Xander gave a big goofy grin. “So I’m not really a Harris? Outstanding! The son of Hercules and Xena. Mucho good news there. Famous parents, cool. What I always dreamed of. Do I get any cool superpowers? Like, skill with the chakram?”
Poirot stroked his magnificent moustache. “Alas, you ‘ave not inherited any of your mother’s strength or skill. Only her dark hair and, how you say, wisecracking. It seems you ‘ave inherited little from your father either. Not his famous leetle grey cells, that is certain. I did not say ‘Hercules’, I said ‘Hercule’. Xander, I am your father.’