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Topics - Linden Laine

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Elsewhere Accepted / Oudh . shop permit
« on: 27/06/2019 at 21:53 »

Shop name:  Oudh
Shop Type:  Perfume shop
Location:  Diagon Alley
Subforum?  Yes [via gringotts]

Concept: The fragrances produced at Oudh are created using potions techniques and some magical ingredients; this means that while they are mostly ordinary perfumes, and many of them are perfectly ordinary, magical fragrances fix to the wearer according to the fragrance’s purpose and act as low-grade enchantments, similar to magical sweets.
  • In the same way that ordinary perfumes do, they may or may not affect the people around the wearer. This is entirely up to others whether they choose to be affected by a fragrance, and how, keeping in mind the following:
  • The perfume may or may not smell so great on the wearer if the blend isn’t right for them. For mundane perfumes, this is often determined by body chemistry, but a magical perfume’s match to a person has to do with their intention, same as a spell— you can’t cast Protego by performing Expelliarmus, and you can’t properly wear something called Aptitude if you aren’t going to make an effort. Then again, that could also have other effects, couldn’t it?
  • Unlike a spell, a fragrance doesn't require the wearer to know its intention to be used and smell lovely. However, its effects will not manifest with intention if the wearer's disposition is contrary to the fragrance.
  • Fragrances wear off naturally over 8-12 hours, or can be easily washed off. This applies to ordinary fragrances as well.
  • Mostly ordinary blends are still powerful in their ability to spark memory and emotion. Placebo effects based on the name of a blend have been observed.
  • Really special magical fragrances would need to be approved as special requests before ordering from Oudh.

Short Description (50 words max): Enchanting fragrances since 1910.
Long Description (200 words min):
The storefront is unassuming, simplistic and classic with two bay windows on either side of a narrow door. Unique, colorful, and antique bottles and atomizers decorate shelves in both bays. The façade and the hanging sign above the door are made of the fragrant wood after which the shop is named. The sign is carved in relief style, using thin letters painted beige. The planter beneath the shop window bears a variety of seasonal flowers enchanted to disperse the Fragrance of the Day during business hours.

The bottles in the bays cast colored light across the shop throughout the day as the sun streams in, creating rainbows over displays of sample bottles— amber, cobalt, crystal clear— arranged in tall stepped shelves, located centrally in a circle facing outward. There are seven stands with a different fragrance profile to each of six, and a final one presenting blends only. Testing papers and a shot glass of coffee beans to cleanse the scent are offered beneath each selection of samples.

Oudh’s extraction process is entirely on display throughout the shop. Suspended from the ceiling and fastened to the walls, copper and glass tubes in helix spirals transport liquids from one end of the room to another, following (or not) the path around the long workbench that lines the inner walls. Occasionally, one of the tubes detaches and deposits its burden into some glass container or other, and reattaches itself, allowing the next fluid to come along its merry way as vials turn in simple machines, and boilers softly fume. Anyone attempting to cross the counter or touch the tubes will experience a painful spark unless otherwise authorized to do so.

What purpose will this shop serve other than selling things and being the home of your character? Why would people want to RP there just for fun?
The shop will offer perfume blends (a la wand shops) so folks can do those signups/threads with me or a shop assistant to obtain an interesting thing to write/plot with.

Elsewhere Accepted / Linden Laine
« on: 14/06/2019 at 20:52 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Linden Laine
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Blood Status: Halfblood

Education:  Hogwarts, Ravenclaw ‘46

Residence: London

Occupation: Perfumer

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?  No.

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 6
  • Divination: 12
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Summoning: 6

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?  N/A

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:

“Neroli.    Raw honey.    Brandy, and almond.  And a hint of tonka absolute, just next to the ambergris.”


It clung to the cloth, at once both setting and diamond: a diamond so beautifully cut, so  only the simple and the blind would not see how clearly it shone. I would say nothing about what it meant.

He had worn it every day of his storied career, like the spell that kept him on top. I remember it strongest on the day that we met.

My father owned Laine To Rest Funeral Parlour, and I was the junior mortician. Per his wishes, I was meant to take it over when he retired or died, whichever came first; I spent much of my time between services staring at the caskets on display, both outcomes proffering equal dread. I thanked Merlin and Morgana every morning for the adamance that his company name was the cleverest in the business, or Laine and Son would have sealed my fate with every next organ slipped into a jar.

It wasn’t that I feared or loathed the solemn dead. It was that the whole business bore the most unbearable
reek to which I had never accustomed.

I went into many services without the details, my father having handled the sales, the embalming, the cosmetics. It was my job to prepare the space and the mourners— decor and seating, coats, flowers, brooms. I relaxed only when the final guests were settled, but not on that day.

Renato was speaking at this service with a handkerchief over his nose as if suffering a cold, voice bell-clear as if he were not. I, the steadfast usher at the back, pausing at the sight, held my breath against the lilies, the teak, the miasma-tainted hall. And in the middle of the eulogy, he looked at me, witnessed my own sensitivity to the flower arrangements— and the coffin, the crying, the elderly, the dead—

After the service, I was certain I should not stay.

He took me by the arm as I dared turn away, but caught me by the nose. His own, he kept covered. “You can’t do this,” he said to me beneath that square of linen, and in silence I agreed. I could feel my eyes dilate for more than just those cornflower blues. “Come to work for me or you’ll destroy a gift.”

I found it difficult, as usual, to say no. Indeed, his fragrance made it impossible. I swear that bouquet stirred me from a twenty-year dream. Talk about a wake.

“It’s a custom blend.” I returned the handkerchief to unimpressed Aurors. “Personal.”

He claimed me as an apprentice before I had the chance to ask, wafting essences at me, dabbing me with— I still don’t know what. But I learned every vial in a fragrant week’s time, from Abramelin to zinnia, and all the notes between. Powerful, intoxicating, magic. But how?   Renato watched me every time, expecting something in my eyes like dawn, like dew, to light. God, and when they did—

“Tell me everything about it, Linden!” his fevered eyes begged as he took me by the shoulders and laughed. “Who are they? Where are you? How am I?”

What scared me was not the flame of life that burst like madness into him, it was that I could tell him, quite precisely, exactly what he’d asked. To this day, sassafras will always excite me with that grin. I can feel his heartbeat.

I filled notebooks with the musings of a mused nose, and he devoured them the moment my pen lifted from page. We talked then about time in a bottle, memory distilled,   love absolute. We blended our breakfasts (blueberry, maple, lavender, lemon), our long afternoons (lignin and brandy and sandalwood, rye)—  we sold eau de toilette tickets to a petitgrain romance. We watched people from the shop window fall instantly in love. But I watched him in the ozone of Brighton Beach nights, and smelled him searching, still.

He locked himself in his “studio” with the perfume organ for days at a time, and out of this workshop came magic. Renato emerged with concoctions and grey hair and vials that read
Hexbreaker, Future Sight, Best Served Ice-Cold. He ignored my questions, smiled thinly,  and locked thrice over the door.

Over the years, as I worked to distill the ingredients of his finest brews, I caught only glances of his secrets there. A  glimpse of a list with lines violently through, bubbles and a whisper of decanters, but always a sweetness (neroli!) I could have eaten with a spoon. How I itched sometimes to be in there! How I begged to be taught.

“You haven’t perfected your heart notes yet, my dear. But you’re so, so close, I can smell it.”

“Look, I don’t know where he’s gone,” I repeated. “But if our perfume has something to do with it, give me access to that workshop and my nose will find him.”

It wouldn’t. Though it was perhaps the one scent I had not preserved for him, I knew well the smell of death.

Roleplay Response (Prompt 1):
From the window, he watched the woman with an absent interest. No one had been in the shop all day, and he was happy for it, relying on the action outside to stay open. He was aware of the irony. It carried the fragrance of cilantro and the sea. But hustle and bustle was still good advertising, and gourmand perfumes more so. Linden only wondered today if there was something more interesting happening today than the scent of fresh treacle tarts blooming from the shop’s planters of pansy.

They were ignoring her, too, which for the nosy magic folk the street was used to seemed uncharacteristic and strange. As he watched the people pass her, he imagined the bouquet of her name. Was she a Julie, perhaps? Narcissus and birch?  A Catherine, made of rose?  Was she—?

Oh, on the ground. Alright.

Perhaps a Flora, then. Nice and straightforward.

When he failed to see her pop back up right away, Linden hummed resolution to his alembic, and flicked his wand to put out the burner. The pansies needed to be refreshed anyway.

“Are you well, ma’am?” he called to her from the doorway of the shop, reaching out to spritz the flowers with fragrance from the tip of his wand. “It’s no inn, but you’re welcome to rest up here if you need?”

How did you find us? i’m so oooold

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