Room 64 RAAW Alchemy 2021 Eau de Parfum

It was one of those days again. She was already familiar with it. Spring was blinking at her from all sides, with neon signs in 2D, 3D, and 4D. Meanwhile, Jasmin held yellowed photographs in her hands. Photographs that preserved the past. Even after many years, one had to wash their fingers after rummaging through the box of photos, because you could not only see(!) where they came from.
Jasmin remembered that day when, at 17 years old, with freedom in the air and a bit of fear in her heart, carrying her suitcase with all the belongings she had left, she stood in front of the large doors of number 64 to visit ‘her’ one last time in her home and took these photos with her. Only borrowed, to digitize them and then return them. There weren’t many, but they meant half a world to both of them. ‘She’ rummaged through a drawer back then and pulled out this dark red velvet envelope. ‘She’ was crazy, but somewhere deep inside, perhaps still herself, whoever ‘she’ had been. Acquaintances described her as frightening. Spirited, beautiful, the most beautiful in her village, they said. Her sister told her that she had been nasty as a teenager and had suffered from depression for as long as she could remember. Jasmin frowned. Who knows how many women there had been in that village somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the mountains. Jasmin could hardly breathe; the stench in that apartment was overwhelming. In 30 square meters, people smoked and rarely aired out. The walls were already brownish-yellow at first glance, even yellower when you lifted the photos and became aware of the contrast. ‘She’ sat there with slightly trembling hands, taking a drag from the cigarette, not even properly, it looked strange. ‘She’ practically smoked an entire hand-rolled cigarette, about five cigarettes long. That 250-pack of rolling papers didn’t last her a week. Jasmin found it admirable, yet disgusting, that ‘she’ slept from 8 PM to 12 PM. ‘She’ looked up. In that moment, she probably became aware of Jasmin’s presence again. “Have you seen my Tavor?” Jasmin shook her head. Wasn’t the medication service supposed to bring that? “I absolutely need it! Can you please go and get some? I can’t stand it.” Jasmin nodded, glad to escape this cage for a few minutes. After googling the nearest pharmacy, Jasmin set off.
Tavor… “Excuse me, can I see your ID and the prescription?” Jasmin had none and rummaged for a document that confirmed her age. “No, I can’t give that to you. What do you need it for?” “For my mother. She’s at home and she’s not doing well; she always gets it, here.” Jasmin pulled out an empty box, yellowed. After a brief discussion, Jasmin conceded. “Xanax, anything? What should I do?” “Call the clinic. Maybe she should be admitted; here’s an emergency number.” That would be her end; ‘she’ would hate her. No. Jasmin left the pharmacy, her optimism for a pleasant day with ‘her’ equally gone. Back with ‘her’, Jasmin was once again left breathless. “Do you have it?” Jasmin nodded, hoping it wouldn’t show that she was lying. “I’ll bring you a glass of water with it.” - “Please two!” She went into the kitchen and pressed the tablets out of the blister pack. “Why is this taking so long?” “Just a moment!” When Jasmin returned with the glass of water and a sliced apple, ‘she’ was lying on the sofa. She was pale as a ghost, probably because she never aired out or because she had choked on a cigarette. The ashtray was overflowing. “Here - and eat something with it. The lady at the pharmacy said you might feel nauseous if you take it on an empty stomach.” “Why is it white? That’s not Tavor! Are you trying to poison me?! I’ve always known it, since the day you were born, you are my end.” “That’s not Tavor, but it is Lorazepam. The active ingredient of Tavor, in exactly the same dosage. I couldn’t afford the original.” Hopefully, ‘she’ believed it. Apparently, she did. “You’re a good child. And now let Mama rest a bit.”
Jasmin was more than happy to do that. While ‘she’ slept, Jasmin packed the remaining zinc tablets into the container labeled “Tavor. Lorazepam.” She wouldn’t stay here, at most until tomorrow. Outside, it started to rain. Jasmin opened all the windows and sat down, breathing flat through her mouth in the corner, the phone in one hand, the note with all the emergency phone numbers in the other. With her eyes on ‘her’, Jasmin began to save the numbers and look for another place to stay.

For those who found this too “meta”:
Tobacco, authentic, extremely strong, less juicy, but rather dried tobacco, makes the opening and can be smelled all the way to the base, which can still be sensed the next AFTERNOON (after showering, mind you).
The room is an ashtray, albeit one without most of the substances that make the disgusting smell of a smoker's room or ashtray. It’s not comparable to someone coming out of a smoking bar and then going to shower, but rather with someone who doesn’t smoke but works in a cigarette factory.
The room suggests security from a distance; you can clearly perceive the jasmine sweetened with vanilla, but upon closer inspection, it’s a bit creepy. Patchouli probably does its part. Now and then, it really smells like cigarette smoke.
Strangely, it was perceived as “delicious” the first time it was worn outside (quote: “Woooaaah, Tshajbu, you always smell so delicious!”), although Tshajbukoshka had been frying pancakes that day, maybe that scent lingered in her hair too. Perhaps for the two test subjects, who, it should be mentioned, are both smokers, the vanilla came through most clearly; for Tshajbukoshka, as a non-smoker, it’s a very potent, slightly sweetened ashtray that doesn’t match her personal taste.
You can endure it if you have to, but it doesn’t need to be more than once.