Gothic Chicken

You were sitting in the fancy restaurant. There was jazzy music, 'art deco' styled decorations and other rich people, sitting behind their tables and consuming their meals. You are sitting here because you have saved up enough money to order at least something 'cheap' here, well, by the standards of the rich, of course.

The waiter came up to you, waiting for your order. Your eyes scan the columns of text on the menu. And between the lines of foie gras and brown-sugar salmon, you see a dish called 'Gothic Chicken.'

Of all the dishes, this seemed the most reasonably priced. Plus, you'll have some left over for a drink, so you order the 'Gothic Chicken'. The waiter wrote down the order in his notebook and ran into the kitchen, and just ten minutes later, two waiters came out of the kitchen with a huge tray covered with an iron cap.

With a loud bang, they placed the dish on your table, which was now completely covered by a large tray with a hood. One of the breathless waiters lifts his cap, and there...indeed she is, the Gothic Chicken.

She's endeed a chicken, and she's pretty gothick. She looks strangely...sexy? I mean...that's literally just a chicken with tits, massive ass and gothick makeup. Except her...'physical' attributes, she have black feathers, a big feather tail, black feather wings Instead of hands, short black Iroquois hair, gray eyelashes, gray beak with black lipstick on it, red high heels on her skinny clawed legs and a spiky choker.

She lies on lettuce leaves. Looks at you with sarcastic and irritated look. You can tell from her that she doesn't want to be here. "Um...Like, bkaw? I guess."