Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors

Phoebeâ€s head lolled to the side, resting on the mat as the cowgirl was splayed out, wholly broken. Her mind worked feverishly trying to rouse her physical self to recovery and to action, but her limbs would not answer her commands. The fall from the cat tree, the electrocution, the suplex…all of that had combined to all but paralyze Phoebe.

“Nnnnn…” she moaned, as Gemma picked her up and carried her over to the dog cage, shoving her inside and closing the door on her. Phoebeâ€s hand flexed, lifted a few inches towards the closed cage door, then fell away. She could muster no more resistance right now. Gemma was free to do whatever she pleased, and all Phoebe could do was watch.

The only bright spot for the American fighter was the fact that her opponent had to complete a treacherous climb just to retrieve the leash she required for victory; with any luck, it would take Gemma long enough that Phoebe might have a chance to recover and plot her revenge.

It took a bit of effort for Gemma to lift her opponent into the carrier, and shut the door. Upper body strength wasn't her strong suit, and if it weren't for everything Phoebe had been subjected to in this match, Gemma likely wouldn't have been able to get away with manhandling her foe that way. Still, when Phoebe's fingers reached for the cage door, Gemma couldn't resist wagging her finger through the bars, in admonition. She still felt a pang of sympathy for Phoebe, maybe even guilt for her part in everything the cowgirl had suffered through in this match, but Gemma knew she couldn't let it get to her too badly.

Her foe bound up in a pet carrier, Gemma decided that she was really left with no option but to risk the climb back to the top of the tower. If she could retrieve the lead, get it wrapped around Phoebe's neck and make her submit, this whole nightmare would be over. So, with that in mind, Gemma affixed her hands to the ledge of the pet tower and began climbing.

Her fans within the AFW were vocal in supporting the girl, their cheers rising as they watched her climb. Every muscle in Gemma's lean body was tense, quivering slightly. Not with the effort of climbing the cage, but with the nervous energy that came with knowing that any mis-step could lead her to a painful, potentially humiliating fate if she fell outside the ring. She grunted softly as she lifted herself up each tier of the tower, closer and closer to the lead hanging above her head. Gemma wished she could check behind her on Phoebe, but she kept reminding herself that the only thing that mattered now was that lead, and the inexorable climb towards it ...

Phoebe bared her teeth and growled as Gemma waggled her finger at her, as if she actually were a dog. The American cowgirl didnâ€t really think about that unfortunate comparison—she was just fuming with rage. Who the fuck did this British bitch think she was? Phoebe was going to teach her a lesson. Gemma would be begging for mercy before this match was over.

For now, though, Phoebe would just lay back and close her eyes, listening to the sounds of the crowd, letting their oohs and aahs inform her as to how far Gemma had progressed up the cat tree towards the leash. Occasionally, she could hear the scrabbling sound of her opponentâ€s hands and feet on the platforms. All she would do was breathe deeply, refocusing herself, reenergizing herself, letting the pain from the electric shock wane. Those who had seen her earlier matches were shocked by how calm and placid the normally fiery and profane Phoebe was. She would not try to escape—no, she was going to be as still as the grave until Gemma came back down with that leash to open up the cage. Then, she would unleash holy hell upon this cheeky British twit.

The cheers of the crowd drove Gemma up the cat tree, towards the lead and (she hoped, rather desperately) victory in this match. The cheering arena was the only thing helping Gemma keep focus, as she risked her body to retrieve the lead; while the fall itself wasn't terribly threatening, she could get the sounds of Phoebe's anguished screams out of her ears. With the threat of the electric fence all around them, Gemma needed all of the support she could get in steeling her nerves and finishing this match.

Gemma chided herself a moment, for having made such a big deal of her first victory. Apparently, she hadn't a clue how nasty things could get in AFW. However, when Gemma heard the crowd pop the moment she wrapped her fingers around the lead and pulled it off of the cat tower, she felt an enormous swell of confidence. Gemma grinned, raising the lead for all to see; apparently, she'd made enough of an impression on the audience tonight that they believed she could win this one. Making her way down the cat tower, back to the cage she'd left Phoebe in, Gemma resolved to make sure she wouldn't let them (or the folks back home) down.

Phoebe was beginning to feel better. Her limbs still felt like they were made out of jelly, drained as she was following the fall, the shock, and the caging, but they didnâ€t really hurt that much anymore, beyond a dull ache that served as a painful reminder that she must, at all costs, remain inside of the ring. Gemma was taking a long time to get that leash, and Phoebe silently thanked her opponent for that. She was now quite lucid and had a plan in mind. As Gemma made her way back down the cat tree, Phoebe would run through the plan a few times in her mind, making sure that she was certain it could work.

And she felt pretty sure. It wasnâ€t a hundred percent, but it was definitely better than anything else she could think of.

As Gemma approached, Phoebe would lay still and let out a couple of low groans, trying to lull the British girl into a false sense of security. Once she opened the cage, then fun could begin again…

Gemma had never felt so good to have her feet firmly planted on the mat, as she was leaving the cat tower behind her. She held the lead up for the audience to see, still feeding off the rush of their support, as she stalked up to Phoebe in the cage. She felt a twinge of sympathy for Phoebe, as she watched her trapped in the thin steel carrier and listened to her low groaning. The poor girl had been through hell, in this match, and half of that was kind-of-sort-of Gemma's fault.

Still, Gemma knew she couldn't let herself get too sympathetic. Surely, Phoebe would have done the same to her, given the chance. At least, that's what Gemma told herself as she held the lead somewhat menacingly over the cage.

"Time for walkies, love?" Gemma taunted, giving the cage a good kick, to try and rattle her foe a bit. "Hm? Do we want out, now? Hmm?" Gemma gave the cage another quick stomp, before bending forward to pull the locking clasp, and swing the door open.

Phoebe opened one bleary eye as Gemma approached the cage. She said nothing as the platinum-haired Brit taunted her, only baring her teeth in a very small snarl. She was not going to waste any energy trying to engage in a war of words when she would need every bit of it for her big comeback. She winced a little when the British girl kicked the cage, but remained calm, and would wait until Gemma opened the cage before she would move from her prone position, sitting up and staring down the girl as she tried to goad her into coming out of her tiny metal prison.

“No,” Phoebe said flatly, crossing her arms above her chest and turning her head away from Gemma, her body language making plain that she was not about to come out of that cage of her own free will. She kept Gemma in the corner of her eye, waiting to see what the Briton would do.

Gemma opened her mouth to say something, as she watched Phoebe pout in the ring, but couldn't quite manage to come up with anything. Watching the cowgirl pout and refuse walkies in her cage might have even been kind of cute, if it wasn't making Gemma a bit nervous, now. Chewing her lip, slightly, Gemma still bent over, approaching the cage door. "Come on, now, cupcake," she said, continuing with the play-owner voice, "can't stay in there forever, now. She looked over to the nearest food bowl, momentarily, and added, "Maybe it's time for din-dins?"

With that, Gemma took hold of the cage's door lock, opened it, and swung the door open. With her free hand, she reached into it, trying to take Phoebe forcefully by the collar. A clear twinge of guilt played across Gemma's face as she did so, but she firmly committed herself to winning this match. And if that meant subjecting Phoebe to further abuse, she was just going to have to put on a stiff upper lip and get on with it.

The contemptuous scowl would never leave Phoebeâ€s face as Gemma continued to mock her, speaking as if she owned the cowgirl, trying to coax her into exiting the cage, even suggesting—to Phoebeâ€s disgust—that it might be time for “din-dins.”

“You can go to hell, you stupid bitch,” Phoebe spat, slamming a palm against the cage, rattling it like the angry dog that Gemma was pretending she was. She was not about to come out of this cage unless she knew that she could do it without fear of humiliation. Right now, that would not be the case. As Gemma opened the cage door and reached in to try to grab her by the collar, however, Phoebe saw the opening she had been waiting for to turn the tide. She let Gemma grab her by the collar…

…and then, she would bring her arms up, wrapping her hands around her British opponentâ€s forearm and pulling on it with all her might, trying to pull the blonde into the cage. It would be close quarters—the cage had hardly even been big enough for Phoebe alone—but a dirty little brawl within the metal enclosure favored Phoebe more than a stand-up fight outside on the mat.

Gemma couldn't help but wince at Phoebe's invective, but there wasn't much that she could do about it, now. Gemma could feel Phoebe's kick rattling the cage, rustling her even more than her urge to punish Phoebe for the "stupid bitch" comment. She had been reluctant to hurt Phoebe after watching the poor girl's ordeal with the electric fence, but her opponent's bile and snark had led to Gemma being more convinced than ever that she deserved to win this match.

"Naughty!" Gemma snapped, as she reached into the cage. As soon as she had her arm into the cage's door frame, however, she felt Phoebe's fingers wrap around her arm. "W-wait, what? No!" Gemma exclaimed, involuntarily, caught completely of-guard by her opponent's sudden counter. Gemma winced, kicking herself for falling into the trap, just as Phoebe yanked the young Brit completely off of her feet, and into the cage. Gemma's face slammed sharply against the metal frame of the entrance, the quick shock of thin steel stinging against her forehead. Gemma was left completely disoriented, leaving her dizzy and helpless as the American pulled her into the cage.

Stunned and momentarily unsure of what was happening, Gemma could only feel the slight sting of a cut on her eyebrow, and the firm warmth of Phoebe's muscular body pressed against hers. Gemma's legs kicking uselessly outside of the cramped cage, her bum thrusting and bucking with futile attempts to gain freedom. However, her upper body was firmly trapped in close-quarters with her opponent, now. The lead still gripped tightly in Gemma's fingertips, she stumbled a bit in an attempt to bring it closer to Phoebe's collar, trying to pin it on the girl. It was a bit desperate on her part, however; Gemma found herself panicking, knowing that her upper body strength probably wasn't going to be on par with Phoebe's. A feeling of dread balled up in Gemma's stomach, as she realized that as long as Phoebe had her trapped in that cage, she was likely at the cowgirl's mercy.