Item Description
You've been looking forward to tonight for weeks. Things have been hectic at work, and you've been worried that she doesn't understand why you're always so busy. Tonight you'll make things up to her. A table for two at that restaurant that everyone is talking about. A bottle of fine champagne. And that gift wrapped box in your pocket. She looks beautiful in the candlelight and...
You notice that someone is watching you from the bar. You and her. Tall, powerful, handsome. Dark wavy hair to his shoulders, his white shirt unbuttoned to his chest. He's smoking one Camel filterless after another, lighting them with matches that he strikes on his...long fingernails? You can feel fear welling up in your throat as, in the dim candlelight, he seems to be getting bigger and hairier as he glares at you both. Did he have a beard a few minutes ago? He tosses off another double bourbon, splashes some Hoyt's cologne on his muzzle and slides off his chair. He's coming your way, loping, his lips curled back in what might pass for a grin. Is he growling? A wave of something hits you like heat out of an oven...
That, my friends, is Fragonard Santal. Opens with a blast of civet, neroli and a sharp, ashy tobacco. If you can hang on for the ride, it dries down to a warm musky sandalwood. And it's harder to get rid of than than the blood on Lady Macbeth's hands. It's not for everybody, but I'd rather have it with me than against me.
You notice that someone is watching you from the bar. You and her. Tall, powerful, handsome. Dark wavy hair to his shoulders, his white shirt unbuttoned to his chest. He's smoking one Camel filterless after another, lighting them with matches that he strikes on his...long fingernails? You can feel fear welling up in your throat as, in the dim candlelight, he seems to be getting bigger and hairier as he glares at you both. Did he have a beard a few minutes ago? He tosses off another double bourbon, splashes some Hoyt's cologne on his muzzle and slides off his chair. He's coming your way, loping, his lips curled back in what might pass for a grin. Is he growling? A wave of something hits you like heat out of an oven...
That, my friends, is Fragonard Santal. Opens with a blast of civet, neroli and a sharp, ashy tobacco. If you can hang on for the ride, it dries down to a warm musky sandalwood. And it's harder to get rid of than than the blood on Lady Macbeth's hands. It's not for everybody, but I'd rather have it with me than against me.
