Obadiah’s Wednesday afternoon odd encounter(Obadiah)

Date: 2025-12-31 13:45

(Obadiah’s Wednesday afternoon odd encounter(Obadiah):Obadiah)

[Wed Dec 31 2025]

On Beacon Street/span/span>afternoon, about 23F(-5C) degrees, and there are a few wispy white clouds in the sky. The mist is heaviest At Mayflower and Oakwood/span/span>Obadiah comes up the street and sees Teagan, taking a pause to lean against the wall when he sees her. “Hey babe,” he says with a grin then looks down at his phone, “Do we know a werewolf with all black fur and very blue eyes?”

This is how Teagan thinks. Well, sort of. Usually it’s by walking around the city looking for this or that oddity as a way to occupy the more busy parts of her mind but it’s too cold for that. So instead she just drives aimlessly and stops whenever she sees something of interest. Or needs coffee. This time it was the latter and as she steps out of some hole in the wall with a togo cup clutched between her hands she looks… not entirely surprised to see Obadiah. He stalks her down often enough. It’s a pleasant surprise is what it is and she gives him a warm smile in return, moving over to glance at what she assumes is a photo or description on his phone. “Not off the top of my head.”

Obadiah slides his phone into his pocket after queuing up a text to send before looking up to Teagan again, “Well I am glad I found you. I was on my way to respond to the this message about a disturbance in a brownstone off of Atlantic. Want to come with?”

Moving her coffee to one hand, Teagan slips her other arm through Obadiah’s. She leans into his shoulder. Totally not stealing his warmth. Okay. Not JUST stealing his warmth. “Sure. And… I was going to text back that trusting you has been the furthest thing from a mistake. I think the same would go for you being my knight. But I’m not going to force you.”

“Mm” Obadiah says as he escorts Teagan, much in the same way he would escort Arachne when he was her knight. I all honesty he has been acting as Teagan’s knight for a long time. Formalizing it wouldn’t be a bad thing.

The trip to the brownstone was mostly uneventful as these things often are. But when they get there the amateur archanist will instantly note that something is wrong, something is off for sure. “Huh,” Obadiah says as he looks around. “It’s… too quiet.”

“Well, now you’ve doomed us,” Teagan says in an easy voice that’s… amused but in that way of someone making themselves be light. Her hand has actually tightened somewhat against his arm.

“What exactly was the… report? About the disturbance? Were there any details?” Teagan is looking up at the brownstone now, frowning. There’s always that moment of taking stock. Identifying what’s just nerves and what’s actually your senses telling you something is wrong.

Obadiah flips open his phone, “Professor Edger Etheridge, demonologist at Windermere lives here. He hasn’t been seen in several days and his colleagues asked for help tracking him down.” He smiles at the Ice Queen, also known as The Winter Monarch, “I know. Doooooom beware the doooooom. How bad can this actually be?”

“Oh, yes. A demonologist goes missing. Just another day in New Haven.” Teagan tips her head up at Obadiah to give him a smile back that tips somewhat into smirk territory. “And yet you already uttered the fateful it’s quiet, too quiet.” Maybe not in so many words, but still.

“What’s next? A ‘what’s the worst that could happen?'” And because she knows or because part of being Fae is tempting fate: she withdraws her hand from Obadiah’s arm (the other still occupied by coffee) to knock at the front door as she says this.

When Teagan knocks on the door, it slowly swings open revealing a destroyed interior. From what can be seen, this would have been a very nice house worthy of other notable professors but something went running through here destroying well lived in furniture.

The air hangs heavy with ozone and sulfur. The hair on both of their arms starts to lift up as the air crackles with unseen energy

The look Teagan gives Obadiah as the door opens isn’t quite ‘I told you so’ but it’s certainly in the same family tree. Mostly because there’s a hint of alarm in it as well. She rubs at her arm through her jacket as she takes a hesitant step further in. A long drink of coffee and the cup is abandoned off to whatever surface to the side will support it for now. Hands free, she rifles in her bag until surfacing with a book. What’s become, for lack of a better word, her grimoire. “Smells like the Professor ran afoul of his own work.”

“Mm,” Obadiah agrees, hanging back beside Teagan and drawing his dagger for good measure as he lets Teagan take the lead since the Druid Fae of New Haven is better than he is at magic any more.

As they step further in, Teagan’s very perceptive nature picks up on voices coming from the basement along with the occasional flash of light in unnatural and unholy colors.

Not that druidry really has any measure on this sort of thing. But Teagan has been improving herself as a ritualist, too. In bits and pieces. Her tutoring in that area has been… difficult, to say the least. One mentor that doles out lessons at a snail’s pace and another that makes her an object in said lesson and scarce able to take notes. Hence the book. Something found on one of her forays into a used bookstore, half-full of some past witch’s notes already and now steadily added to by Teagan’s own.

There is a glance once more to Obadiah and Teagan considers for a few beats, but in lieu of anything encouraging that won’t sound like it came from some Facebook post backed by pixelated Minions, she reaches over to give his hand a squeeze. Her attention does shift towards the basement and she nods her head that way, head already tilted to listen close as she makes a slow approach for the basement door. She hasn’t opened the book yet, but it’s ready should she need to.

If the witch who wrote the notes is not Agnes Nutter, then the existence of god is in question, as is the very fabric of reality.

Obadiah follows along towards the door, where the action is, clearly.

Whoever wrote it was not the neatest sort. Or maybe it’s Teagan who has left inserts here and there as well as a multitude of page markers. Potentially it’s had multiple owners. Almost guaranteed it has, to be frank. At the top of the basement stairs, she pauses by the doorframe and uses her foot to nudge the door wider open.

Teagan is smart enough at least to not be in the line of fire if something like, say, a fireball explodes out at them.