The Mad Dash From Beach to Dorms, Early Tuesday Morning

[peace_n_war]

It had been a fairly uneventful weekend for Warren the newt. There had been a good deal of napping, hiding under rocks, and cursing whatever force of Fandom had turned him into the diminutive creature in the first place. At least he'd ruled out the possibility of a supervillain attack involving a transmogrification beam. That had made his time spent as a newt at least slightly less worrisome.

Until the bunyip had wandered ashore from the ocean and had decided to snuffle about under his rock in search of a tasty morsel.

Sadly, a moist little newt, fire bellied though it may be, was not able to spark itself aflame in order to scare off the creature as its tusked maw edged closer. And so Warren was forced to make the most undignified of retreats.

The running newt soon became a running boy, and the bunyip lost interest.

Warren was less amused, seeing as he was lacking clothing and hadn't had the ability to move his things to the much closer cabins yet.

This was going to be a long run with his hands covering his unmentionables, indeed.

[Open for gawking!]

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At some point along his journey he passed a pack of reporter squirrels holding up pieces of paper with numbers on it.

According to them, Warren's exhibition was scoring in the high nines, except for the one squirrel from East Germany who gave him a 6.7. Ignore that one.