okay, sure. But WHICH home is it talking about then? I was made on Homeworld but it's not actually my home anymore. Earth is my home. But I guess, The Carnival is also my home? And then there's Portland--

[Alyss cannot possibly have these answers, but Peridot is asking her anyway.]

[ringleaders]

Um... I don't know?

[Alyss sounds like she's genuinely trying.]

But it usually means the first place you came from. Where you were born, right? So if you were made on Homeworld, that's probably it.

[She points at another part of the letter]

It says "fruits of your creation" here, but usually the phrase is "fruits of your labour", which means the end result of your effort, usually when it's a good thing. So maybe it means the positive results of your birth?

[periphrasing]

[Peridot leans in to squint thoughtfully at that part of the letter, one hand over her mouth.]

Hmmm... I see. That doesn't necessarily narrow anything down of course, because I'm an incredibly precious and important gem with everything to offer to the world, so the positive results of my so called 'birth' are actually quite numerous.

[She grabs the letter back from Alyss and holds it up close to her face to squint at it again for a minute, until she finally lets her arms fall back to her sides, temporarily defeated.] I'll... need to think further on this. Um... Thank you, for your assistance. And for delivering this to me. Nyeh... Here. For your trouble.

[She reaches into the other pocket of her slacks and fishes the first thing she lays her hands on to provide as a tip. In this case: It's a beat up old tamagotchi with a cracked screen, which Peridot definitely dug out of a dumpster somewhere. She presses it into Alyss's hand, warns her not to forget to feed it, and moseys off, lost in thought.]