Wipe the sweat from your brow, we've got quite a ways to go.

So... Yeah, I'm running out of mountain related lines to start off with...

More digitally drawn doodles, alas the alliteration abides without annul... Someone stop me please. *is slapped* Thank you.

So we've got a lot of different contexts with AR here. Starting with a fox of Ancient Rome, possibly a politician, who got on the wrong side of a lyre-equipped diety, moving along to a boastful wolf who really ought to check what he buys from shady-looking wine and spirits salesman, and finishing with the musician of a million genres, Totokeke who seems to have strummed out a melody of ancient origins and forbidden magic.

The running cat I've come to consider the official design for the feline in "The Night is Young".

Silk lavender boxer shorts... Why do they keep turning up?

EDIT: Added a bit of a back story for a friend's special favorite of these images.
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The wine glasses were polished, the violets were spruced and arranged. Lord Aven de Plume looked smugly down from his high balcony landing, upon his many servants as they bustled madly about, carrying silver tea trays and crystal decanters, polishing the marble tiled floor, beating the dust from tapestries, and carefully straightening linen tablecloths over several buffet tables. The noise echoed throughout the enormous hall. Plume leaned on the banister, he was a tall anthro wolf, rather imposing and intimidating, he was wearing a satin robe of a dark blue color that perfectly complemented his light blue fur. It was monogrammed across the lapel in golden thread. 'Only a few more hours and this ballroom will be packed with the posh and elite,' Plume thought lazily as he watched some five servants attempting to hoist a massive 20-foot portrait of himself into place. They had just managed, after much strenuous labor, to fasten the monstrous thing when Plume called down to them.

"Well done gentle-furs, but I'd much prefer it on the East wall, if you don't mind." The group of ruddy faced, exhausted anthros obviously did mind, but didn't dare voice objection or even to look at their slavedriving overlord. With a simultaneous sigh, they began to try and pries the towering frame from the wall. "Right, once you've finished mounting that one there be sure to put up the other twenty-fo-" But Plume was interrupted by a soft cough from behind him, he turned around to find his butler standing beneath the curtained archway entrance to the grand balcony.

A rather small and scared-looking mouse with large spectacles and light brown fur, he looked even smaller than he really was with the pillared arch high, high above him and the massive black curtains on either side- It didn't help matters either that his waistcoat and tailed jacket appeared to be a smidge too big for him. As his lord looked down on him, he timidly averted his eyes, resting them instead upon Plume's fancy-slippered feet.

"What is it Roddes? You've interrupted a bout of very important supervising," Plume said with slight annoyance. From behind the robed wolf came a very loud crash, it sounded as if his "supervising" had resulted in a rather nasty pileup of twenty or so anthros crushed beneath the enormous portrait. Plume appeared not to notice. Roddes looked terrified.

"S-so sorry s-sir," he squeaked out, "But there's a s-salesperson waiting in the foyer who says he has business with you," Plume looked bemused. He frowned, he couldn't recall scheduling any audience today in favor of the very important social event to take place that evening. "S-shall I s-send him away, your Lordship?" Roddes asked after a few moments.

"No, no Roddes," Plume said distractedly, not looking at his minuscule manservant. "Go inform the gentle-fur that I will be with him very shortly," Rodde bowed, making his specs nearly fall off and smash, clutching them to his face he backed awkwardly out of the balcony area and darted back down the hall.

Plume took one look back at the ballroom, where his servants had managed to lift the abominable artwork off of their fellows and were now assessing the damage and nursing cuts and bruises. Some appeared to have fractured ribs and were sitting and wincing as their fellows did what they could to help.

"What are you lethargic lot doing?" he quite literally barked, "Get back to work!"

The foyer was a grand room dominated by an immense crystalline glass chandelier. Standing directly beneath it was an anthro that contrasted sharply with the opulence and sheer lavishness that so prominently occupied every inch of his surroundings. He was a feline, a tabby cat, quite tall and thin with somewhat unkempt yellow and orange fur. His tail was very long and fluffy and it swayed contentedly between his knees as he waited patiently, leaning upon a rigid wooden cane. He was wearing a patched apple-green tweed suit with matching trousers and clutched a flat straw boater over the head of his cane. On the floor next to him sat an old leather bag. He was staring upward at the chandelier with a relaxed smile on his face. When Rodde came in and informed him of his master's immanent arrival he straightened and thanked the butler with a polite bow. Rodde looked around, characteristically awkward, for a few moments, then gave a very quick bow (that nearly dislodged his large round glasses again) and darted, blushing, from the room, hoisting up his oversized suit as it bounced around on his tiny frame.

A minute later Lord Plume arrived impressively at the top of the grand staircase, he'd swapped his robe for a gold-trimmed black blazer and dispensed with his slippers though his smug smile was still as firmly placed as ever upon his lips. The guest looked up at him unflinchingly though his pomposity resonated like a blazing sun.

"Good afternoon, your Lordship," the cat said happily with an enthusiastic bow. The wolf stared shrewdly down at the cat, obviously noting all the very apparent disparities from his accustomed grandeur. Plume began to descend, straightening his jacket and smoothing the sleeves as he did so as if to emphasize his own impeccable standards and his guest's lack thereof. He stopped a few steps above the tweed feline, obviously to keep his height's advantage as he realized the cat was quite tall.

"What is your business?" Plume asked icily, it seemed he restrained from adding a scathing invective with extreme difficulty. "Make it quick, as you might imagine," the wolf continued lazily 'or perhaps not, you uncouth charlatan' he venomously appended in his head, "My estate is rather busy at present,"

"Of course, of course, dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience-" The cat said lightly, cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to his host's palpable displeasure with his company. "Big party this evening, isn't there?" He continued conversationally. Plume snorted disdainfully.

"If you degrade it to the most common terms, yes," He said with a sneer. The cat laughed.

"Well, my fine fellow, every part- er, 'Social Gathering' of your caliber needs spirits. Good spirits- The best. And I happen to deal in the finest wines, liquors, whiskeys, and brandies you'll find anywhere," Grinning broadly, the cat bent and undid the tarnished metal straps of his bag. He opened it and stuck his paw in, the clinking of glass echoed in the silence as he rummaged for a moment before pulling out a very tall, slender bottle, he straitened and held the bottle at arm's length looking at it proudly. In spite of himself Plume felt a small twinge of interest, he was a (self-proclaimed) connoisseur of wines. With cellars full of fermenting alcohol, though he was hardly in need of another. Still...

"What is that supposed to be?" Plume asked trying to sound indifferent.

"This, dear sir, is an excellent L'avvoltoio Artiglii 1565," The cat said heartily, examining the bottle with admiration. Plume gave another indignant snort.

"Sheer and arrant nonsense," the wolf said, baring his teeth in a cold smile, "There is no such vintage," he gave a low mirthless laugh that was more of a growl. Still the cat was unphased, he smiled.

"Ah, it is a very, very rare wine, but a lovely wine nonetheless," the cat paused and seemed to consider something, "Perhaps not the wine for you though, sir; mayhap a bit too bitter." The cat retreated to his bag again. "I deal in specialty wines, your Lordship," he said casually as he rummaged "Rare and exotic, some are one-of-a-kind-"

"What is the point of that?" Plume asked incredulously. What good would one bottle do?

"Only the best," The cat said simply, picking up bottle after bottle and squinting at each shrewdly. "Goes to the master."

This got Plume's attention, this cat's thinking was starting to appeal to him. He descended the last few stairs and moved a bit closer to the cat.

"Sangue? No... Freeido? No. Crudele? ...Perhaps." The cat was muttering as he selected each bottle. He shook his head at 'Crudele' and moved on. There was silence except for the slight bell-like ring of glass on glass as the feline rearranged bottles in his case. "Paterno? Definitely not!" Plume watched the feline unload bottles a little nonplussed, if this was an act or a con it was certainly well prepared. Each of the bottles had a different look to them, he noticed, some subtly different in length and thickness of the neck, but some had intricate designs worked into and from the glass. A bottle of "Cuore di Uccello" quickly discarded caught his eye, he bent and picked it up, the cat seemed not to notice.

The neck seemed to be worked with several delicately textured rings, but as he rotated it he realized it was actually the feathered serpentine neck of a really quite beautifully done swan. It was strangely warm to the touch and gave the wolf an odd feeling as he held it, like he shouldn't be doing so, like it was some forbidden object. It made him uneasy, but intrigued. He stared, mesmerized, at the crystal eye of the swan. It stared back at him, into him, or seemed to. He tore his eyes from the bottle and looked at the others at his feet. Another one caught his eye, he picked it up, the cat had called this one "Paterno" he thought. The glasswork once again was quite exquisite, patterns of daffodils and rosebuds climbed the container, so amazingly real in their detail that Plume could almost smell their fragrances. He felt another weird sensation with the addition of this bottle. It was a deep warmth, wonderful, but so faint, he wanted more. He greedily lifted another bottle into his arms, then another, admiring the intricate glass, adding their bizarre energies to the rest. It was quite as intoxicating as actually drinking the liquors, he thought amusedly.

"I wonder..." The cat's voice broke Plume from his trance, he tore his eyes from "Cuore di Uccello" once again and looked down. The cat had picked up another bottle. "Vezzeggio il Lupine... Cucciolo Spremuta, 1513..." He slowly turned and stood up, eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand, a contemplative frown on his face. He turned the bottle slowly in his fingers. A broad grin crept onto his face and a twinkling sparkle seemed to light up in his eyes. "Yes... Yes, I think this will d-" He caught sight of Plume, whose arms were full of wine bottles, stacked haphazardly up to his chin. He covered his mouth in a cough that may have hidden a laugh, and pulled a strait face "You'll want to pace your indulgences, good sir," he said grinning. The cat skillfully removed the bottles from the aristocrat's teetering tower and returned them to his bag.

"Perhaps I wanted to buy those," Plume began awkwardly. The cat shook his head, smiling as he took the last bottle, "Paterno" back. Plume almost childishly grabbed for the bottle back, his hand twitched, but he restrained himself. He couldn't get over how cold he suddenly felt without the bottles in his grasp.

"Buy? My dear sir, I haven't explained the way I conduct my business," The cat laughed softly, "How terribly thoughtless of me, you must have thought I was after your precious money," Plume stared, totally at a loss. "No, no, no," The cat chuckled as he fastened the clasps on his bag and stood up once more, one bottle in his grasp. "I pride myself on finding the match, the perfect fit for every customer, I only ask that you take this bottle-" The cat thrust the wine bottle into the wolf's arms. "And enjoy!" And with that the tweed-donning stranger turned on his heel, gave a jovial wave, hoisted his bag into his arms and took off swiftly towards the massive front doors. Plume stood stunned for a moment, then he called after the cat:

"Wait!" The cat stopped, paw on the silver handle, he turned back. "Er- Are you quite sure there's no way you wouldn't like to part with any more of those lovely- er, bottles?" He asked, feeling very foolish under the cat's expectant grin. He dug a paw into the pockets of his blazer and pulled out a fancy leather checkbook. "I mean-" He trailed off. The cat's face was fixed in an impassive smile.

"Oh, sir, I can assure you," The cat said, happy as ever. "One is quite enough," And with that the cat donned his straw boater, turned the handle and swept out into the late afternoon sunshine, swinging his cane and whistling merrily.

(TO BE CONTINUED)
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