"No. Try again."
A throbbing vein pushed up against Abaddon's forehead.
"Courtney… isn't all of this a bit unnecessary?"
"Nuh-uh. You're not leaving this house until you look like a perfectly normal, respectable, lame dad. Every time you come up to my school there's a new thirst trap edit of you getting sent to my phone and I'm sick of it!"
"My human form is already as mundane as possible." He insisted.
"Bull. Shit. You're six foot five and built like a pro football player. And you've got a face that anyone with a functioning cerebrum would love."
"You have the strangest way of giving me compliments." Abaddon rolled his eyes.
"Love you, dad."
"Yea, yea."
He reached back inside of his closet for something his daughter would deem an acceptable outfit for him to go out in public in.
It was the hardest thing he had done in recent memory.
"Track suit?"
