Was that how he'd die? Suffocated or poisoned with some rag in a burning building? Firo was about to grab the arm to try to fight for his life. but he stopped just short when he could make out the person coming at him--and the fact that he also had a cloth for himself.

He blinked; he would've been wide-eyed if keeping his eyes open didn't hurt so much with all the smoke. Okay, so it wasn't an ambush. Firo mirrored the man's posture, leaning down, and nodded his gratitude. "...Thanks."

There was no time to consider what this uneasy alliance would mean if they were on opposite sides, and Firo supposed that he'd deserve it if it came to a knife in the back. So he shoved those thoughts aside and moved in farther, hands groping for someone to rescue.

He tried to shout over the fire, "I can hand 'em out to you. Like an assembly line?"