Kitiara Club

V. · Alliances · Shadows

The Green-Wigged Stranger

Archive Guest · remix of The Green-Wigged Stranger · 6 pages

Comic

Night in the city, and the story begins.

Nighttime, rain-soaked Lower East Side street. Benny Profane stands alone under a flickering neon club sign, trench coat collar up, as rain and city lights blur the world. The silhouette of the Green-Wigged Stranger is visible in the club doorway, framed in green light.
Whole Sick Crew's inside. Should I be too?Benny Profane
establish place, mood, question1 / 6
Inside the club, Benny edges through a crowd as the Green-Wigged Stranger approaches, her green wig vivid in the dim light. Music equipment and members of the Whole Sick Crew blurred in the background.
You look lost, sailor.Green-Wigged Stranger
Maybe. You know the way?Benny Profane
Outside the club, rain streaking the city, the Stranger tugs Benny’s hand. Their figures are silhouetted against wet pavement, neon reflecting in puddles.
Come on!Green-Wigged Stranger
the meeting, the invitation2 / 6
The Stranger leads Benny through a narrow, graffiti-tagged alley, her green wig a beacon ahead. Trash fires glow in distant barrels.
You sure this isn't the long way around?Benny Profane
Close-up: the Stranger glances back over her shoulder, eyes glinting beneath the wig, rain running down her face.
Do you trust me?Green-Wigged Stranger
Benny, half in shadow, hesitates under a dripping streetlight, rain masking his expression.
Should I?Benny Profane
deeper into the night, pressure builds3 / 6
Under a rusted fire escape in a foggy, empty side street, the Stranger faces Benny, close; their breaths mingle in the cold mist.
Turn back, or see where this goes. Your call.Green-Wigged Stranger
Silent pause: Benny and the Stranger nearly touch, city lights blurred around them; tension and longing.
Maybe for once I'll see.Benny Profane
the turn – a choice at the threshold4 / 6
Painterly close-up: Benny and the Stranger share a brief, intimate kiss in the fog, rain catching the green wig and his tousled hair, the city indistinct behind them.
Come on, sailor.Green-Wigged Stranger
climax – the kiss and commitment5 / 6
Benny, following the Stranger, is led down a labyrinth of rain-slicked, empty streets. The green wig glows ahead, Benny’s hand in hers.
Guess I'm in it now.Benny Profane
Distant, the pair disappear into a foggy intersection; only the green wig glows, city fading behind.
No going back, Profane.Benny Profane
aftermath, deeper into the unknown, emotional button6 / 6
Chapter prose
Rain glazed the Lower East Side, painting the sidewalks with neon streaks. Benny Profane wandered, collar up, boots splashing, drawn by the thrum of something raw. It was the sort of night when the city seemed to unspool, every shadow a question mark. The club's doorway glowed like a portal. Inside, the Whole Sick Crew wailed distorted chords, the bass shuddering through Benny's chest. He edged through the crowd, a familiar outsider, drifting. That’s when he saw her: a woman with a sharp jaw, fishnets, and a neon green wig that shimmered oily in the club lights. Her eyes caught his—wary, challenging, amused. She slid up to him between songs. "You lost?" she asked, words flickering like a dare. Benny shrugged, hands in his pockets, his trademark half-smile: "Maybe. You know the way?" She laughed, tugged his sleeve, and suddenly he was following her. Out of the club, rain-slicked streets swallowing the music, her hand in his, the green wig bobbing ahead. Each corner led down a narrower alley, deeper into the city’s underbelly. Benny felt the night thickening around him, a cold, exhilarating pulse—was it fear or freedom? "You trust me?" She glanced back, eyes glinting under the wig’s fringe. He hesitated. "Should I?" Her grip tightened. "Does it matter?" The city changed as they walked. Familiar blocks gave way to strange storefronts, graffiti scrawled like secret codes. Trash fires flickered, lighting faces both hostile and indifferent. Benny’s senses sharpened; each step with her felt like a dare, a risk to everything rootless and numb about him. Finally, they paused under a dripping fire escape. She pressed close, her breath tangling with his in the fog. "You could turn back," she murmured. "Or you could see where this goes." Somewhere, a siren wailed. Benny looked into her eyes, saw the flicker of something wounded and reckless. For once, he didn’t want to run. He leaned in. Their lips brushed—a kiss that was as much question as promise. For a moment, the city receded. Benny Profane, chronic sideman, felt himself stepping into the plot, no longer on the sidelines. When she pulled away, she grinned. "Come on, sailor." And so he let her lead him deeper, certain only of the hand in his, the green wig bright against the storm, and the intoxicating uncertainty of what waited in the night.
Original idea

Benny heads off into the night with his new, mysterious companion, the green-wig bobbing up , her hand in his, as she leads him down increasingly darker streets. He's being enveloped in something and it's intoxicating, but he doesn't know whether he's following a path to salvation or lunacy.

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