The atmosphere at the club was not satisfactory, so they soon returned to Phryne's parlour. Some drunken revelry and dancing later they were both ready to collapse with exhaustion.
Now, one very dishevelled doctor lay on her back on the parlour rug with her head cushioned on Phryne's lap.
Phryne threw back another drink and smiled down at her closest friend. "Ma-ac," she sang. "Your hair is falling out."
"That's your bloody fault," Mac muttered, "for giving me so much grief."
"Nooo," Phryne laughed, swaying sideways to place her glass on the coffee table. "I meant, your hair is falling out of your hairdo."
"Still your fault."
"Let me fix it for you."
The fiery strands slipped through her fingers as she tugged Mac's hair loose. She hadn't done that in years, but it felt wonderful and familiar all the same.
"It doesn't feel like you're fixing it," Mac said with her eyes closed.
"Hush," Phryne said, combing the hair with her fingers and starting to plait one side. "I'm making it even better."
Phryne could see the motion of Mac's eyes rolling behind her eyelids. She smirked. Mac knew her all too well.
She dropped one plait and started on the other, and Mac opened an eye. "Are you giving me schoolgirl plaits?"
"Of course not," Phryne spoke, knowing full well her voice had gone up an octave. She pulled the two plaits over Mac's face, letting them cross under her nose to give Mac a moustache. "I'm turning you into a fierce pirate, ready to conquer the seven seas and the hearts of maidens."
Mac grinned up at her, always the fellow pirate girl from Collingwood. "Does that mean I get to have more rum?"
Phryne laughed, swooped down and pressed a kiss to Mac's forehead. "Of course, darling."