A snippet of some plunkelle from a thing. A plunkelle thing:
Belle stood before Captain Harlowe in the same dress she had worn for the last three days on the ship. It was too difficult to change her clothes, but Verna had braided her hair into a crown and tucked a flowered comb into it.
“That man better not be changing his mind,” Verna hissed from behind her.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Rebecca said.
Jamie wasn’t there yet either, and a small crowd of strangers had gathered to watch their small, impromptu wedding.
“He’ll be here in a moment,” Belle assured the captain. Where was Will?
“Move!”
She looked up, and there he was, shouldering his way through passengers while Jamie followed behind apologizing. He sped up, and when Belle met his eyes, ran over, skidding to a stop in front of her.
@joylee56 Hello! I'm your backup Santa. I can't believe this took me six weeks but it's been...well you know how it's been. Here. Take it. Thank you for waiting. Merry Christmas.
This is my first time writing Anyelle, if anyone is keeping track.
Summary: Belle is so rudely accosted by the Gentleman Highwayman on her way home from a ball. Oh, whatever will she do? *winky face*
Honestly I’d like to make a modern Plukelle story. So Plunkett and Macleane pull high end heists, relieving the wealthy of their jewels, art, and such. Of course Belle takes the place of Rebecca from the movie, and she, disgusted by the extravagance of the society people she doesn’t want to be a part of and seeking a way to get away from her overbearing father and gross fiance, finds herself helping the Gentlemen Highwaymen.
((Y’know, maybe someday I’ll actually write this fic, instead of just dipping in for snippets every couple of years... Anyway, thanks for prompting, Anon!))
Two horses stand at a foggy crossroad after dark, huffingsteamy breaths and pawing at the dirt while their riders sit in silence. Eventually, one mutters, “She’s late.”
“Yeah, Macleane,” the other replies curtly.
“So... Shame aboutthat. Let’s go, Plunkett.” Macleane gives his horse a nudge and leads ita few steps down the road before realizing he’s alone. He stops and squints over his shoulder. “Plunkett, come on. Can’t hang round here all night.”
Plunkett fixes a burning glare between his horse’s ears fora moment. “Too right,” he says, andkicks the animal’s flanks, sending it into a canter down the opposite road.
Macleane grimaces and rolls his eyes with a groan. “For Christ’s sake... You’ll get yourself caught for some mad girl?!”he yells at the diminishing figure of Plunkett, “Thought I was meant to beromantic fool here.”
He is acting a fool, Plunkett knows. It’s a stupid risk he’s got no reason to take. But he worries the fluttery fear in his heartwill never leave if he doesn’t at least try, now, before it’s too late. He knows who Belle’s mark is tonight andwhere the house is. He won’t go chargingin like some kind of knight in a fairy tale, but he’ll take a look. Just to see.
The house of the august Lieutenant-Colonel Percy SewardGoswell is only modest in comparison to the palace in the country that thelieutenant-colonel is meant to be occupying for the summer months. However, as Plunkett approaches, he seeslight and people moving from room to room upstairs- a very bad sign. But not the worst, which would of course beChance and his thugs storming the place and the flash-bang of a pistolfiring. Belle’s presence has beendetected, but she’s not been found yet. There’s still time.
Plunkett brings his horse to the garden wall and stands onthe saddle to climb over it as silently as he can. He creeps through the kitchen garden to thenearest window and peers inside. Hisbreath catches as a shadow slips into the room and crosses to the larder,easing inside and shutting the door behind her. Seconds later, the hunting party is tromping around the ground floor,and Plunkett must shrink back into the shadows himself.
Belle’s trapped, and Plunkett shoves away thoughts of how her pulse must beracing as she waits for her doom. Itwon’t happen like it did before. Hewon’t lose another person he... works with. Plunkett scurries along the side of the house, scooping up a hunk of mudto smear on his face as he goes. Once atthe front, he opens the wrought-iron gate and commences swinging on it whilesinging in an awful slurred bellow, “Farewell an’ adieu t’you Spanishladies! Farewell an’ adieu t’you ladiesuh Spain!”
Soon enough the front door opens and the hunting partyspills out.
Plunkett cheerfully sings at their puzzled, repulsed faces,“For we received orders t’sail fr’old England! We ‘ope in a shor’ time t’see you again!” He grins widely and bows, nearly topplingonto the grass. Then he straightens andstaggers into a strange hopping jig while exclaiming, “I’m home, mylovelies! Pour the wine! Light the fires! Let’s have a song an’ a dance, dearies, comeon!”
An older man who carries a sword and an unmistakable martialbearing curls a lip at Plunkett. “Thisis not your home, you dog. Be gone before I call the watch on you.”
“Oh,” Plunkett breathes, stopping his jig to duck his headand let his hand hover in front of his face as he mumbles, “Oh, so sorry. ‘pologies. Fool I am. No disrespec’. Sorry. G’night...” He twists around andstumbles to the gate, breaking into a run as soon as he’s through and out ofsight. He makes a wide circle around thehouse and back to his horse, and trusts that Belle has made her escape as hemounts and rides away.
Back at the Athena, he washes his face and sits at the smalltable in their rooms, forearms flanking a cup of tea that he glares into. Macleane is already snoring in his own bed-Plunkett envies and despises him. Finally, the door’s lock clicks and it swings open and Belle trots in.
She stops short at the sight of him. “Oh, Plunkett, what are you still doing up?”
He twists his mouth and shrugs a shoulder. “Couldn’t sleep. How’d it go?”
She doesn’t hide a wince fast enough. “Well, uh...” She shuffles on her feet for a moment before saying, “It seems I gotsome bad information. Goswell was stillhome. I was nearly in for it, luckilysome pisser wandered up the front walk and I slipped away while he was making aspectacle of himself.”
Plunkett nods. “Lucky.”
“I, uh... I lost the horse. Goswell’s footman found it.”
Plunkett turns a sour frown on her. “You cost us a whole bloody horse? I swear, between you and Jamie’s gambling, we’llbe swimming to America.” He shoveshimself away from the table and marches off, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
Meanwhile, the panicked fluttering in his hearthas turned to soft warmth.
“I seem to remember that, at one point, we did have an umbrella between us,” Belle said, huddling as close to the wall as her skirts would allow. Plunkett did his best to cover her with his coat, but her panniers were too wide. The rain dripped down her elbow, soaking the hip jutting out from under the awning.
“What?” he asked. It didn’t feel right that he should be the driest of the two of them, but as Belle had said before, her skirts were to protect her, not vice versa. So she had a wet hip. Oh well. Nothing he could do about it.
“The last time we were in this situation, I gave you my umbrella, did I not, Mr. Plunkett?”
He wrinkled his nose at the formal name, but even though he was cranky about being caught out in this muck while Macleane lived it up god knew where, Belle was grinning.
“Can’t remember.” He tossed his hair out of his eyes. “Someone was busy accusing me of highway robbery last time.”
“Well, I never did get my umbrella back, did I?” She tapped her nose in thought, and he was glad she didn’t have room to whip out her fan. “Curious that the man I may have accused of robbery appears to have stolen from me.”
“Careful.” Without thinking, pulled her wet elbow closer to them, shifting to make room for it. Belle looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and even though he should have let go, he didn’t.
“Careful?”
Plunkett forgot what he’d been about to say, focused as he was on pretending that he wasn’t gripping her wet skin. “Careful you don’t pick a fight with the wrong man.”
“I’m always careful,” Belle said primly, and his snort of laughter broke him out of his daze.
“Right.” He should drop her elbow. “That’s you, careful. That’s why you’re inside and dry right now, is it?”
“I said I was careful, not cruel.” She fluttered her lashes at him. He needed to drop her elbow. “I couldn’t leave you out here all alone.”
He swallowed. “Maybe I’ll find the villain what took your umbrella. For next time.”
Belle shrugged, somehow not moving her arm away from his hand even a fraction. “This isn’t so bad. He can keep my umbrella.”
Which was good to hear because Plunkett was not inclined to ever return it.
Trying this uploading thing again, here is the video that goes between chapters 1 and 2 of An Ever-Fixed Mark (thank you to @killingkueen for making it for me after I spent 7385748395 years struggling with it myself)!
Pairing: Plunkelle (Belle x Will Plunkett, from Plunkett and Macleane)
Summary: The widowed Lady Belle desires nothing more than freedom. When her father brings her to London in an attempt to find her a new husband, she instead meets a highwayman who could use a woman on the inside.
Read from the beginning
(PLS NOTE there is a video uploaded on the previous chapter for real now xD)
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When Plunkett had first gotten a pistol, cleaning it had been a chore. Now, he looked forward to the repetitive motion, the satisfaction of swabbing out dust, the sound of a well-packed chamber. It was also a welcome distraction from Macleane reading about them in the paper.
“Jolly good.” Macleane tossed the newspaper between them, and Plunkett regretted getting him such a nice dressing gown. He looked like a prick laying in bed in his gown with a wine glass, reading.
“Aye, and next time, don’t fucking flirt.” Plunkett wiped the barrel with a cloth, taking care to rub off any smudges, but then the paper caught his eye. “Anything else in there?”
“Nothing important,” Macleane said, but he picked it up at Plunkett’s glare. “Let’s see. ‘Parliament is expected to vote,’ blah blah blah, ‘Lady Estelle Darcy seen favoring,’ yadda yadda, ‘Lord Avonlea collapsed—’”
“What?” Plunkett’s head snapped up.
Macleane frowned at him. “Lady Estelle Darcy favored Chez Pierre’s wigmakers. Are you looking for a new wig?”
