Putting on your meat suit, one leg at a time - Part 1

Far shadow. One of the few times that Ruby has ever suggested mounts. It was critical, she said, to set out with them. And to actually ride the beasts while things were shifted. Basic tack came with the horses. A serviceable saddle though it bore nothing very special about it or the reins. This changed during transit, and the queer adjustments that came over the equipment meant that a heck of a lot more embellishments were added. "No hhhhats. Or we doomed." The journey was filled with little cryptic phrases like that. "We goo deep. Things get weird farther oot. But you know this. You been with Maggaaah." Ruby's horse hated having her on it, and both did not enjoy getting prettied up and augmented with heavier trappings. The horses themselves changed only cosmetically. Ruby's horse coming aligned with her skin tone. And Merrisol's doing the same. The rider's hair and skin tone an important part of the journey, as if it acted as a node or key in the journey. The land of which is passing and becoming richly organic in flora and fauna. Almost a little too fertile in the sheer amount of animals and plants.

Merrisol had shook his head to the concept of going Far Out Man, admitting, "I've heard things about what's out there, but I'm not at all certain anywhere I have been with Maggie, Martin, or Amy qualifies. For all the strange trappings, if my own imagination could come up with weirder, then those Shadows were not really so far as that." ...Is that a Challenge? The riding goes fine on his end, as that sweet critter understanding sparks between his steed and he with every restive maneuver and surface switch. The chromatic melding worries him a bit, thank gods for trousers or one could never tell where man ended and horse began! He darts a suspicious look ahead at Ruby, while one arm comes up to brush waving palm fronds and bumblebirds aside.

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Putting on your meat suit, one leg at a time - Part 2

A splintering crumpled person-shaped thing becomes yet another obstacle in the race, as everyone behind Ruby must leap or barrel through it. Coincidentally, it's right in the path of another whom has favoured or been beset with a similar composition.
They touch. They immediately try to couple. More mass tries to form into the approximation of another singular biped, rolling around directly in oncoming traffic.

With his evolution towards speed and resilience peaking to an optimal plateau, Merri pulls ahead of the tail end of the race, and comes up on the next two runners. They take up most of the track with their swinging and feinting, a golem of knobby black iron with locomotive pistons on the right, and to the left a loopy fungal scarecrow with blunt sponge balls flailing at the end of fibrous finger stalks. Ahead of them, more competitors dodging the deadly jenga ball and trying to catch up to that villain Rubbery Roo. There might be some booing from the stands, or greater cheers, over this development, but who can really tell when the buzzaaaw horns drown out all?
Correctly discerning the incidental and inconvenient properties of the chaises of like materials, Merrisol does avoid trying to pass on the side of the plantoid racer... but as he plunges to the far right, he slings one arm out and allows several of the root extensions of his fingers to touch the toadstool caps as they maul across the back brace of the iron hulk, leaving a gummy puss in the works. The cellulose of both suits fuses but stretches as Merri keeps metal between the rest of their mass, hand curling into a fist to protect his joints from the imminent YOINK. The force of momentum clotheslines the golem, who misclunks a step and flies helmet-first into the track. Seconds later, the jumble of wooden racers crashes through the bonds of plant brotherhood, snapping them asunder!

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Putting on your meat suit, one leg at a time - Part 3

Beyond the arch at the other end of the chasm is another straight-forward run that curves around in a large C-shape. It has token amount of discarded materials of a type. There is a marked absence of metal by the time Merrisol and then Ruby are into the lane. And things sympathetic to Ruby and Merri are missing, though messy bits remain. A clue to that may come from the sight of something being punted up and out of the lane in a high arc. Hopefully it's just 'matter' and not conjointed with anything.

Somehow, Merrisol doesn't get to leave this leg of the race first. His suit is working for him, and he has more or less the same number of leaps to reach the arch, yet Ruby takes the lead once again. Turning back at the precipice, in spite of repeated opposing impulses from his veggie friend, to scan the platforms for the locations of stragglers relative to the shambling mass, if there are any to be seen after all the tremors have swept through. He takes a step back, pivots, and chases after Ruby into the curving corridor. Immediately on alert for the obstacles or surprises that must exist beyond the last challenge, Merri slows to a cautious jog while frowning at the evidence of there having been some manner of hurdle. He listens for clanking ahead, or the keening of metal fatigue, then his gaze darts upwards to follow the receding trajectory of the unidentified punted object. "Someone's sweeping the path clear for us..?" he suggests to Ruby's back, treading around the unlike obstructions all the same. Perhaps that metal-blonde is paying back the favour. Merri frowns over the absense of steel again, and puts some further literal spring into his step to overtake his comrade and catch up with the debris-kicker.

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