[He can smell weakness. Or he was just lucky (when is he ever lucky, or when does his luck ever go in the right direction, more like): lucky enough to hit the right soldier in the face but not lucky enough not to become a hotdog; either way, Nora's head pops up from where he's methodically grinding the other soldiers' faces into the surf with some glee and mostly fury. It's a little hard to drown them in a few inches of water that won't stay, so really, he's doing it for the hell of it.

In other words, he doesn't need assistance, somehow.

It's Gilbert's gunshots that have his attention, his head tilting as he plops his ass down on the soldiers who have probably been handily knocked out and/or suffocated through sheer enthusiasm and minor burns. It's not a sound he's particularly familiar with, because the demon world's technology makes no sense.]

Hey, I asked first! [never mind that it basically amounted to yelling what the hell into the wind, first come first serve] Cough it up, are you the one throwin' fire around?