Christmas for pets is so much more fun than humans exhibit A: when u buy presents for people there’s all the stress of picking the perfect thing and spending a certain amount of money so u don’t look cheap & presenting it properly & awkwardly watching them open it while continually muttering “I have the receipt…if u don’t like it…” but w/ my rats I know that I can give them a half-empty box of tissues and some banana mash and they’ll just be like “OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE OH MAN OH MAN OH M”
It was extremely difficult to decide between The Parlor and Jack’s office, as both play host to some pretty epic scenes (both on screen AND in my filthy little mind)…but in the end The Parlor won out. Were we to compare Phryne’s house to the human anatomy, The Boudoir would almost certainly symbolize her nether regions…but The Parlor is her heart. Only those dearest to her appear here with frequency. It’s a warm, safe, comfy space of turquoise and gold - fashionable but eclectic, full but uncluttered. Where impromptu duets are sung and the singers contemplate misbehavior. Where we establish that it’s a waltz, not a tango. Where Phryne and Jack put their heads together and fall slowly in love over Mr. Butler’s inspired cocktails.
In The Parlor, Jack props himself on objects and sets wombs to wandering. He tells Phryne to call him Jack. He gets a bit of bare flesh sprung on him. He admits his feelings with glassy eyes and walks away. He gives advice and support and finds himself sorely tempted by a red rag in an entirely new ring.
In The Parlor, Phryne wears majestic satin slippers and has a majestic case of the sads. She reads fortunes, consults with Mac, twirls in glorious gowns, and plots fan dances right under Dot’s nose.
In The Parlor, Mac confirms that Jack would be a top choice, should anyone decide to consider reproduction. I mean, she’s a doctor…she should know.
Did I mention Mr. Butler also apprehends nefarious hypnotists in The Parlor?
And with any luck, The Parlor has a sturdy lock for when Phrack finally decide to play sink the sausage in front of the fireplace. Or on the window seat. Or atop the piano. Or against the wall. Or…ahem..aahhheeeemm…excuse me, I have to - I’ll just, um - I’ll talk to y’all later…