the branded imperial

Title: Footprints in the Sand

Rating: PG

A/N: For Day Two: “Above His Pay Grade”, hosted by @bodhirookweek. Rogue One additional scene: from the Rebel Alliance High Command Room on Yavin 4, before Jyn speaks Bodhi tries to convince them to act but feels as though his attempts amount to nothing, as if he is a grain of sand in a shifting sea soon to be swallowed up and forgotten. But he is wrong, he is leaving footprints that another person (or two, or three) may follow in…


“Heroism never paid well on the streets of Ni-Jedha, but not helping when you knew you should always has the higher cost. Constantly ignoring the myriad of Imperial wrong-doings towards everyday people, neighbors you see every morning and vendors you buy your lunch from ever day, it chips away at your soul.” The room fell silent at Bodhi’s words.

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Goose Island “Bourbon County Brand Coffee Stout”

97 A+

Bourbon County Brand Coffee Stout is an Imperial Stout brewed with Intelligentsia Black Cat espresso beans, then aged in bourbon barrels. This particular bottle dates back to 2010, and the label suggests no greater than five years in the cellar, so I assume the coffee character will have greatly diminished. This is released in small amounts, so finding a bottle might be difficult.

Aromas are packed with bourbon, but carry a surprising amount of fruity notes resembling cherries and dates. Finer hints of licorice. Thick malt notes stand out like dark cocoa and baker’s chocolate over an edge of coffee. Malts give heavy sweet notes like molasses, while the bourbon adds a warm vanilla character with a fine hint of oak. Alcohol adds some prominent boozy notes.

The palate begins with abundant sweetness flavored like brown sugar and maple syrup. Coffee surfaces in a light roast as malts dig deeper toward a body of chocolate with flavors of malted milk balls and fudge. Fruity tones arise in a black cherry likeness with a touch of licorice. The malt continues to expand, developing a slightly deeper roast as 60 IBU’s of bitterness weigh things down. Loads of bourbon notes envelop the back-end with flavors of vanilla, leading up to a sour, lactic acidity while alcohol rises to the surface in a gentle climax of spice. Sweetness then pushes past the aftertaste in a semi-sticky display of syrupy molasses. Finishing notes reveal deeper characteristics of oak with suggestions of tobacco. The mouthfeel provides a wet, slick, well-rounded body over dull carbonation. It’s got a smooth texture and viscosity like chocolate milk, which allows for some surprisingly drinkability, despite the high ABV. Alcohol departs with considerable chest warmth, requiring slow sipping.

This reminds me of coffee with vanilla ice cream and syrup. It’s a sweet, malt-forward double stout. I’m getting a huge bourbon presence, much more than coffee. As for the negative side, I would prefer a bit more roast and bitterness to help balance the sweetness, but this is likely a factor related to the age of my bottle. I’ve enjoyed it, but perhaps my expectations were a bit too high. Overall, it’s more of a sweet dessert beer best suited for two. I recommend it to those of you with a palate deep enough to appreciate the flavorful impact of the bourbon barrel on a double stout. Cheers to you, Vic!

Known Hops: Willamette

Known Malts: 2-Row, Munich, Chocolate, Caramel, Roast Barley, Debittered Black


60 IBU

Chicago, Illinois

'S e e d'  - Sabin Adaar/Lady Josephine Montilyet

The Belle Marché glittered with the fruit of a dozen nations, baubles pried from their homelier crowns and reset in an already elaborate market. Ruddy-faced cooks with their calloused hands sniffed and poked and haggled with merchants while frantic servants packed crates to order.  

In the market square there was a little blonde child with swollen mosquito bites spotting her chubby legs.

On a sun-warmed bench, beside Val Royeaux’s hundredth gilded fountain, Sabin ate cherries from a sack and considered the girl’s splotchy skin. She stood in the shade of a nearby awning while a woman, presumably her mother, asked something of the merchant behind a display of toys. The child glanced around wet-eyed, now and then rubbing her legs together like a cricket. It must have been maddening, that itch.

Sabin spat a pit into the cup of her fist, ate another cherry, and continued to watch.

The mother and little girl came closer to Sabin, giving her a wide berth and a long stare before approaching an apothecary’s window that opened to the street.  The mother asked for a soothing balm. The apothecary pushed a jar of pulpy soaproot mash across the counter.

It was the wrong choice. Sabin chewed her cherry flesh, rolling the seed until it was naked and hard against her teeth. She spat the pit into her fist.

It wasn’t the skin needing relief, it was the blood; The surface only a symptom of the body’s inborn weakness.  As a child she’d suffered the same: her mosquito bites turning to hot, angry welts while other people got mild bumps the size of pinpricks. She’d learned to treat the cause, not the result.  Somehow the painted matriarchs of a nation so vast and fierce had yet to come to the same conclusion.

Lady Josephine would likely tell her to keep such observations to herself at court.

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What do a tranquil horse stable, an urban puristic subway station, a photography studio, the rooftops and car parks of cologne and the stylish Kameha Grand Bonn Hotel have in common?
They match perfectly as locations for italian designer brands like Imperial, Please & Dixie in any case! So they became our “playgrounds” for more than a week, countless hours, creating loads of footage for a total of 5 various lookbooks & short fashion trailer. What a hard but funny time. I’m pretty curious on how the lookbooks & fashion trailers will appear in the end, after I’m done with editing and the post-production. Stay tuned!


Letters written by the child killer in his high-security psychiatric hospital give a chilling insight into the contempt he still holds for society
Ian-Brady.jpg Monster: Ian Brady in 1990
The full dark depths of Moors Murderer Ian Brady’s crazed mind can be revealed today in a series of bizarre and venomous letters written in his room in a high-security psychiatric hospital.

In his deranged scribblings, the killer rants about how celebrities like Noel Edmonds and Chris Evans should be “culled”.

He brands The Beatles puerile and calls for organised working class riots against “the free-loading bone-idle middle classes”.

And when 76-year-old Brady isn’t lashing out he makes sinister inferences to his crimes, hinting that he would like to go back to places where he could find reminders of his past.

In what seems like a taunt to those still hoping to find the body of 12-year-old victim Keith Bennett on Saddleworth Moor, he says: “If I had ever returned, I would have been like an archaeologist, searching … for the remains of the old in hidden nooks and corners.”

Brady’s eight letters were handed to the Sunday Mirror by Micky Lloyd, 35, a campaigner with relatives trying find Keith’s body. He contacted the killer hoping for clues about the site of the schoolboy’s grave.

The monster’s ramblings emerge just days after our sister paper the Daily Mirror revealed how Brady, jailed for life in 1966 for killing five children, is showing signs of dementia.

It comes months after a mental health tribunal where he failed to convince experts he was sane and should be moved from Ashworth Hospital, Merseyside, to a jail.

Brady tells how he keeps his hospital room in darkness. He writes: “In this tomb sunrise and sunset isn’t even noticed! My curtains are permanently shut. No point being reminded of the real world.”           

But soon his bile is spilling out – with celebrities in the firing line. He rants: “A cull is urgently needed and would be immensely popular with a daily scoreboard and public votes for future candidates.

Cull or no cull: Noel Edmonds
“I’m sure practically everyone has a long list of ones they would like to see depart from their screens.

“There was a popular French film about a guy who invents a death ray to kill anyone who bores him on television – especially politicians and pundits, etc.

“The likes of Noel Edmonds and Chris Evans come crawling back from nowhere, not content to enjoy the pile they’ve made but craving more fame.”

And he adds, chillingly: “Most professional criminals are modest in their ambitions and content to retire young.”

Brady also blasts his own generation’s most popular stars. He says The Beatles, “with their little uniform and haircuts… were puerile” and says the “celeb culture must be the most banal ever evolved”.

The self-proclaimed intellectual – who claims he is “not a preaching moralist” – rails against “the bone idle middle classes sponging enormous salaries for doing nothing”.

Class war: Rioters should target middle class areas, Brady says
He adds: “Whining middle-class drinkers resent the fact that the working-class can now afford to drink as much as the middle-class has done. Just as they also resent the working-class being able to travel all over the world, instead of paddling in sewage in Blackpool.”

He urged rioters to target middle-class homes, saying: “Pity rioters in general do it in their own districts. They need organising before the next riots. The middle-classes are far overdue for working-class attentions.”

Brady brands the Government “western imperial fascists” and said the Iraq War inquiry was “one big yawn”.

He blasted the honours system, saying: “The UK only preserves religious, Royal or any other symbols of fascist ­establishment.”

Glaswegian Brady also tells how he loved boozing. “Cockburn’s vintage port is a pleasant drink,” he says.

And, again seeming to hint at his murders, he boasts how he and his sidekick Myra Hindley guzzled ­Drambuie on “some special occasions”.