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Dining Out	By : twitchy Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Alice Cooper Views: 721 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Alice Cooper nor the members of his band. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dining Out
- 1
The door to the restaurant opened with a shriek, not disrupting the lively chatter inside. At the sight of the shadows and the icy clouds of smoke covering the floor, the lady clutched her date's arm, smiling in delight. He kept his cool, debonair even as he too felt eagerness curl around his stomach. He stepped up to the front of the line, past the men and women who waited.
The impeccably-dressed host looked up from his chart, revealing a pale face and blood-soaked eyes. "Welcome... to the Nightmare. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes." The man smiled to his date, covering her fingers that wrapped around his elbow. "The name is Steven."
"Oh yes, we've been expecting you." He pulled two menus off of the blade of a sword, hilt to the ground beside the host's podium-table. "Please, let me show you to your coffin."
Weaving them through the diners, gathered around other coffins, as well as mausoleums and graves, he led them to their own small coffin, two white-satin covered high chairs placed on either side. "Your corpse will be here shortly to take your order."
Seated, Steven took her hand, stroking fingers up her cold flesh. "You look simply beautiful tonight, Ethyl. All the other women pale in comparison to you."
Ashen skin turned to pale, a blush on the woman. She fingered her stitches shyly. "Oh, you say that to all your girls – me, Mary Ann, Betty..."
"No, I mean it." He leaned in, kissing up her neck, lingering where her pulse should have been. "You are magnificent."
"Good evening." Another member on staff stood before them. He bowed his head, only to have his head fall forward. He caught it deftly in his right hand, his palm already outstretched as though it happened every time. Fixing his head back a top his neck, he smiled in greeting. "Might I be able to get you a beverage? We do have a fine premium for tonight, a B-negative, drawn just this morning. If you're looking for something a little lighter, I do recommend the cyanide."
"How does the B-negative sound?" Steven asked, hand still around her arm.
She fluttered her eyelashes, smirking. "It's just my type."
"I will have two glasses brought for you," he replied, tipping his hand out in gesture before backing away from their coffin, nearly backing into another corpse.
The newest corpse adjusted the tray that was balanced on his arm, a top a blood-soaked towel, blood dripping into the smoke below. "I must deeply apologise to you. Our kitchen staff is extremely busy tonight, what with all of them under the weather, six feet under to be precise. I can't say for certain how long your meals will take to be prepared, and so I offer you these appetisers, on the house." With his good hand – his only hand – he placed the tray on their coffin. "Spiders, the revered black widow to be precise, on a hand-picked bevy of flies and cobwebs. Now, may I tell you our specials for the evening?"
Steven hand-fed one of the spiders to Ethyl, but perked up at the mention of specials. "Please do."
"We have python steak, grilled, with a side of sinew and maggots. We also have baby's brains, still served in the skull. And last, we have freshly-drawn marrow and charbroiled flesh."
"Oh, I love baby's brains, I would like to order that please," Ethyl requested, licking the stubborn remains of web from her fingers.
"And I would like the python steak, rare please," Steven added.
"Of course." Beaming to them he bowed, keeping his own head, but as he turned they were offered the view of a bullet wound, sheering through hair and scalp into grey matter.
"Thank you so much for bringing me here, I've heard so many wonderful things about The Nightmare" Ethyl looked around, making out the guillotines and nooses not completely hid by the darkness. "Everyone raves about this place."
"It's my treat, and I've always wanted to bring you here," Steven said. He shifted his chair around so the coffin didn't keep them apart. Settling at the head, he ran his hand up to her shoulder, toying with the sutures. "After all, I had to make it up to you, running you over with my car."
"You sure know how to sweep a girl off her feet." Pressing her stiff fingers to his cheek, she twisted his face to hers, kissing him deeply. "You are wonderful Steven."
"Ladies and gentlemen, our entertainment of the evening is taking the stage right now." The murmur of conversations fell silent as the voice crackled to life through the restaurant. "Please give a warm – that is, cold welcome to the No More Mr. Nice Guy, Mister Alice Cooper."
A spotlight swung from the ceiling, darting to the front of the restaurant. Standing on top of the host's podium, menus scattered on the floor as the sword blade was thrust into the host's chest, then twisted and retracted, Alice leapt down, swinging the sword much like it was a cane as he sauntered through the smitten crowd.
"Some folks love to see red, some folks never talk about it, some folks crave a blue lady, some folks know still they doubt it..."
The musicians from the small orchestra pit struck up the music as Alice continued to sing. With everyone's attention diverted, the host pressed his fingers to the gaping incision in his chest, wrinkling his nose in disgust. With a heavy sigh that sent the blood in his chest bubbling and spreading further down and across his white shirt he made his way to the bar. "I hate when he does that," he grumbled, accepting the vodka the bartender offered him, long accustomed to his order.
"You've got to admit, you know it's true love when he doesn’t stab anyone but you," the bartender reminded, preparing a drink for the customer who impatiently jabbed his blackened arm.
"Lucky me," he mumbled, dabbing a bit of the vodka to his skin, trying to keep infection to a minimum.
"You know you love it, Dennis," he laughed, shaking his head, scorched and brittle hair crackling with the movement.
“Keep it up, Mike, and I’ll put you on fire again.” Dennis smirked against his glass, keeping one eye on him and the other on the performer.
"Goddamn it Neal, look where you're going!"
"I know exactly where I'm going, rolling to coffin eighteen!"
Glen slid the plate onto the table before chasing after the voice. He caught Neal's head before it was stepped on by any other members of the wait staff. "Honestly, we need to get you a new scarf."
"Either that, or you need to become Hamlet-"
"Or we get you a horse, and make you the Headless Horseman."
Secured back to his body, Neal rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
- 1
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Dining Out