OmegaScales

I'm guessing time travel. She just said her father is her son.

I don't even know who that is... *Utilise Google pour le trouver.* A french comic? Nope.

Hint: represents two of the zodiacs.

I am near freedom, and quite underneath. Once unfortunately held ‘neath my character, All the virtues are held in my sheath. I represent the venomous tailed creature, And maintain a good balance. I’ve been held above all money. I’ve been remembered fondly in France. I've been painted many shades so lovely. I may seem like a peaceful night’s sky. Please tell me, what am I?

I aggregated everything I could into here. I figured out who JC is. Hrm... Still stuck on the numbers.

I aggregated everything I could into here.

Pecan pie. I only need a couple slices for the entire day, and I like most nuts, so no big deal. Easy $. Would you rather become completely paralyzed but then become the first sci-fi cyborg in real life, or become completely paralyzed but then gain magical powers, including the ability to heal yourself?

Three. No particular reason why. Would you rather tear down the Danyang-Kunshan Grand Bridge with just hand tools (non electric), or fight Chuck Norris?

Ignoring the half naked sleeping man, Leslie heads for the back of the lot, where the only car is. The window rolls down and a hand comes out. You hand over the ID, which he carefully inspects. After a moment, the man steps out of the car, looking just like the ID shows, though wearing a trench coat and fedora, which he tips to you and walks off. “Thank ya’ miss.”

A quick glance at the ID shows that it is obviously not for her, as she had originally thought. She decides to take a closer look at it. The photo is of a man, likely in his early twenties, though already showing signs of a receding hairline. His hair itself is a slightly dark brown, with a widow's peak. It is short, about half an inch long. His face is rather round yet rectangular at the same time, and his cleft chin juts out probably a good half inch, slightly visible under a goatee, which looks to fall down about one and three quarters inch. It does not reach all the way up to his lip, save for his soul patch, and goes as far as the contours of his cleft chin. His eyes are a mesmerizing blue, like the sky, but with just a hint more green, and just make you want to tell him how beautiful they are.

No to all. The hint will still be available later, so don't worry about it too much. Just figure out what you want to do first.

After a festival-like ritual, including a large feast, an attempt to steal the staff by a certain gang leader, the anti-climactic discovery of the missing part of the staff (under a rock that was moved to make way for a bonfire), and a one-hundred one year old man moving with the grace of a ninja and honour of a samurai, Leslie, Mike and the two pilots were flown by helicopter to a city, where Mike had another jet waiting to take them home. As Leslie finally came into her driveway, a UPS truck pulled up to her mailbox. After signing, a medium sized box is placed in her hands, and they drive away. Noticing the sender's address is up in Connecticut, she smiles to herself and heads inside. Shaking the box a bit, she doesn’t hear what she had expected, and neither does she smell it. She was really looking forward to her grandmother’s made-from-scratch pastries. A sudden chill runs down her spine, and time seems to slow down. Why do I feel like something terrible is about to happen, she wonders, just before her phone snaps her out of it. “Hello, Young residence.” “Hello dear, have you gotten my parcel?” “Hey Gram, yeah, I just got it. How are you?” “Oh, I’m alright. I just wish your grandfather would get away from the blasted TV to fix my chair, which he promised to do three months ago!” “Oh, really… Is it still that same show?” “Same episode! I made the mistake of taping it, and he just watches it over and over. Oh, but he’s still such a sweetheart.” “Well, I don’t think I need to hear about any of that.” “Oh, pish. What’s wrong with a little lovin’? Hmm?” “It’s just the fact that my grandmother wants to talk about her sex life. I’d like to be able to sleep tonight.” “Oh, pish. Well, enjoy yourself dearie. I know how much you’ve been looking forward to my care package.” At this point, something clicks. You need to make sure though. “Yeah, but if you keep sending me these baked goods, I’m gonna get fat.” “Oh, pish. Just do your workouts and I’m sure you’ll burn off the carbohydrates.” “That’s CALORIES Gram.” “Isn’t that what I said?” “No, you said… Oh, never mind. Love you! See you for the holidays!” “I love you too dear.” … It’s been almost 10 years since your father came up with that duress phrase, and now it’s been put into use. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone in your house, but recognize him as you are about to grab your gun. “I-” “Our original mission will be postponed,” the man with the V-shaped scar says. “You should open the package.” You do so and find an old tome with writing you barely recognize. ~Historia Hominis~ is on the front, and the book is rather plain besides. But the fact that your grandmother lied about what she sent you and that your friendly neighborhood ninja/messenger seemed to know about it tells you it is more important than it seems. “So, what do I need to do then?” “I’ll take the book. You are to capture those who have your grandparents under duress. And if you fail and get captured, you will be terminated if you so much as think of telling them about me or our employers. Capture them alive, if you can.” And with that, The Messenger disappears yet again. A small piece of paper is on the counter, along with a set of keys and fake ID. The paper reads: A car is waiting at the Denny’s parking lot. Show the ID. Everything you should need is in the car. If anyone can guess the duress phrase, I’ll give a hint.

Ten cats to one tree. There are ways to not kill a cat doing that, but one cat to ten trees is rather obvious. Plus it would be kind of funny to see ten cats on a single tree. Provided there's little to no blood. Would you rather eat 20 servings of your least favorite food in a single day, or a single serving of it every day for 20 days?

Do you know what its valency is?

How many letters long is it?

I'd rather eat the pineapple with the outside still on it... I just won't eat the outside part. Would you rather: never had Justin Bieber made famous? or had stopped Miley Cyrus from making Can't Be Tamed (where it all went downhill)?