"A date?!" Stryfe squawked, making a face. "Who do you think I am, one of those guys from a 1950's sitcom? A 7pm movie followed by milkshakes at the local grill?" No, no, Stryfe's dates consisted of heavy dancing, drinking, and backseats of vehicles. He laughed, "You're not old enough to get in where I go for dates."
It occurred to him after he said it that it might be another one of those things that offends her. A lot of what he said was offensive, it was just how he was. With a melodramatic sigh, his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Fine. Maybe a date. But if you try to make me go to the opera or some shit, I'm bailing." He pushed up off the bed, inadvertently dropping her onto the bed in the process and began to wag a long-nailed finger at her. "If you try anything stupid, it's your own fault. Trust me, you don't want to set off the demon. People have died for less." Although his tone was teasing, the look in his eyes showed that it was a real warning. Real...and rare.
"Honestly, I'm not trying to be a dick but it's for your own good. Just stay all sweet and innocent. And if you look kind of dorky, that's all the better. Maybe glasses and frizzy hair. And overalls." He grinned, "Actually overalls are kind of sexy. Go with the overalls."