Still clicking in what had now become an absolutely unsustainable tone and swinging the stalk of his mushroom, Old N charged past the collapsed Grog, who was recovering from his unpleasantly loud and rather demented display, and into the prison's hall. Unfortunately for him, his timing was such that, in the interval between Grog and the building, he had caught up with the last bulk of the fireworks' fuliginous exhalations, but had not had the time to outrun it; the result was that both demon and smoke rolled through the door at the same moment, with unfavourable consequences for the former's sight. In fact, he was quite unable to either see or smell anything in his immediate surroundings, which confused his apathetic brain not a little. Uncertain as to what to do next, he stopped in his tracks, though it did not occur to him to cease clicking and swinging his pincers as well. He heard indistinct sounds - blows, grunts, the clattering of the knight's armour, even what was likely a gunshot - from beyond the grey haze about him, but, due to the annoying chittering he was himself producing, and which by now had probably filled the entire room, he was unable to locate their source with much precision.

Having remained in thoughtful deliberation for a few moments, he finally reached the conclusion that, if he moved in the general direction of where the guards were supposed to be, he would be certain to eventually distract at least someone, and perhaps make his way out of the smoke as well. Interrupting his clicking for a second while he took a bite from the mushroom stalk, he eventually resumed his advance, continuing his attention-drawing moves, which, in the proper circumstances and if executed by something which was not a monstrous bipedal crab, could have passed for an acceptable impression of a malfunctioning comic relief robot from some family-friendly science fiction film. However, he had barely moved a few steps when he stumbled over something which, judging by the metallic sound of the impact and the supplicating muttering, was probably Jonathan. Unable to maintain his balance, Old N toppled down, still chittering and waving about the munched stalk, careening slightly sideways as he made a half-hearted attempt to at least not fall directly onto the knight.