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Description
I mean, they're called handlers. Absolutely begging to be picked up by a curious bystander... and tied up and carried to an abandoned warehouse.
And the means of restraint were EVERYWHERE. Seriously, the Packrat just started picking up leashes. What, were handlers just like "Whoops, dropped my leash, I'll just leave it since I have twenty more in right here"? Had to be. After all, no one seemed suspicious about the plethora dog leashes dangling out of his back pocket.
Tickets had cost a fortune, though. His recent captures had been so cheap that the Packrat had forgotten the hit his wallet took when casing AJ, but this was a rude reminder. A beautiful one, though. Marshall Betts had taken his position on the dog showing stage... ring... thing. God, the man didn't even know where to begin with this crap. Like, why were all the handlers wearing black? Not that he was complaining, not when Marshall's light blonde hair contrasted so nicely with his black collared shirt, slacks, and bow tie, but didn't they get dog hair all over themselves? You'd be able to see that from a mile away.
Oh well. Dogs were their thing, teenage boys were his.
Speaking of which, his boy was on. Marshall's contestant was a bulldog named Betty, who was apparently pretty old because her owner had gotten her when he was little enough to think the name Betty Betts was a good idea. Neither were phased by it, though. She was ecstatic around Marshall most of the time, jumping on him and yipping excitedly, and he reciprocated it with the same passion. How sweet. The Packrat loved it when his boys were good with things like this, like Robby was with kids. In fact, all the dogs seemed drawn to the blonde, and you would think he had known them all his life by the love he gave them.
But when the competition started, all that energy was channeled into laser focus as Marshall and Betty made their circuits around the ring (he'd settled on ring.) It was no wonder he was so good- not that the Packrat knew what was good and what wasn't, it was just dogs running around in circles- when the two were so close offstage (or stage. Whatever.) He'd win, but the man only determined that based on his ability to bet on winners, not because he actually knew what was going on. People were clapping, though. That was good. He started to clap too.
The Packrat had done some research beforehand, and he knew how crowded it got once the show ended. There wouldn't be any privacy, which meant no place to safely secure Marshall. So he had found his boy's car and, already knowing how to jimmy the locks, left as the winners were announced, completely uninterested in everyone but Betty Betts' handler. Oh, right, the dog would be a problem. She didn't look vicious, but animals- and people- were unpredictable when those they love are under distress. Oh well. Shouldn't be much of a problem.
He had borrowed his buddy's truck again, and it was parked next to Marshall's sedan. Like I said, the Packrat knew how to break into cars, so he was in within minutes and waited it out in the backseat, playing Cat's Cradle with one of the leashes. It took about forty-five minutes for his boy to appear in the parking lot, expertly handling his own leash as Betty ran circles around him. There were a few other people, but if all went according to plan, Marshall wouldn't be calling for help. The handler was still smiling as he approached his car, and the Packrat was smiling because he knew the other wouldn't be smiling for long. The doors unlocked and the boy opened the door in the middle of saying something to Betty when he froze.
"Go ahead," the Packrat said, pointing his gun at the pair. "Tell her she can come on in." Marshall was obviously deliberating, his brow creasing with worry.
"Betty," he whispered. "Go get in your seat." She did so, but was clearly perplexed by the other person in the car. Her owner, meanwhile, was looking back towards the building.
"Now," his kidnapper continued, "if you don't want me to shoot her, you are going to open driver's door to that van behind you, get in the passenger seat, and not make a single sound." This was simultaneously terrifying and comforting to Marshall. He had been afraid this stranger would steal Betty- prize-winning dogs like her are valuable- but that obviously wasn't the case. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. The van the man was referring to looked exactly like the ones parents pull their kids away from in the parking lot, and now he had to get in one. "Well? What's it gonna be?" The boy spun around at the click of a gun and saw it pointed right between Betty's eyes. She was growling, now able to sense that something was wrong. If she started getting loud and wild, he had no doubt the man would shoot her.
Marshall hurried through the door.
Smiling at his success, the Packrat nodded to the bulldog, flicking a dime her way and exiting through his side of the car. Now that she saw her owner was missing, she started to bark like crazy, jumping around in the back seat as the stranger entered the van next to her. Inside, Marshall was in the passenger seat, looking down. He glanced that direction when the door opened, but still didn't move.
"Well," the Packrat sighed as he shut and locked the door, "at least you won't have to worry about her suffocating in there." This didn't seem to comfort his captive very much. "Alright, in the back." Marshall looked up to plead with his kidnapper, only to find the gun pointed between his own blue eyes now. With a gulp, he twisted and jumped over his seat into the bare back of the van. The Packrat followed, smiling and dropping his leashes on the floor. His boy's eyes widened at the sight of them and he tried to scoot away.
"No no no," the kidnapper admonished, grabbing Marshall's ankles and pulling him closer. "Turn around, hands behind your back." The gun was out again, and the blonde reluctantly did as he was told. He sneered as the leash was wrapped around his wrists. This guy was probably way too proud of tying up a dog trainer with leashes. (And he totally was.)
"What do you want?" Marshall asked, voice shaking.
"You," the Packrat casually replied, knotting the improvised bindings. Marshall immediately started struggling, whimpering when another leash was secured above his elbows and pulled together. He hissed a curse as a knot was tied there, too.
"Why?" Marshall tried, unsuccessfully trying to squirm away as the Packrat went around him and took his ankles. He wasn't good at anything but showing dogs, but he needed a dog to do that, and taking Betty obviously wasn't part of this guy's plan. And it's not like his family had a ton of money, even with his prizes. There were other things his kidnapper could be referring to, but he didn't want to dwell on those.
"What can I say? I like boys like you." Well now he had to dwell on it.
"N-No, stop!" Marshall grew more frantic as the Packrat tied his thighs, kicking. "Help me!"
"Van's soundproof," his captor explained, taking something from the glovebox. His boy turned around just in time to see what it was, but wasn't fast enough to close his mouth before the ball was shoved in and buckled behind his head. Marshall shook his head, knowing full well it wouldn't dislodge the gag, and the Packrat chuckled and ruffled his hair.
"Get comfortable," he said. "I had to drive pretty far to get here."
"Mmph!" his boy pleaded, eyes wide. His captor ignored him, starting the car and backing out, rushing out of the parking lot. He didn't tell Marshall, but someone was trying to get Betty out of the car right as they pulled out.
It was a long way, longer than his normal commutes, but he couldn't blame his neighboring cities for not hosting dog competitions. Marshall struggled in the back the entire time, occasionally stopping to catch his breath. When they finally arrived, the Packrat couldn't help but notice he'd actually managed to loosen the leash binding his wrists, but the captive was trying to hide it. Probably wanted to wait until he was gone. The boy was hoisted over his shoulder, squirming as his captor's hands wandered, and was dropped in his own room. The Packrat let Marshall think he hadn't noticed his loose ties for a minute, but he quickly grabbed the leash and began to retie it.
"Nmph," his boy groaned, trying to keep his hands away. He couldn't, of course, and was dragged to a support beam.
"Whoops, almost forgot." Marshall wiggled around, even more so when he saw what his captor had in store: a collar. Despite his best efforts, it was locked right above his bow tie. A final leash was clipped to it and tied around the beam. "There we go. Aren't you adorable?" The handler growled, jerking at his bonds. "You are. See you tomorrow." And Marshall didn't start crying until he had left.

Description
I mean, they're called handlers. Absolutely begging to be picked up by a curious bystander... and tied up and carried to an abandoned warehouse.
And the means of restraint were EVERYWHERE. Seriously, the Packrat just started picking up leashes. What, were handlers just like "Whoops, dropped my leash, I'll just leave it since I have twenty more in right here"? Had to be. After all, no one seemed suspicious about the plethora dog leashes dangling out of his back pocket.
Tickets had cost a fortune, though. His recent captures had been so cheap that the Packrat had forgotten the hit his wallet took when casing AJ, but this was a rude reminder. A beautiful one, though. Marshall Betts had taken his position on the dog showing stage... ring... thing. God, the man didn't even know where to begin with this crap. Like, why were all the handlers wearing black? Not that he was complaining, not when Marshall's light blonde hair contrasted so nicely with his black collared shirt, slacks, and bow tie, but didn't they get dog hair all over themselves? You'd be able to see that from a mile away.
Oh well. Dogs were their thing, teenage boys were his.
Speaking of which, his boy was on. Marshall's contestant was a bulldog named Betty, who was apparently pretty old because her owner had gotten her when he was little enough to think the name Betty Betts was a good idea. Neither were phased by it, though. She was ecstatic around Marshall most of the time, jumping on him and yipping excitedly, and he reciprocated it with the same passion. How sweet. The Packrat loved it when his boys were good with things like this, like Robby was with kids. In fact, all the dogs seemed drawn to the blonde, and you would think he had known them all his life by the love he gave them.
But when the competition started, all that energy was channeled into laser focus as Marshall and Betty made their circuits around the ring (he'd settled on ring.) It was no wonder he was so good- not that the Packrat knew what was good and what wasn't, it was just dogs running around in circles- when the two were so close offstage (or stage. Whatever.) He'd win, but the man only determined that based on his ability to bet on winners, not because he actually knew what was going on. People were clapping, though. That was good. He started to clap too.
The Packrat had done some research beforehand, and he knew how crowded it got once the show ended. There wouldn't be any privacy, which meant no place to safely secure Marshall. So he had found his boy's car and, already knowing how to jimmy the locks, left as the winners were announced, completely uninterested in everyone but Betty Betts' handler. Oh, right, the dog would be a problem. She didn't look vicious, but animals- and people- were unpredictable when those they love are under distress. Oh well. Shouldn't be much of a problem.
He had borrowed his buddy's truck again, and it was parked next to Marshall's sedan. Like I said, the Packrat knew how to break into cars, so he was in within minutes and waited it out in the backseat, playing Cat's Cradle with one of the leashes. It took about forty-five minutes for his boy to appear in the parking lot, expertly handling his own leash as Betty ran circles around him. There were a few other people, but if all went according to plan, Marshall wouldn't be calling for help. The handler was still smiling as he approached his car, and the Packrat was smiling because he knew the other wouldn't be smiling for long. The doors unlocked and the boy opened the door in the middle of saying something to Betty when he froze.
"Go ahead," the Packrat said, pointing his gun at the pair. "Tell her she can come on in." Marshall was obviously deliberating, his brow creasing with worry.
"Betty," he whispered. "Go get in your seat." She did so, but was clearly perplexed by the other person in the car. Her owner, meanwhile, was looking back towards the building.
"Now," his kidnapper continued, "if you don't want me to shoot her, you are going to open driver's door to that van behind you, get in the passenger seat, and not make a single sound." This was simultaneously terrifying and comforting to Marshall. He had been afraid this stranger would steal Betty- prize-winning dogs like her are valuable- but that obviously wasn't the case. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened. The van the man was referring to looked exactly like the ones parents pull their kids away from in the parking lot, and now he had to get in one. "Well? What's it gonna be?" The boy spun around at the click of a gun and saw it pointed right between Betty's eyes. She was growling, now able to sense that something was wrong. If she started getting loud and wild, he had no doubt the man would shoot her.
Marshall hurried through the door.
Smiling at his success, the Packrat nodded to the bulldog, flicking a dime her way and exiting through his side of the car. Now that she saw her owner was missing, she started to bark like crazy, jumping around in the back seat as the stranger entered the van next to her. Inside, Marshall was in the passenger seat, looking down. He glanced that direction when the door opened, but still didn't move.
"Well," the Packrat sighed as he shut and locked the door, "at least you won't have to worry about her suffocating in there." This didn't seem to comfort his captive very much. "Alright, in the back." Marshall looked up to plead with his kidnapper, only to find the gun pointed between his own blue eyes now. With a gulp, he twisted and jumped over his seat into the bare back of the van. The Packrat followed, smiling and dropping his leashes on the floor. His boy's eyes widened at the sight of them and he tried to scoot away.
"No no no," the kidnapper admonished, grabbing Marshall's ankles and pulling him closer. "Turn around, hands behind your back." The gun was out again, and the blonde reluctantly did as he was told. He sneered as the leash was wrapped around his wrists. This guy was probably way too proud of tying up a dog trainer with leashes. (And he totally was.)
"What do you want?" Marshall asked, voice shaking.
"You," the Packrat casually replied, knotting the improvised bindings. Marshall immediately started struggling, whimpering when another leash was secured above his elbows and pulled together. He hissed a curse as a knot was tied there, too.
"Why?" Marshall tried, unsuccessfully trying to squirm away as the Packrat went around him and took his ankles. He wasn't good at anything but showing dogs, but he needed a dog to do that, and taking Betty obviously wasn't part of this guy's plan. And it's not like his family had a ton of money, even with his prizes. There were other things his kidnapper could be referring to, but he didn't want to dwell on those.
"What can I say? I like boys like you." Well now he had to dwell on it.
"N-No, stop!" Marshall grew more frantic as the Packrat tied his thighs, kicking. "Help me!"
"Van's soundproof," his captor explained, taking something from the glovebox. His boy turned around just in time to see what it was, but wasn't fast enough to close his mouth before the ball was shoved in and buckled behind his head. Marshall shook his head, knowing full well it wouldn't dislodge the gag, and the Packrat chuckled and ruffled his hair.
"Get comfortable," he said. "I had to drive pretty far to get here."
"Mmph!" his boy pleaded, eyes wide. His captor ignored him, starting the car and backing out, rushing out of the parking lot. He didn't tell Marshall, but someone was trying to get Betty out of the car right as they pulled out.
It was a long way, longer than his normal commutes, but he couldn't blame his neighboring cities for not hosting dog competitions. Marshall struggled in the back the entire time, occasionally stopping to catch his breath. When they finally arrived, the Packrat couldn't help but notice he'd actually managed to loosen the leash binding his wrists, but the captive was trying to hide it. Probably wanted to wait until he was gone. The boy was hoisted over his shoulder, squirming as his captor's hands wandered, and was dropped in his own room. The Packrat let Marshall think he hadn't noticed his loose ties for a minute, but he quickly grabbed the leash and began to retie it.
"Nmph," his boy groaned, trying to keep his hands away. He couldn't, of course, and was dragged to a support beam.
"Whoops, almost forgot." Marshall wiggled around, even more so when he saw what his captor had in store: a collar. Despite his best efforts, it was locked right above his bow tie. A final leash was clipped to it and tied around the beam. "There we go. Aren't you adorable?" The handler growled, jerking at his bonds. "You are. See you tomorrow." And Marshall didn't start crying until he had left.