Jacob is being carried bodily by Grup. The large orc has no trouble wading through the crowd in reception. Those that don’t just get out of his way are pushed out of his way gently. Jacob blushes deeply as the orc shifts him, holding him to his chest like a child. “Hey, put me down!” Jacob protests.
“Not yet, HUMAN.” Grup grovels, moving a woman wearing a black leather mini skirt out of his way. He pushes on the front doors of the reception, and together they burst out into the light. The scene could only be more dramatic if the ranch was on fire and Grup was wearing firefighter gear.
Jacob, clinging to the giant orc’s chest for dear life, has his head patted twice. “You can let go now,” Grup smirks.
“Yeah.” Jacob relaxes and starts to let go only to have Grup pick him up by his shirt and set him on the roof of a car.
“Ok, HUMAN, we need a coin older than the United States.” Grup grins at Jacob with a large white toothy smile on his green-skinned face.
“What, why?” Jacob demands as he tries to climb down from the roof of the car. But Grup just picks him up and sets him back down on the roof.
“The contest—we must be the winners; after all, we are champions.” Grup grunts and slams his fist into the roof of the car, denting it 3 inches.
“What the hell, Grup?” Jacob winces at the sound of crunching metal. “Whose car is this anyway?”
“No idea.” Grup grunts, “A coin older than your country. Where can I get one?” Grup demands answers.
“Yeah Grup yeah you’re a champion just don’t wreck anything else,” Jacob says in a placating way.
“Good, I had hoped you had more warrior spirit than you appear to contain.” Grup laughs. “Coin, where?”
“Just let me think.” Jacob says, trying to push Grup back.
“Think quick, human; I must win,” Grup grouches. Staring hard at Jacob.
There is a delay while Jacob thinks but the orc grows very quickly impatient.
“Well?” Grup demands.
“The cat just gave me and Izzy some pennies from the 1910s, but they are not nearly old enough,” Jacob says. And is shocked when Grup messes his hair up.
Grups hard eyebrows raise in a very human way, and he picks Jacob up and sets him on the ground. “Let’s go to my bedroom.”
“What, you’re horny again?” Jacob asks, ready to bolt to his motel room. Hoping the door can hold the green mountain at bay.
“No… yes, but no…” Grup mutters and pushes jacob towards the reception door.
“You move too slow; go faster.” grup growls
“Why are we going to your room?” Jacob asks, feeling more like a prisoner than a partner.
“Perhaps I own some old coins. The orc alliance is old enough that we have forgotten how old it is. One of them surely must be older than this child of a country you worship.” He reaches down to pick Jacob up and hurries back into the building, forcing his way past the crowd once more.
They climb into the elevator and ride it down to B2. Grup doesn’t wait for the door to open on its own; he forces it open and walks into the hallway. He looks left and right before moving quickly to his room; he opens the door and, much to Jacob’s horror, tosses him at the bed. Jacob lands with a bounce on its soft memory foam, sickly soft. He looks at the orc, almost laughing.
Grup, in the time it takes Jacob to recover from his soft landing, has crossed the room and grabbed a leather bag that looks like it was made out of at least 5 different species. He tosses the pineapple-sized bag at Jacob with enough force to knock him over.
“Check the dates.” Grup says insistently, “Time is not our girlfriend.”
“What? Time is not our friend,” Jacob says, opening the gross leather bag and dumping it on the bed. The scattering of coins are many different colors; some of them glow with mysterious light. No two look to be the same denomination. There are some yen coins and a single euro from Malta.
Jacob sorts through the coins. The stony faces glaring at him from the mostly alien coins. He tries to read the dates, but they are in a script he can’t read. “Grup, I can’t read this,” he says.
Grup glares at him. “Look for anything older than 1500 to be safe.”
“I can’t read it, Grup. Like this one, it just looks like ICVN.” Jacob says, holding up a coin.
Grup blinks and does the conversion in his head. “1878,” he says, looking at Jacob, wondering if his pet war rooster was smarter. He sighs, missing his home.
Jacob digs in the bag looking for any coin with 3 symbols instead of 4; he finds one that says VXR. “What about this one?”
He holds it up for Grup, who glances at it. “What are the symbols?”
“VXR see,” Jacob tells Grup and feels confused.
“My vision is not as good here as at home,” Grup admits.
“So you can’t read these?” Jacob asks, furrowing his brows.
“No,” Grup says and slaps his hands together. “We must go; that one is from 1453—plenty old enough.” He glances at the skull-shaped clock on the wall and, despite the protests of Jacob, picks him up again. As he moves to the door, it jumps open like it is afraid of him, and Grup storms out of the room, the door closing and locking behind him automatically.
Jacob struggles in his grip. “I can walk, you know.”
Grup looks at the human cargo under his arms. “I suspect you can, but someone else may snatch you.”
“Why me?” Jacob squirms.
“Because you are the reason I will win this year. Together we will be victorious.” Grup grunts as he storms his way to reception, the milling crowd parting, now used to his shenanigans.
“Now, human, we need a phoenix feather. Ideas?” Grup asks with new found respect for the mating partner of the high priestess of the filling cabinet.
