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Of the two, Vixy was the first one to clear the metal trivia obstacle course.

"You were cheating," said Heather, letting go of the gym ring to land on her feet. "I'm sure of it."

Vixy clicked her tongue. While she'd won, the pink-and-white fox still had to hold on for a minute. "Nope. I'm just that good."

Each contestant of the thirty-five-ring obstacle course would get a question on the large LCD display. Death metal, black metal, power metal, lead singer hookups, band drama--all were fair game. If they got the question right, they'd go five rings forward. A wrong answer meant going back two rings. The first person to get to ring thirty-five would be declared winner, and tonight's purported victor was Vixy.

Heather stretched and walked towards her dangling friend. "This bullshit game was rigged. Way too many garbage death metal questions." Her voice echoed throughout the repurposed gymnasium; the heavy metal carnival attraction was about to close for the night, so only Heather and Vixy remained.

"I mean, babes," said Vixy, "what's there to know about black metal? You got your corpse paint, your spikes, your church burnings, your bandmate murder, your shitty-ass lo-fi quality." She rolled her eyes up in faux thought. "That's pretty much it."

Only forty seconds remained for Vixy to walk home with free e-tickets to next year's festival as well as a complimentary t-shirt.

"Oh, Vixy, hun, you can't grasp the complexities of black metal." Heather giggled as she walked around the fox. "Black metal is philosophical in nature."

Vixy blew a raspberry, eyes tracking Heather. "Whatever, Socrates," she said. "Thirty seconds, and I get to come back next year for free." Her tail swished left and right in triumph. "Two hundred bucks a pop, Heather. That's what a commoner like you'll have to pay."

Heather ignored the vixen's ribbing. "You see, black metal teaches you to block out the world and get in touch with yourself." She eyed the busty fox from her feet to her shiny leather shorts, bullet belt, belly button piercing--a barbell with the bottom bead in the shape of two crossed Flying V guitars and a skull--just peeping out from under her Obituary tank top . . . all the way up to her exposed armpits. Heather narrowed her eyes. "I mean, you wouldn't want a dumb thing like, say, _sensations_getting in the way of victory, right, Vixy?"

"Mhm. What the fuck ever, babes, you keep philosophizing while I get ready for next year's free festival."

"Well, it seems like you've gotten a head start. You know, getting rid of the peach fuzz here so all the guys in the band can gawk at you." As a safety precaution, there was only about half a foot between a contestant's feet and the ground, so Heather had little difficulty reaching over to run a fingertip down Vixy's smooth underarm. "Wax, huh? Soft or hard?"

The fox shrieked and kicked her legs. "Heather!" She stared wide-eyed at the raccoon. "What the fuck are you doing?!"

"Why are you freaking out?" asked Heather. She spider walked a couple of fingers up her friend's armpit. "I just wanted to know if it hurts when they rip the hair out. I've only ever tried shaving so far."

The fox gasped and flinched away. "Don't do that!" As she swung around in the air, desperately holding on to victory, she swatted at Heather with her tail. "Get the fuck away from me!"

Heather, however, with ten seconds left on the clock, wasn't one to give up. She got behind Vixy, where the vixen wouldn't be able to see her. "Why so testy? I wanna be a winner like you next time, and I need to look the part, right?" Heather's lips twisted into a devilish smirk. "Lemme have a look-see so I can be as smooth as you."

Heather didn't even need to touch her; the heat from her fingertips was enough to make Vixy's maw twist into an unwilling smile. "Ack! Hehehehe! Stop that!" Vixy snickered under her breath, a wide grin plastered on her lips, hands tightening so hard around the rings that a knuckle joint cracked. She shook her head in disbelief at letting something so silly get the best of her.

Heather tutted. "Don't like sharing beauty tips? No?" She let the tips of her claws graze the sensitive skin.

The vixen burst into laughter, head thrown back, tail frizzed out and pointing straight up. "NO, STOP! BWAHAHAHAHA! FUCK YOU, HEATHER! STOP IT! BWAHAHAHA!" To Vixy's delight, the buzzer sounded--she'd won. She let go, landed on her feet, and socked Heather in the shoulder.

"Ow!"

"What is your problem?" Vixy rubbed her arms against the sides of her ribs to get rid of the tickly prickle under her arms.

"Nothing, silly, I was just asking for beauty tips."

"The hell you were."

The two began walking towards the automated prize dispenser.

"Well, what do you think I was doing?" asked Heather.

"You know exactly what you were doing." Vixy scowled and crossed her arms.

Heather grinned. "Humor me."

"Holy shit! You were tickling me, OK? I'm fucking ticklish, all right?" snapped Vixy, a bit of red going to her cheeks. "Most people are. And you're acting like you don't freak out when someone does it to you."

"All that death metal gear but can't handle a little tickle? Methinks your metalhead credentials should be revoked," quipped Heather.

The duo reached the machine; Vixy put her arm into the dispenser and made a face--the sleeveless shirt and the tickets were just out of reach. "Oh, for fuck's sake, I'm so close."

Heather sighed and motioned Vixy out of the way. "Let me get them. Don't wanna be here all night." Vixy did as told and let the more flexible of the two squeeze herself past the dispenser's mouth. Heather got on her back as if servicing a car and wedged most of her body in. "Got it!" said the raccoon, just her feet sticking out of the machine.

As soon as Heather spoke, a robotic voice's droning buzz filled the gymnasium: PLEASE STAY OUT OF THE PRIZE DISPENSER. SECURITY SYSTEM ACTIVATED.

"Hey!" protested Heather as a rubbery force field sealed the mouth of the dispenser, trapping her ankles in place. "Shit! Vixy, go get help!"

"Well, would you look at that?" said Vixy. She sat on the floor next to Heather's exposed feet. "Looks like we might be here all night after all!"

"What are you talking about? Vixy, I grabbed your dumb shirt and the tickets, just call someone so we can--ARGH! HAHAHAHA! VIXY!"

Vixy, shit-eating grin on her face, traced a fingertip down her friend's foot, toes to heel. "I need some beauty tips, babes," she said. "You got super soft foot bottoms. You get pedicures?"

Heather belly laughed. "DAMN YOU, VIXY! HAHAHAHAHA! STOP!"

The vixen giggled to herself. "The fuck you laughing at?" Flick. "I'm just trying to figure out if you use any product under these cute paws."

The trapped girl scream-laughed. "VIXY, STOP! HAHAHAHA! OR I'LL RIP THIS SHIRT IN HALF! BWAHAHAHA! THE TICKETS TOO!"

"You mean the Obituary sleeveless tee? I already got one just like it--it's what I have on!" She cooed and danced her fingertips up and down the bottoms of her friend's feet. "And I already got my e-tickets online." With one paw still torturing her poor friend, Vixy yanked her phone out of her back pocket and downloaded the file from the email app.

"WHAT! BWAHAHAHAHA! WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU! HAHAHAHA! VIXY!"

"What were you saying before, babes?" asked Vixy. "Why are you letting some dumb sensations take control, huh? I think we should revoke your metalhead credentials!"

"BWAHAHAHA! SCREW YOU, VIXY! HAHAHAHA!"

"I'm barely touching you, and you're laughing up a storm." Sure enough, Vixy's touch was as featherlight as Heather's laughter was hysterical. "Heather, the Black Metal Gods are disappoint," said the vixen, punctuating the three syllables of the last word with a flick to each of the raccoon's toes.

"YOU'RE GOING BY YOURSELF NEXT YEAR! BWAHAHAHAHA!" shrieked Heather, covering her face with the shirt Vixy had won.

"Oh, I know, babes," said Vixy, letting the tip of a claw go up Heather's sole. "It's kinda pricey, so I know you won't be able to tag along."

"HAHAHAHAHA! I'M GONNA GET YOU FOR THIS! BWAHAHAHAHA!"