"Mel, can you come down here, please," I hear my mom calling from the den.
"Uh, yeah, give me a second," I sigh. I pick up my cell phone again. "Hey, Dyl, I gotta go. My mom is yelling for me."
"Sigh, alright. I'll talk to you later. Love ya," he says.
"Love you, too," I murmur and hang up.
I groan. That was the first I had heard from my boyfriend in a week. Of course, my mom has to interrupt. He was on vacation in the Poconos. Apparently service sucks there.
"Mel," my mom calls again.
"Alright," I yell back. Yeesh. You'd think the house was on fire.
"What's all the ruckus for?" I ask appearing downstairs.
"There is someone here who would like to talk to you," my mom points out a man sitting on the loveseat.
He looks to be my mother's age. His beard is graying, but his hair was still dark as night. He has bright blue eyes, about the exact same shade as mine. Interesting. He looks familiar but I can't place him.
"Who are you?" I ask him curiously.
"Melany, don't be so rude," my mother sighs. She tried so hard to raise me to be as rich and proper as we were labeled by society, but it just didn't fit with who I am. I wasn't meant to be the daughter of Paris's biggest fashion designer.
"Sorry, Maman. Sir, how may I service you?" I ask politely with my French accent. I hadn't been born here, but I had picked it up over the years.We'd moved here when I was two. So, I pretty much began speaking in France.
"No need to be so formal, my dear. I am Nicholas Pennyworth. I am your father," he announces out of the blue.
"You're my what?" I yell, abandoning any display of formalness.
"Your Papan, your father," he murmurs. "I have come to collect you."
"You've... collect.... what?" I demand. "I don't even know you."
"You are destined to be something greater. A warrior. But you must come with me. Immediately. All we be explained. Later," he says.
"Guerrier? Qu'est-ce que tu racontes? Je ne vais pas n'importe ou avec vous. Et meme si vous pensez que vous pouvez prendre vos pensees et de les pousser...," I start spouting off in French.*
"Melany!" my mom interrupts me. I was about to say something inappropriate. I don't even think this guy knows what I'm saying anyway. He looks confused.
"Um, yes, well," he stutters. "I still think you should consider coming with me. It is what you were blessed to do."
I turn to my mother. "Are you believing this?"
"I... he is right, dear. You were bred for this," she sighs.
"Bred?! What am I? A horse?" I shout.
"Mel, please, just hear your father out," my mom begs me.
"Fine," I narrow my eyes. "But he is not my father."
"Good," 'Nicholas' states. "Now, if we can retire to somewhere more private."
"Here is fine," I sit on the couch. "Now what did you mean by warrior?"
"I began an Agency, oh, about a year before you were born. It is filled with only the best assassins and hit men in the world. Others i recruit and train. They are used for and against governments. It is your duty, as my only child, to become a warrior along with them. It should have fallen to my first born son. But you are a daughter, and my only child," my father explains.
"And if I don't want to?" I question.
"I can do nothing about it, but I will have to kill you. You know about the agency. I cannot allow you running around untrained with vital information," he shrugs.
I gasp and stare at him.
"I will be back tomorrow. I suggest you make a decision by then. Goodbye."
"Oh man dieu," I whisper to myself.**
*Warrior? What are you talking about? I'm not going anywhere with you. And if you think that you can take your thoughts and shove them. (roughly)
**oh my god