My TROLLCAT is trying to get me to take a nap.
TROLLCAT: “Mowm? Mowm? Mowwwwm!”
Me: “Mowm needs to finish this post, gimme a minute please.”
TROLLCAT: *hops into my lap, purrs and cranks up the cute*
Me: “Yes, you’re adorable. Please let me finish.”
TROLLCAT: *more cute, more purr*
Me: *sighs and tries to type with one hand*
TROLLCAT: *maximum cute, maximum purr*
Me: *frantically tries to finish*
TROLLCAT: *playfully grabs Mowms free hand*
If this posts today with loads of errors or trails off with random keystrokes, then you know who won the argument.😹
(I can always edit it later)
Act II continued. Missing Doc Constantine, will edit him in later when I get a bottle.
Xanthe, the Weeping Clown
From the corner of your eye, you see what seems to be a swirl of pale, translucent spirits. Ghostly in form, their faces are masks of pain and fury. Their insubstantial bodies churn and roil around a hissing, wailing clown. Her greasepaint is smeared with tears, and her fanged crimson mouth is turned down in a vicious scowl while blood drips from her lips. Her costume is torn and threadbare, and a steel-bright glint around her waist draws your eyes to an arsenal of razors, knives, and cleavers hanging from her belt. She swats futilely at the spirits as she shoves and scratches her way through the crowd.
Guava, orange peel, white pepper, spun sugar and apple blossom.
In the Bottle: Tropical fruit Cotton Candy
On Me: Guava is dominant. Like a lovely tropical Cotton Candy with a spicy kick. Hours later I get Apple Blossoms.
Iulia, L’Artiste du Diable
A chittering buzz rises from a small crowd that has gathered around an opulent velvet-draped tent. Some are fidgeting impatiently; others try in vain to peep within the tent. Within moments, a slim, stunningly handsome man emerges from the entryway to the sound of gasps and scattered applause. His face is lit with fierce joy, and he bows almost smugly to the assemblage. Grabbing a flirtatious blonde from the mob, he kisses her in a rush of mad passion, his arm encircles her waist, and he leads her directly to a nearby opium den. The crowd disperses, and curiosity pulls you forward. You push open the fringed, beaded tent-flap and enter the dimly-lit room. A lovely, voluptuous redhead stands before an ornate antique easel. Her luminous alabaster skin and the phosphorescence emanating from her paintbrush seem to be the only source of light. As you adjust to the gloom, you see that the walls are covered with atrocities: an exhibit of dissolution. The myriad canvases show men and women in various stages of rot and decay, a panoply of indulgence, teeth set in fury, mouths leering in lust, hands grasping greedily.
The scarlet woman turns her gleaming sightless eyes towards you and, in a husky, compelling voice, she speaks:
“Why let the years tear at your youthful splendor? Why let the mark of your sins stain your fine features? Will you let the cold, creeping grasp of time and the toil of temptation mar your visage? Why should the pleasures of our flesh wreak such havoc?”
She leans in close to you and whispers, “Let me capture your soul on this canvas in oil and blood, and you will be beautiful forever.”
White tea, sugar cane, orange blossom, rockrose, lemon balm, white mint, and honey.
In the Bottle: Fruit Stripes Gum. It’s hilariously wrong!
On Me: Sweet Citrus Tea, delicately sweetened with Mint and Honey.
A flash of light and the smell of sulfur seize your attention. A vast black tent stands before you, subtly glowing with an unnatural, almost phosphorescent light. This tent has no pennants, no ornamentation, save for a carved ebony sign, lettered in silver:
Legerdemain, Medium, Conjurer
One thousand years of marvels.
Enter at your peril.”
Another flash blinds you, and from a swirl of smoke a rakish, devilishly handsome man appears, long black hair falling down halfway to his waist, elegant and sinister in an inky silk tuxedo and a voluminous cape. The shadow he casts against the tent, oddly, seems to be that of an enormous corvus, and his eyes radiate a deep azure light. Staring fixedly at you, he snaps his fingers, and two bolts of violet lightning strike the ground on either side of him, blinding you momentarily. As your eyes adjust, you see that two lovely, slender, waiflike women now stand upon the scarred ground beside him, dressed in tattered ballerina costumes the nebulous color of smoke. Turning to his right, he touches the woman’s lips and says, “Seachd seachd uair!” She opens her mouth, and a flock of diminutive bats fly forth from her throat. Turning to his left, he touches the other woman’s hair and repeats, “Seachd seachd uair!” What once was a gleaming mane of stark white hair is now a nest of writhing vipers. She opens her mouth, baring fangs, and spits forth a thin stream of venom. The Master swirls his cape, which suddenly seems to grow and twist like a living shadow, and in a final flash of red lightning and a deafening thunderclap, he and both his assistants vanish.
Earl Grey tea leaves, a white fougere, jasmine leaf, pearlescent white musk, and vanilla bean.
In the Bottle: Fresh, the Earl Grey and Jasmine are prominent. As it ages, this fougere really gets amazing.
On Me: It’s a very sexy fougere, the Jasmine a heady changeup in an otherwise classic fougere. Tea is very lovely.
On my Son: Very much like Dorian is on him, only sweeter, and nope, not allowed to go out without me or an army of guards.
(I have to admit, I tend to be sneaky and get my friends to try this one on. Eventually going to get everyone hooked on these eventually.)
As you approach an enormous patchwork tent, a curious sound catches your attention: the rattle of bones and the tinkling of tiny bells heralds the arrival of a gaunt and ghastly creature. An animated skeleton dressed in a jester’s motley saunters towards the front of the tent, waving an orange and black striped cane at the crowd in an effort to clear a path. The jester makes his way past the fog-shrouded, faded, colossal posters that adorn the tent to a platform in front of the massive tent’s entrance. His ivory smile frozen in a gleeful rictus grin, he steps up onto the platform, taps the cane three times, and the jester costume vanishes. Suddenly dark eyes appear in the empty sockets, bones are wrapped in muscle, sinew grows over the bones, blood fills rapidly appearing veins. Before your eyes, the skeletal jester has become a dapper, handsome man, dressed in black and orange, with a skull-ornamented straw hat tilted jauntily upon his shining black hair.
His smile is slick and conspiratorial. With a flourish and arcing wave of his cane, he booms:
“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! This is Carnaval Diabolique’s notorious 13-In-1: the finest freak show in all the Hells! What marvels await you, you ask? Simply the strangest and most fantastic creatures, human and inhuman, gathered for your entertainment, enlightenment and erudition!”
With the cane, he gestures at the gigantic posters that adorn the tent. The images, once hazy, suddenly come into focus.
“From the depths of the Black Forest: Arachnina, the Spider Girl! From the rain-swept streets of London: Hope and Faith, the Siamese Twins! From ruins of old Aquae Sextia: Wulric, the Wolf Man!
“Thalassa, the Galapagos Mermaid! A vision of life-in-death, Eshe!
“All in all, THIRTEEN anatomical curiosities, miracles of genetics, magick and science, masters of marvels, ALIVE ON THE INSIDE!”
White musk, wild plum, vetiver, black coconut, verbena, fig, and lavender.
In the Bottle: Lavender and Coconut are dominant, with a hint of fruit.
On Me: The first time around I hated this one. It was just a jumble of hot guy in cheap cologne and serving cheap booze.
This one is the aura of a sexy man, bringing you a plum colada loaded with an abundance of sliced plums and coconut meat, glass rimmed with succulent figs… a light gentlemanly splash of citrusy lavender on the humid air to hold your attention.
Sip at that drink while he’s reeling you into the main event; The 13-in-1.
On My Son: He is never allowed out of the house without a horde of guards…
**Indulgent scents were acquired from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, all artwork shown here by Julie Dillon for their collection**