#carhaix

[postcard-from-the-past]

Young woman from Carhaix, Brittany region of France

French vintage postcard

[chemiosmotic]

well. TECHNICALLY my codename gem prediction was right.

[hippography]

ÉPREUVE ATTELÉE A MAEL-CARHAIX (Côtes-du-Nord) 

Au milieu du parcours varie, après le montée d’un chemin rocailleux en pente dure, à ornières profondes, l’attelage oblique brusquement à angle droit, s’arrête net pour fournir renseignements au membre de jury, et démarre pour la grimpette finale. Femmes et enfants de village proche suivent avec un intérêt remarquable la phase critique du démarrage en côte.

Cliché E. Frouin

E. Frouin, 1927, Le Cheval Breton.

[paolo-streito-1264]

Pierre Le Gall. Towards Carhaix, 1974.

[radicalgraff]

"Death to the State, Long live Anarchy"

Seen in Carhaix, France

[clementineskesh]

Transcript

Stargrave Elcessor is sitting in her office just repeatedly pressing the button, just over and over again. Click, click, click, click, click. She's watching her feeds, hoping that it will explode, hoping that she will die, that everyone will die, because to her, death is less scary than the threat of fundamental real change.

[Nothing is Stationary starts playing]

But nothing happens when she hits the button. Nothing will ever happen when she hits the button ever again, when anyone hits this button ever again. And to be clear, by taking them offline, it's not just that you've prevented them from exploding. It's that, you know, exploding is their secondary function already. It used to be that these things were built to explode. But for the Divine Principality, stellar combustors were built to prevent explosions, metaphorical and mundane. They are a threat meant to pause possibility, to halt history itself.

And that is what deactivating the stellar combustors has done. This is what Millennium Break has done. It's opened up history. It's created possibility for people across the galaxy. Boots are still on necks, but the biggest hammer, the sharpest knife, the strongest disincentive against pushing back is gone.

And they might do it quietly. But the people on Tartarus 5 celebrate. On Lonn and to Helaine Delta in Thulsa and Xenacip. They celebrate on Bhopal Kha and Maine and Bishamonten, on Carjal and Isfahan and all the rest. On research stations and refineries and on standard spread worlds: not everyone, not every one, but some people touch hands and light candles and some launch fireworks and hide before anyone asks any questions

And some people make plans. On Altar and Brighton and Crown and Gift-3, they make plans. On Moonlock and Seneschal and Skein, on Thyrsis, and on Volition, and on the Brink, and all throughout the Twilight Mirage, they make plans. And in Sinder Karst and in Joyous Guard, in Carhaix, on the Isle of the Broken Key, in City City, on New Oath, in the Crown of Glass, in Baseline; all across Palisade, the plans are already in motion.

Jade Kill: in motion. Violet Cove and Rose River, Carmine Bight and Gray Pond: in motion. The Blue Channel: they're moving on them now, because against all odds tomorrow is coming and it brings more work. And for the first time in weeks, the sun will feel good on their skin as they do it.

[leahsfiction]

PALISADE 20: In Their Fear Pt. 1 (00:22:21–00:29:57)

“Well, the good news is that it’s still 3 Grip, which means that—”

“Yeah.”

“—we will have a chance to take care of this.”

“Jack? Take it away.”

Something bad is in the air. Bilat crafts teeter in the sky like anxious flies. The distant sound of heavy ships taking off in great black columns of launch smoke. Everything seems too bright. The day is too warm. The headache sits on your forehead and on your temples.

In Carhaix, someone drops a tray of wine glasses. Pleasure yachts and private transit gather at the closed Portcullis Gate, and as it opens vanish into distant Principality space, passing ship after ship of settlers as they pour into the Palisade System.

In the early afternoon, the sun dims, and a red band of light appears around the middle of it, like a bauble wrapped in a ribbon, or a horrible mirror of the Diadem. It’s dim enough to look at directly, but it still hurts your eyes. There is a whine in the air. Every couple of hours there is a rumble of radiation static, and a corona jets from the surface of the sun.

The animals respond in fear. Birds rise, suddenly alarmed, from the trees, or cower silently in crowded branches. Rabbits and foxes freeze, dumb, in the middle of walkways. Ants rise en masse from cracks in the walls. Rivers seem to run slow, with an algaed stink.

Some of the spies know nothing and continue as usual, keeping their mouths shut, answering questions curtly, bargaining limitedly for clemency. When others see the quality of light in the room change, and the demeanour of the people around them alter—why do the calls to Gucci Garantine keep getting dropped? What was that scream of Nidean engines overhead?—they change their tune quickly. They start making specific bargains. Get me off-world. Get me through the Portcullis Gate and I will tell you anything you want. Or they close their mouths, defiant, eyes up. Millennium Break. You do not know the sharpness of the dagger on which you walk.

Of course this is unproportional, they think. What a waste. We’re in a good place. We know the identity of Hexagon. So they made some gains in the Bontive Valley. So they fucked us up on the Isle of the Broken Key. Small beer. We are the most powerful empire in the galaxy. The blood is in the grip. But the Stargrave, these pissant revolutionaries, are gonna get this whole thing blown up.

Or: they let something slip in their fear. The Stargrave has gone mad. She was on the edge and you fucked it. They say the BIS boss went to stay with her, try and calm her down. They say she makes her staff practice dying. They say she got wind that you were trying to come for her and fled, it only made this malady worse, this is the end of the world.

When the message comes to you—secondhand, of course, the Cause council has seen this first—it shows in grainy low-resolution the pinched face of an aide-de-camp as she turns the camera on. Then she tilts it nauseatingly, the view dips, and we see the only remaining right angle of a small ruined building. It seems to be surrounded by trees. The roof came away long ago; just two brick walls stand, forming the corner in which the Stargrave stands.

She is a blonde woman in her late fifties, maybe her mid sixties. She wears full military regalia. On her right arm, from her hand up to her shoulder, is clamped an unwieldy metal device, somewhere between a leg brace and a trigger mechanism. A leather strap, almost like the bit of a horse’s bridle, with eight buttons on it, crosses the palm of her right hand which faces towards the camera. Beneath the device you can almost see that her right sleeve has been rolled up to the shoulder, or cut neatly, and two IV needles run from its metal armature: one into her upper arm, and one just above her wrist. Her face is very pale; her lips white, pressed tightly together; dull light from the armed sun. She opens her mouth: silent for a second, lips parted. Then the man standing to her right—another aide-de-camp, carrying an assault rifle—speaks.

“Terrorists of Millennium Break. As a result of recent assaults on sovereign holdings in the Bontive Valley and the central transit network of this planet, as well as targeted assaults on her office, the Stargrave has been left with no choice but to arm the stellar combustors entrusted to her in holy power for the preservation of the Divine Principality.”

He takes a shaky breath.

“She has instructed me, in her wisdom, to communicate to you that any attempt to approach the Brecheliant Forest or the stellar combustor units, covertly or otherwise, as well as any attempt on Stargrave Elcessor’s life or liberty, will be met with—will be met with an immediate detonation. Resulting in the destruction of the planet Palisade, the sector designated the Twilight Mirage, and the twenty-three systems within the nearest achievable firebreak.”

“I have also been instructed to inform you that any attempt to seek a loophole, magical or mundane, or otherwise circumvent the terms of this message, will also result in an immediate detonation. The stellar combustors will remain armed until August Righteousness of Jade Kill; Véronique and the Divine Fealty of Rose River; Captain Skelton Knaggs of Carmine Bight; Saint Decario Dicario of Violet Cove; Jesset City of Gray Pond; and Gucci Garantine of Blue Channel turn themselves in to the Bilateral Intercession at the nearest checkpoint. This message will be rebroadcast throughout the Palisade System on the hour and at the half-hour.”

There is a long moment of silence. Then the Stargrave nods imperceptibly; then the aide behind the camera turns it off.

[heliological]

I wanted to listen to these together

audio from Palisade 01, 18, and 25, transcript under the cut

Austin [as Baldwin Home]: We have held our breath, we have closed our eyes, we have tied ourselves down with rope and wire. We have flown in retrograde, we have swum against the tide, we've tried every last trick to stop the clock's stride. But nothing is stationary. No, nothing is stationary. I said, nothing is stationary. They're moving on us now.

Austin [as Baldwin Home]: It’s your boy, Baldwin Home, a.k.a. Black Screen, Concrete Front, you already know what it is. Hitting you with another missive from the front lines, giving you an update on their missiles and known crimes, so you can move under their noses and know where they sharpen their knives, so you can recognize it by sound and get your own honed too, 'cause they need to be. What did I say? Play it back! Play it back! They’re— they’re— they’re moving on us now.

Austin: And they might do it quietly. But the people on Tartarus 5 celebrate. On Lonn and Helaine Delta and Thulsa and Xenacip, they celebrate. On Bhopal Kha and Maine and Bishamonten, on Carjal and Isfahan and all the rest. On research stations and refineries and on standard spread worlds: not everyone, not every one, but some people touch hands and light candles and some launch fireworks and hide before anyone asks any questions.

And some people make plans. On Altar and Brighton and Crown and Gift-3, they make plans. On Moonlock and Seneschal and Skein, on Thyrsis, and on Volition, and on the Brink, and all throughout the Twilight Mirage, they make plans. And in Sinder Karst, and in Joyous Guard, in Carhaix, on the Isle of the Broken Key, in City City, on New Oath, in the Crown of Glass, in Baseline: all across Palisade, the plans are already in motion.

Jade Kill: in motion. Violet Cove and Rose River, Carmine Bight and Gray Pond: in motion. The Blue Channel: they’re moving on them now, because against all odds tomorrow is coming and it brings more work. And for the first time in weeks, the sun will feel good on their skin as they do it.

[stylecouncil]

Pete Doherty, July 18, 2008 in Carhaix-Plouguer, western France 📸: Fred Tanneau

[endlich-allein]

Rammstein, Festival des Vieilles Charrues, Carhaix, France, 18-07-2013 © Mathieu Ezan

[postcard-from-the-past]

Folklore garments from Carhaix, Brittany region of France

French vintage postcard, mailed in 1955

[queer-ragnelle]

If you did not do it already, can I ask for Lot in the Vulgate passages ask?

The Story of Merlin: 37. The Tournament at Carhaix; the False Guenevere.

Send me a character and I'll reply with a Vulgate passage!

[ranticore]

TVM spoilers

I thought a lot about the funniest way to foreshadow the avatars and decided that jean mentioning them in his very first chapter, it going unacknowledged, and then him not thinking about it again because he's got better things to think about would be best

important to note that the old art doesn't show the carhaix avatar's antlers.

[pwopaganda]

The Solo

Citzen Erased - Muse (Live at Les Vieilles Charrues Festival, Carhaix-Plouguer, France - 16th July 2015)

[oldmon3y]

Lana Del Rey performing at the Vieilles Charrues in Carhaix, France on July 17, 2016

[clementineskesh]

Transcript:

Tartarus 5: Gas Mining Lonn: Resorts Helaine Delta: Duplicate of Helaine Gamma Thulsa: Standard Spread Xenacip: Lost Contact. Lost Portcullis Repair Team Bhopal Kha: Pact Occupied Maine: Lumber, Spice Bishamonten: Arms Manufacturing Carjel: Standard Spread Isfahan: Standard Spread Yoca: Standard Spread KX 93-39: Black Hole Research Lab Dul-Kaw: Established via Nidean Art grant Darre: Tomb Sector Ecou: Refugee Camps Edino: Quarantined Sector Skarnoc: Debris Fields Hilde: Gas Mining Por: Standard Spread Nova Melides: Abandoned Divine Clash Worlds Palamedes 8: Regional Refueling Depot Castax 8: Stratus Research Facility Ashlen: Standard Spread

Altar. Brighton. Crown. Gift-3. Moonlock. Seneschal. Skein. Thyrsus. Volition. The Brink. 

The Twilight Mirage and its neighbouring system, where the three rings of the stellar combustor whip in tight rotations around the bulging sun. 

Palisade. Itself a destination.

Oh, how could you? 

Sweaty and solemn and workaday too, because on Palisade most people don't have time to practice dying, to imagine their own funerals or the memorial services broadcast on Orion airwaves, the little statuettes, the plaques, the pins that turn misery into messaging. 

But that doesn't mean they aren't scared on Palisade. In Sinder Karst. In Joyous Guard. In Carhaix. On the Isle of The Broken Key. In City City. On New Oath. In the Crown of Glass. 

And they're scared on the Blue Channel too, but they're moving. Launching now, headed up, putting the world behind them, but drawing it closer at the same time. Fingers on their own triggers, fingers wrapped together, reaching, touching, grasping, in the dark.