Town of Salem - Arsonist

Night Two

"I'm going out to..." Firebug stopped himself before he accidentally reveals his role. "...do my job." He exhaled.
Prophet was seated at the dining room table, singing something quietly to themselves. They look up at the Arsonist.

"Okay!" Prophet starts scribbling in their will again. "I promise I'll be okay here. I'll tell Them to stop if They start telling me to do wrong things."
Firebug shuddered. This guy was weird.

"See you in a few."

The man rushed to his room, and he felt a sudden burning sensation in his chest as he examined the tank of gasoline.
"Yes," he muttered, his fingers curling around the warm red handle of the tank, shaking it lightly and feeling the rush of gasoline inside surge like an ocean swell. A nice, flammable swell. He grinned, taking off his casual wear and dressing in a fireproof jumper- a brownish-greyish ash covered garment, with a sturdy belt to keep it tight. He yanked on gloves and hopped into his worn boots.
A smile cut through his face and he glanced at himself in the mirror. A genuine smile.
He is the Arsonist tonight.
Firebug then planned his route out. The target's house is...eight houses to the left of his own. This will be quite the trek.

"I'll take a while, Prophet," he called out. "Feel free to sleep in the bed if you'd like."

"Yes, yes," Prophet said, "see you!"

Firebug exited the house, keeping the tank behind his back. He examined the town. It was dark and empty, the only light coming from the lanterns hung outside the houses. Nobody but the Mafia and the Serial Killers were out at this point, all the town roles were asleep or at the target's house.

He looked at the list in his gloved hands. Giles. He could've felt guilty, but instead he felt elated and excited. Time to go.

The Arsonit strolled down the dirt path with a bit of a frisk in his step, gas tank swinging back and forth merrily. He walked slowly, admiring the bittersweet ambience. The orchestra of crickets that hid in the blades of grass chirped softly, as if they acknowledged the presence of the pyromaniac.

Eventually he halted in front of the house of Giles. Firebug peeked into the window meekly. He was fast asleep. Time to get working.
Firebug uncapped the can of gasoline and started low, lacing the perimeter of the cottage with the fluid. He hummed in pleasure as he heard the gasoline trickle down and splash onto the grass and onto the walls.
He then started flinging blotches of it onto the house, taking care not to splash himself on accident- although he loved the welcoming heat of flames, he preferred not to be lit on fire.
He swooped from one end of a wall to another diligently, swinging his gas tank high enough that it reached the top of the doorway. Once he felt his gas tank empty, he let out a leisurely sigh. His work here was done.

Firebug began his walk home, whistling a gleeful tune as he skipped. During his stroll home there was a piercing, high-pitched wail that broke through the silence, and it was nearby. He stopped whistling and started shuffling away a little faster.

When he came by Prophet's house, He turned to the window. It was unilluminated, of course, but in the shadows he could make out someone's silhouette shifting around inside. In the alleyway he spotted the wistful glimmer of someone's eyes.

The uneasy arsonist began to jog back home. He shouldn't cause more trouble than he already has. As he neared his home a muffled gunshot broke out, followed by another pained female cry. It came from the Veteran's house, which was right next to his own. Directly following the first was another scream, this time sounding like Prophet's. Firebug started regretting leaving them home alone, and he took off sprinting home. fearing the worst. He burst through the door and heard Prophet bawling and yelling, hiding under the table.

"Prophet!"The arsonist barked. He closed the door shut and flung his gas tank into his room. He hurried over to the terrified townie, who was hyperventilating and cupping their hands around their ears. "What happened?! Are you okay?" He keeled down beside them, hovering a hand above their shoulder and trying to hold eye contact.

"The sound of death...It surrounds me, Arsonist! It calls out to me," they cried.
Firebug was alarmed, both at their mental health and the fact they knew his role.

"How'd you get the idea that I'm-"

"They're yelling at me, Arsonist, They told me!" Tears rolled down their pale cheeks, their hands in front of their face as if to shield themself.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, the gunshot was far away from us," Firebug attempted to console him, "it was the Veteran next door shooting a criminal, most likely."

"But...but what if they shot Dexter?" Prophet started hiccupping due to how bad they were hyperventilating.

"Dexter isn't a bad guy...is he?" Firebug set a hand behind their back.

"No," they whimpered.

"So what are you so worried about?" He gently reached for their hand, but they shied away. "Hey now, come and get some rest. The faster you fall asleep, the faster tomorrow comes, and the faster you'll see Dexter again." Firebug wasn't used to comforting anyone other than himself, really, but he tried his best, because frankly he wasn't looking foward to being mutilated by a smiling jerk anytime soon.
"Here- do you want to sleep over in my room, or on your own?" He honestly had no idea whether it was a good idea to leave this person alone in their current state.

"I-I'll sleep in your room, just in case They start yelling at me again..." Prophet was trembling.

"Okay. But we have to turn everything off fast, or the Sheriff will think something's wrong and we'll be taken to the Jailor." Firebug dreaded the Jailor, and he could tell that Prophet hated them just as much. He took hold of their arm and heaved them up. Prophet pulled their checkered sleeve down to cover the numerous scratch and bite marks they had inflicted onto themself. Firebug led him to his room, where he closed the shutters- nobody could see him in his Arsonist garb- and went to haul out a spare mattress for his guest.
However by the time he draped some warm blankets over it and was about to let them get comfy, they were already bundled up in his bed. He sighed, but did not object. Just one night, he reassured himself, crawling onto the mattress.