BPAL Madness!: persianmouse - Viewing Profile - BPAL Madness!

As far as the Black Sisters go, Black Heart is definetely the most gentle of the sisters, but weighed down with despair and regret. To reuse the allusion, this would be Andromeda Black (you know, the not really evil sister).


Soft and a little somber, but with a real presence behind it, not a wilting waif wilting under despair. The fruits come out more prominently than anything else, the plum first and foremost, with the vitis riparia (a kind of grape) and pomegranate as plum's backup singers. I get a touch of sweet pea, too, like a flower in the hair. Sort of a "Terribly sorry my sisters have caused you so much grievance, but here, have this lovely fruit basket with my condolences. Hopefully they won't kill anymore of your godfathers, ehh?"

I'm going to try mixing all three Black Sisters tomorrow, and will edit this review with my thoughts on that.

Oh, dearie me, this is definitely the darker, more sinister sister of the Black family. This is Bellatrix Black, all full of murder and malevolence.

Simultaneously more imposing and lurking than either Black Lace or Black Heart, the bay, tobacco and clove are the most prominent notes, and I actually don't get much patchouli at all from it. There's a faint whiff of it, like if you went through an old, packed away trunk full of your old goth clothes from high school, when you bathed in a kiddie pool of patchouli every night.

I'm going to try mixing all three Black Sisters tomorrow, and will edit this review with my thoughts on that.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUCK! This is good. Like really good. Like new episode of LOST good. Like rolling around on the carpet good. It reminds me a bit of Shub-Niggurath or War, so there must be ginger in it, and maybe-stressing the maybe here- plum (there's something about it that reminds me of Dionysia). And its one of those ones you have to put on to appreciate it. Because in the bottle (and the first couple of seconds on my skin) it smelled of Nacho Cheese Doritos and RC Cola. But once it blooms on the skin...I just want to bite my wrist. Unlike Shub and War, it loses it's Nacho Cheesiness (ginger=Nacho Cheese Doritos in my screwed up little nose).

Maeve wears a lot of red-violet velvet, and has a tendency to be everywhere, lounging in a bored manner. She doesn’t have to do or say anything to be notice, you just simply notice her, often when its already too late. Maeve does not appreciate the all the ham-fisted and clumsy double-entendres everyone feels the need to make at her occupation, erroneously thinking they are being original and clever. Maeve isn't a young girl, but she ain't an old broad, and if you tried to offer her Nacho Cheese Doritos, she would slow swing her slightly disgusted and disbelieving gaze over to you, standing there like a tool, arm outstretched, chip bag dangling from your hands, and simply stare hard at you, unblinkingly, until your balls timidly retract back into your abdomen, and, utterly emasculated with shame of your own buffoonery, you slink away like a seagull from a slow-moving car in a mall parking lot.

She reminds me a bit of the Poodle Lady from Batman Returns, or the Harley Quinn from Azzarello's 2008 Joker graphic novel;a kind a still viciousness, taciturn and deadly pretty things.

I had the good fortune of receiving an imp of Sabrina, the Ring Mistress, from a lovely forumite who acquired a bottle from the god Zeus after she defeated the Kraken armed only with a fancy cane.

Smelling Sabrina the Ring Mistress in the imp, I really really REALLY didn’t want to put it on. It smelled like paint thinner and birthday cake from Wal-Mart (which is like mediocre cake filled with apathy and despair).

But put it on I did, and oh, goodness, to borrow a phrase, this one is a grower not a shower. NO MORE PAINT THINNER AND WAL-MART CAKE.

It stays very close to the skin, and I want to say I smell honey. Or something akin to honey. Or something that is absolutely nothing like honey, but in my head I have decided its honey. Whatever. ME SMELL PRETTY NOW is what I mean.

There’s something very innocent and sexy bordering on taboo about Sabrina. Like a pretty young girls petticoat or pantaloons. There’s something so gentle but so so fuckable about it. Innocent indecency. Like a pretty young girl adjusting her garters, unawares as to the peepshow she’s performing.

Oh, I like this.

This is a manly scent for a manly man who does manly things in a manly manner.

It goes out and arm-wrestles tigers for fun. This scent doesn’t open doors, it kicks them down, even if there’s no reason to, even if its an automatic door. This is the kind of scent that goes out to strip bars with Minotaur and Velvet Bandito, but he always treats the strippers with respect and will beat the crap out of any hooligan that tries to start shit with any of the girls. This scent sings the theme song from Men in Tights. This scent, if personified, would be Bruce Campbell. You know all those Old Spice commercials with the manly men doing manly things and eating golf balls? They’re based on this scent’s average weekend. This scent drives a Ford Thunderbird that runs on broken dreams (which is a big hit with the environmentalist crowd). This scent sits in its study and reads Ernest Hemingway while wearing a cravat and silk smoking jacket. This scent knows how to fight with broadswords, and keeps one in the trunk of his car in case battle ever breaks out, he is prepared. This man is swinging some serious trouser snake. This scent had to get its cod-piece custom made, as The Cod-Piece Hut didn't have any big enough; it's made from shark teeth and adamantium (fuck yeah, he gnawed off Wolverine's claws in a bar fight, SNIKT that, you brooding amnesiac motherfucker), and is big enough to cradle three ferrets. He plays Hungarian Dance No. 5 on his car radio as he leans out the window shooting evil ninja assassins with a crossbow and steering with his junk.

But it is not, and this is key, cologney. But it is manly. There’s clove. And cedar, maybe? The rest is just manly man.