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07/27/2019
Profuma
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Oros gang vs. Georges Rech
Maybe some of you can remember my comment on Oros pour Femme? The Amazon gang lurking in dark corners? She wants to know exactly. The big arm wrestling's about to begin. On the right the Oros gang, feared, rebellious, loud and at home in all alleys, on the left the loner Georges Rech, respected, self-confident, determining and the gentleman robber of the nightly streets. The leader of the Oros gang presses herself busty and snotty against the massive wooden table at which the fight is about to take place. Exaggeratedly played male, she wipes sweat off her forehead with the moth-hole arm cuff and noisily pulls up the snot leaving her nose again. There's no eyelash or corner of his mouth stirring with Georges. He has already sent too many such opponents into oblivion. And he knows that the noisiest creatures aren't necessarily the most biting. With this posture and stylish in the hollow cross, he now also sits down leisurely and as straight as a candle on the tabletop. Although he surpasses his opponent by a lot, she makes up for the deficit with her muscle mountains, which she has trained by pulling horses, juggling benches and overrunning her head. That's why Rech knows he'll beat her with brains instead of strength. He concentrates on his clothes before he looks over the table surface and finally clenches his hand with her to a powerful clique.
Both opponents start powerful, concentrated sweet power from pear and bergamot. No one gives anything to the other. Here everything is pumped into the arms and wrists what the body gives away. The Oros leader still seems to be able to move Rech's arm a little. But he won't let her eyes out of his sight. He must be able to read in them when she threatens to slowly run out of breath. Then he would wait for the all-decisive moment and move her arm towards the tabletop. But because both of them have it thick as a fist behind their ears, the fight goes longer than expected. You bet, you get a bump, no matter whose side you're on. After all, this is where the elite of highwaymen sit and measure their strength. No one in this room is left unscathed. The sweet power is transformed under powerful tuberose and a mixture of ylang-jasmine into a heated scented carpet that spreads mercilessly through the pub. Now nothing else gets through here for the time being.
In the next few minutes the leader of the gang seems to be able to score more points and pushes Right's arm further down. Still there is enough space between it and the table and the angle still allows a rerighting. Rech has never turned his gaze away from his opponent. He sees the slightest twitch in her eyes, the slightest vibration of her eyelashes, and the sweat beads as they flow. It's almost time, and he can strike. Just as the first spectators are about to surrender in powerlessness, it happens. The Oros leader feels more and more uncomfortable under the piercing eyes of her opponent and threatens to lose her stubborn posture. Rech notices the micro twitching in a muscle of her hand and instinctively pulls it up again until both arms are upright again in the middle of the table. One more little mistake from her and he can wrap her up. His eyes now stare even more mercilessly. Like a thousand small needles the glances bore through the skin of his opponent and seem to want to haunt her innermost. Other curious onlookers have meanwhile found their way to the round and mix musk scent and patchouli with the already flowing swaths, which makes them even more luxuriant. Rech has now arrived at a stage in which he perceives his opponent and her movements almost only as if in trance and slow motion. He must catch the perfect moment to detect the slightest change in her and defeat her. The fight lasts for what feels like an eternity. For a fraction of a second Rech recognizes a barely perceptible twitch in the left eye of his opponent and immediately mobilizes all his strength, which he immediately pumps into his wrist. He bangs her arm against the tabletop. The crowd is beside themselves. A mixture of cheering and discharging disappointment fills the room simultaneously and equally. The heat is almost unbearable, the wafting smells seem to smoulder in it. The leader of the Oros gang is defeated. Dazed and unbelieving, she stares before herself into emptiness. In her head, however, thoughts try to arrange themselves. Where did she fail? Where did she show weakness?
It is easy to recognize from the fragrance pyramids that Georges Rech and Oros pour Femme have almost identical ingredients. However, the mixing is slightly different. While Oros plays out the clenched bloomy-earthy gang power and owes this not least to the jasmine and tuberose absolute, Georges Rech with his French Story remains a bit fresher due to the two same factors, which, however, manage here without the rich, almost creamy absolute aspect. I have one of the scents on each arm and can say that Oros is more for the colder seasons or just works better on cooler days, but can trump French Story on warmer temperatures because of its warm density and French Story. Thus an almost identical fragrance composition, which can be fixed to different seasons thanks to the minimal differences. In terms of pustules, however, they can hold their water without any problems. That means hours that are in the two-digit range and you have to help to get rid of both.
Although the two parties have just fought a merciless battle, they are still at home in the same streets and alleys. So if you're not mindful, you may well come across both. How the meeting ends for oneself is solely up to the opponents struggling for supremacy. So it's better to get out of the dust in time when it's time to say: Oros-Gang vs. Georges Rech.
Both opponents start powerful, concentrated sweet power from pear and bergamot. No one gives anything to the other. Here everything is pumped into the arms and wrists what the body gives away. The Oros leader still seems to be able to move Rech's arm a little. But he won't let her eyes out of his sight. He must be able to read in them when she threatens to slowly run out of breath. Then he would wait for the all-decisive moment and move her arm towards the tabletop. But because both of them have it thick as a fist behind their ears, the fight goes longer than expected. You bet, you get a bump, no matter whose side you're on. After all, this is where the elite of highwaymen sit and measure their strength. No one in this room is left unscathed. The sweet power is transformed under powerful tuberose and a mixture of ylang-jasmine into a heated scented carpet that spreads mercilessly through the pub. Now nothing else gets through here for the time being.
In the next few minutes the leader of the gang seems to be able to score more points and pushes Right's arm further down. Still there is enough space between it and the table and the angle still allows a rerighting. Rech has never turned his gaze away from his opponent. He sees the slightest twitch in her eyes, the slightest vibration of her eyelashes, and the sweat beads as they flow. It's almost time, and he can strike. Just as the first spectators are about to surrender in powerlessness, it happens. The Oros leader feels more and more uncomfortable under the piercing eyes of her opponent and threatens to lose her stubborn posture. Rech notices the micro twitching in a muscle of her hand and instinctively pulls it up again until both arms are upright again in the middle of the table. One more little mistake from her and he can wrap her up. His eyes now stare even more mercilessly. Like a thousand small needles the glances bore through the skin of his opponent and seem to want to haunt her innermost. Other curious onlookers have meanwhile found their way to the round and mix musk scent and patchouli with the already flowing swaths, which makes them even more luxuriant. Rech has now arrived at a stage in which he perceives his opponent and her movements almost only as if in trance and slow motion. He must catch the perfect moment to detect the slightest change in her and defeat her. The fight lasts for what feels like an eternity. For a fraction of a second Rech recognizes a barely perceptible twitch in the left eye of his opponent and immediately mobilizes all his strength, which he immediately pumps into his wrist. He bangs her arm against the tabletop. The crowd is beside themselves. A mixture of cheering and discharging disappointment fills the room simultaneously and equally. The heat is almost unbearable, the wafting smells seem to smoulder in it. The leader of the Oros gang is defeated. Dazed and unbelieving, she stares before herself into emptiness. In her head, however, thoughts try to arrange themselves. Where did she fail? Where did she show weakness?
It is easy to recognize from the fragrance pyramids that Georges Rech and Oros pour Femme have almost identical ingredients. However, the mixing is slightly different. While Oros plays out the clenched bloomy-earthy gang power and owes this not least to the jasmine and tuberose absolute, Georges Rech with his French Story remains a bit fresher due to the two same factors, which, however, manage here without the rich, almost creamy absolute aspect. I have one of the scents on each arm and can say that Oros is more for the colder seasons or just works better on cooler days, but can trump French Story on warmer temperatures because of its warm density and French Story. Thus an almost identical fragrance composition, which can be fixed to different seasons thanks to the minimal differences. In terms of pustules, however, they can hold their water without any problems. That means hours that are in the two-digit range and you have to help to get rid of both.
Although the two parties have just fought a merciless battle, they are still at home in the same streets and alleys. So if you're not mindful, you may well come across both. How the meeting ends for oneself is solely up to the opponents struggling for supremacy. So it's better to get out of the dust in time when it's time to say: Oros-Gang vs. Georges Rech.
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