Cologne

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    Crowley

    Nothing about him looked particularly demonic, at least by classical standards. No horns, no wings. Admittedly he was listening to a Best of Queen tape, but no conclusions should be drawn from this because all tapes left in a car for more than a fortnights metamorphose into Best of Queen albums. No particularly demonic thoughts were going through his head. In fact, he was wondering vaguely who Moey and Chandon were.

    Crowley had dark hair, and good cheekbones, and he was wearing snakeskin shoes, or at least presumably he was wearing shoes, and he could do really weird things with his tongue. And, whenever he forgot himself, he had a tendency to hiss.

    Infernal musk, red patchouli, lilac cologne, mahogany, lemon rind, oakmoss, leather, and vanilla husk.

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    Det. Patrick Gleason Perfume Oil

    A classic men’s cologne splashed over a leather trenchcoat and a hint of gunshot residue.

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    Foolish and Vacuous Perfume Oil

    She was glad to see the back of him. When he failed to return that night she didn't even think of weeping about it. He was foolish and vacuous. She despaired of ever seeing a haunted look in his dull eyes; and what worth was a man who could not be haunted?

    A scent with no depth: a light, reedy, almost vapid take on a classic men’s fougere.

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    Isaac, The Living Skeleton Perfume Oil

    To your side, you hear a man’s deep whisper, “Slowly I turned… inch by inch… step by step….” A scream interrupts him, and a roar of laughter pulses through the shadowed hall. Following the commotion, you move to the next stage. A bone-thin man moves across the stage, and sits upon an overstuffed, threadbare armchair. A battered violin is propped against the chair’s side. The audience starts to dissipate, and you realize that you must have just missed his performance. Relaxing, he reclines lazily, and as the light falls on his face, you come to realize that he is truly skeletal: a thin membrane of skin covers most of his body, but in many places, bone is completely exposed. He winks at you, and chuckles at your obvious discomfiture. The sweet smoke from his cigar touches your senses, and you hear the soft clink of the ice as he swirls the bourbon in his tumbler.

    “Late for the show, are ya, friend? I’ll tell you a quick one, and then you’d best skedaddle. I have better things to do than sit here and be gawked at all night.” He takes a swig from his tumbler.

    “A man goes to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist says, ‘I think you’re crazy.’ The man says, ‘I want a second opinion.’ The psychiatrist shrugs and says, ‘Alright, you’re ugly, too.’”

    His attention is diverted by a scantily clad woman in the audience beside you, and he leers at her. “Hello, nurse!” he growls, and leans towards her lecherously. “How’s about you come back to my dressing room, and I show you my stamp collection?”

    Bourbon, black tobacco tar, dry bone, bay rum aftershave, and sleazy cologne.

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    Lordy Perfume Oil

    For the folksy FBI agent in your life. Reminiscent of a classic 1950’s men’s cologne with a shuffle of paper, a briefcase-snap of black leather, and yesterday’s cold coffee.

    Proceeds benefit the American Civil Liberties Union.

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    Mad Hatter Perfume Oil

    A gentlemen’s lavender-citron cologne unhinged by the feral pungence of black musk and a paroxysm of pennyroyal.

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    Mastermind Perfume Oil

    Inspired by the character HUNTER ROSE.
    The first of the Grendel legacy, a stylish, best-selling author who leads a double life as a relentless assassin and all-powerful mob overlord.

    An elegant cologne of olibanum, opoponax, leather accord, black amber, bois de jasmine, cade wood, pale balsam, orange blossom, oudh, black plum, bourbon vanilla, and sandalwood.

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    Mr. Qubit Perfume Oil

    An eccentric genius and leader of the superhero team The Paradigm, Qubit can meld and shape technology with a gesture, allowing him to create whatever he can envision.

    Gleaming metal, electrical discharge, and a whiff of tinny cologne.

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  • RED VELVET TUXEDO

    Red Velvet Tuxedo Perfume Oil

    A very special Yuletide sponsorship scent, dressed up for a scandalous night on the town:

    red velvet fruitcake with buttercream and a splash of cologne.

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  • sister death

    Sister Death Perfume Oil

    My sister Death! I pray thee come to me

    Of thy sweet charity,

    And be my nurse but for a little while;

    I will indeed lie still,

    And not detain thee long, when once is spread,

    Beneath the yew, my bed:

    I will not ask for lillies or for roses;

    But when the evening closes,

    Just take from any brook a single knot

    Of pale Forget-me-not,

    And lay them in my hand, until I wake,

    For his dear sake;

    (For should he ever pass and by me stand,

    He might understand ―)

    Then heal the passion and the fever

    With one cool kiss, for ever.

    – Digby Mackworth Dolben 

    Pale gilded lilies and roses in the labdanum shadow of a yew tree, a sprig of forget-me-not, the dwindling memory of a genteel cologne, and the honeyed breathlessness of a kiss.

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    The Convocation Perfume Oil

    A small sign in the hotel lobby announced that the Washington Room was taken that night by a private function, although there was no information as to what kind of function this might be. Truthfully, if you were to look at the inhabitants of the Washington Room that night, you would have no clearer idea of what was happening, although a rapid glance would tell you that there were no women in there. They were all men, that much was clear, and they sat at round dinner tables, and they were finishing their dessert.

    There were about a hundred of them, all in sober black suits, but the suits were all they had in common. They had white hair or dark hair or fair hair or red hair or no hair at all. They had friendly faces or unfriendly, helpful or sullen, open or secretive, brutish or sensitive. The majority of them were pink-skinned, but there were black-skinned men and brown-skinned. They were European, African, Indian, Chinese, South American, Filipino, American. They all spoke English when they talked to each other, or to the waiters, but the accents were as diverse as the gentlemen. They came from all across Europe and from all over the world.

    A macabre mélange of swanky men’s colognes.

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    The Magician Perfume Oil

    Wood and copper mimicking life, dressed in a gentleman’s cologne. An elegant automaton wonder built to fascinate.

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    Trevor Bruttenholm Perfume Oil

    A classic men’s cologne mixed with the scent of old, yellowed books, a splash of bay rum, and summoning incense.

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    Vicomte de Valmont Perfume Oil

     I promised her my eternal love, and I actually thought that for a couple of hours. 

    Rake, scoundrel, demon in a frock coat. Devilishly seductive, ultimately tragic; a villain undone and redeemed by love. Based on an 18th century gentlemen’s cologne: ambergris, white musk, white sandalwood, Spanish Moss, orange blossom, three mints, jasmine, rose geranium and a spike of rosemary.

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  • Wilde Perfume Oil

    To stab my youth with desperate knives, to wear
    This paltry age’s gaudy livery,
    To let each base hand filch my treasury,
    To mesh my soul within a woman’s hair,
    And be mere Fortune’s lackeyed groom, — I swear
    I love it not! these things are less to me
    Than the thin foam that frets upon the sea,
    Less than the thistle-down of summer air
    Which hath no seed: better to stand aloof
    Far from these slanderous fools who mock my life
    Knowing me not, better the lowliest roof
    Fit for the meanest hind to sojourn in,
    Than to go back to that hoarse cave of strife
    Where my white soul first kissed the mouth of sin.

    A sophisticated traditional gentleman’s cologne, with just the slightest taint of patchouli’s passion, tonka bean’s decadence, the philanthropy of bergamot, moss’ cynicism, the sharp wit of lavender, and the hopeless romantic longing of jasmine and thyme.

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