rahim-ahmadi-blog

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

Nasir al-Mulk Mosque. Shiraz, Iran.

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

starriingrole:

She throws her head back and laughs at his commentary, though only because she sees fit to detach herself from the label of ’STRANGE.’ “Probably,” she adds with a slight squeeze to his arm, “Because Erik was the one to do most of the hiring.” A beat passes, and then she continues, eyes suddenly going wide. “I don’t mean that in a BAD way! I love Erik, I really do, he’s just — he’s so weird.” She blurts out the confession as though she’s divulging a secret of the utmost importance to a best friend. If, of course, that best friend were a twelve year old girl.

She pats at Rahim’s arm again, feeling him begin to loosen up. GOOD. This is good. She seems, she thinks, to have that effect on people. It’s one of the many things she prides herself on, the feeling beginning to creep into her features as the hint of a TRIUMPHANT smile plays at the edges of her mouth. “Yes, everyone!” She burbles happily, nearly skipping down the sidewalks by now, delighted to have pleasant company to ramble to without fear of being told to please be quiet for two minutes, Christine.

Then he asks what she wants to know, though, and her smile VANISHES. Truthfully, there’s quite a bit she’d like to know about Erik. How did he and Rahim meet? Why does he wear the mask, why hasn’t he just gotten plastic surgery for whatever is under it by now? Christine, at the thought of all of this, sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing at it thoughtfully and nearly forgetting to continue walking for a moment, her pace, like her moods, nothing if not ERRATIC. She looks up over her shoulder at Rahim for some reassurance or guidance, a path perhaps. Which questions are alright to ask and which should be saved. This time she finds him smiling at her, and her smile returns just as quickly as it left. “I don’t know,” she begins slowly, carefully, “I guess… is he for REAL? This isn’t just an act or anything? That’s really just who he is?”

Rahim shrugs at her comment. “That’s true,” he admits. “Erik is... different.” He glances across at Christine, gauging her reaction. When she pats his arm with her hand, he continues. “He is, as you say, “for real.” Everything you - and everyone else at the theatre - have seen is... The same man he’s been since we’ve met.” He pauses, thinking over what he’ll say next. He wants to choose his words carefully, to avoid offending or upsetting the young soprano. “Demanding, perfectionist, aloof... At times irrational. Moody.”

He realizes the last two words are good descriptors for Christine as well. She flies from one emotion to the next without pausing to take a breath. Just in this short walk, she latched onto Rahim, cornering him into this conversation and coaxing his private thoughts out of him. Where Erik would rush from one low to the next, Christine bounces from high to high, never seeming to settle out long enough to relax. Maybe this is what the two see in each other, he wonders. Where Erik is dark, Christine is light, a constant flutter of emotion.

Rahim says nothing for a long moment, tossing the thought around in his head. “There’s no act to him, Miss Daae. I don’t perceive him as the type of person who could have one thought and say something different.” He takes another look at Christine, waiting to see how she reacts. “Has that answered your question?”

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

He never forgot. He just put the memories away, like old silverware that you didn’t want to tarnish. And every year they came back, sharp and sparkling, and stabbed him in the heart.

Night Watch (Terry Pratchett)

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

current relationship status: sleeping diagonally across my queen size bed

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

grandgiry:

She hadn’t been expecting an invitation, but it was welcome all the same. The cloud that lingered over Rahim made it hard for Madalene to look at him for long periods of time- it made her feel bad. That guilt was unwelcome, a distraction, and for that reason alone did Madalene find herself busy with one task or another to keep her from looking into his eyes and reflecting on what it is she was actually doing and the implications of her actions on the ever growing company of people beneath the two of them. 

“Rahim?” Madalene turned, a cool face of surprise on her trained face. She kept the baser emotions within, not needing them at the moment. “I’m sorry, I hadn’t seen you there.” With the practiced lie and the small amount of friendship she let slid over her features, she claimed the empty seat across from him and quickly flagged down a waiter to mirror her tablemate’s order. 

“What brings you here?” she looked at the sugar cube she was now rolling between her thumb and forefinger. “I always had you pegged for more a coffee man than tea, though I’m not quite sure why.” After accidentally crushing the cube between her fingers only then could she bring herself to look into his eyes, immediately regretting it. This was a man who felt, something that Madalene hadn’t done in quite some time. 

Rahim watched Madalene carefully as she sat. It seemed somewhat strange to see him outside of the theatre. Stern and severe as she was, Madalene Giry didn’t seem to belong out in the warm spring air. He couldn’t have pictured her here in this warm and cheerful cafe before just now, and yet here she was. “Don’t see you outside the theatre often, Madalene.” He didn’t have much to say to her, but her cold presence was a decent stand-in for company at the moment.

He watched her roll a cube of sugar in her fingers for a minute, and took a sip of tea. “Coffee in the morning,” he said flatly. “Tea in the evening. It won’t keep me awake.” Rahim could tell she was avoiding his gaze, though he wasn’t sure why. He was never really sure of where things stood between the two of them. He was infinitely grateful to her for opening her theatre to Erik, bringing an end to their wandering, but with each passing week she seemed to push their mutual friend down darker and darker paths. He grew increasingly wary of Madalene the more power Erik handed over to her to make decisions.

When Madalene pulverized the sugar, she finally met his eyes. Rahim raised his eyebrows, his gaze shifting between the tiny pile of sugar under her hand and the intensity of her face. It took a moment for him to realize she’d asked him why he was here. “I’m just here for the tea,” he told her, then added as a sort of afterthought, “I’ve just broken my fast. I’ve been in the theatre all day and I thought I’d at least go out a while before dinner. You?”

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

starriingrole:

She shrugs, her usual air of bright NONCHALANCE returned just as quickly as it had gone, and she lifts the coffee, bringing the straw to her lips, slurping away at her drink thoughtfully. “The theatre’s treasurer or accountant or something like that, someone stuffy who does something with big numbers I don’t understand; I swear, you’d think I was planning to rob the Louvre the way he makes it sound.” She gives a little laugh of exasperation. “He’s never actually SAID anything, you know, but I once caught him following me around with a notepad, how weird is that, right? Like, a camera, I could understand. I’d knock his teeth in, but I’d understand. But a notepad? God, what a CREEP.” She shudders against the crisp morning breeze and takes another sip of her coffee which, being iced, of course has the opposite of the desired effect.

Suddenly she smiles, though, and reaches for Rahim in a good-natured manner, aiming to either take his arm or merely squeeze it, whichever he’ll let her do. “I’m interested in getting to know everybody,” she assures him cheerfully in a way that’s somehow too VAGUE to be sincere, patting at his arm in what she hopes is a comforting manner. She never once stops to consider what he might think of her violent and DRASTIC shifts in demeanor; for Christine, this is perfectly normal. She could almost blame being an actress, but the truth is much more simple. You could almost argue she was BORN for the stage, the way her melodramatic nature is threaded under her scalp, molded into the gossamer ivory of her bones. She’s always been both the pit and the pendulum, hungry and hollow and GREEDY, wanting to consume everything she touches but never remaining in one place long enough to be caught, to be stopped, to be FILLED. 

But of course, preponderances such as these are beyond her, out of her reach, high up on a shelf in a place she doesn’t care to look, much less to find. So she smiles at Rahim again, something dazzling that hints that, perhaps, what she’s filled with is just as bright as the pearls she bares when you meet her, the jewels that flow from her throat when she sings; just enough to make you believe the LIE that is Christine Daae.

The longer he spends in Christine’s company, the less disconcerting he finds her bizarre behavior. Rahim finds her rapid mood shifts concerning, but now that he knows what to expect from her, he’s less surprised by her. He chuckles a little at her comment. “I hardly think that’s the suspicion.” He thought it more likely the suspicious employee in question expected her to suddenly throw a fit and break something expensive. “There certainly is no shortage of strange people around the theatre, as far as I can tell, though.”

He doesn’t protest when Christine takes his arm, merely tucking his hands into his pockets, giving her a somewhat quizzical look. When he’d first started the conversation he was somewhat uncertain what to think of her, ill at ease in handling what he thought to be a delicate, silly girl Rahim can now tell that there’s more to Christine Daae than meets the eye. He’s less tense than he was initially, disarmed by her familiar manner. It’s not something he’s used to - people being friendly in this way, even if he’s uncertain if it’s genuine or not. He’s much more used to the people around him generally staying out of his business, provided he stayed out of theirs. But this bright, 

“Everyone?” Rahim asks. It occurs to him that it might not be a bad thing to get to know Christine. She surely hears all the gossip in the theatre and he has no doubt that with the right prompt, she’d love to tell anyone all she knows. It wouldn’t hurt to have an ear backstage, someone to quietly, unknowingly pass on the secrets of the musicians and dancers. “So, Miss Daae, what would you want to know?” He feeds her as much of a smile as he can manage at the moment, deciding that yes, this is a good idea. If Erik trusts her, he might as well, too.

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

gabrielprideaux:

With a smirk, Gabriel twirled his pen between his fingers and pointed it towards Rahim with lazy flutter. “You’ve missed the point, man,” he said, tapping the capped end of the pen to his forehead as if to indicate his own genius. “If I have an office, people know where I am. Besides, who can think properly at a desk, confined in four drab walls. No, this—” Gabriel swept his hands outward and away from himself in perfect symmetry, “—is a space much more conducive to thought and productivity.” 

He leaned back against the sofa, an arm propped itself on the sofa’s arm while one leg swung casually over the other, as he listened to the other man speak. “Secrets? You make this place sound like a haunted house,“ he laughed, not meaning to sound condescending, but a hint acidic tone seeped into his voice nonetheless, betraying what was intended as a lighthearted jab.   

”All the seats in the orchestra are empty and the instruments play themselves!” Gabriel proclaimed theatrically. There were, indeed, secrets within the walls of the theatre that Gabriel was certain Ahmadi was not privy too. And he needed to make sure it stayed that way.

Rahim shook his head a little, smiling. “Why not just leave the theatre if you don’t want people to know where you are? Then when someone asks where you are, make up a story.” He clasped his hands behind his back and paced a few steps, turning his eyes away from the music director and up towards the ceiling. The beams overhead dripped with ropes, ladders, and crosswalks. To Rahim, the theatre was as full of mysteries as a haunted house might have been to a child. It wasn’t the type of place he was familiar with; unlike most of those out on stage, his domain was not within the arts. He seemed to constantly run into the unwritten rules of this world, closed in from the outside world by heavy doors, hidden under mounds of dusty old costumes.

“But haven’t you heard, Monsieur Prideaux?” he responded teasingly. “This is indeed a haunted house. You’re all graced with the presence of a phantom.” He turned back to the music director, raising one eyebrow. “If you believe the stories.” Rahim gave a slight sardonic chuckle. He took the theatre’s penchant for drama less seriously than most, regarding the whispers that spread amongst the company as little more than the gossip of schoolchildren. “They say that all the walls back here have eyes and ears, so I certainly hope you’re not causing trouble back here.”

faux-meditation on faux-vintage

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

it is only once in a while that you see someone whose electricity and presence matches yours at that moment.

Charles Bukowski  (via thanhpls)

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

I hide because there’s more to me than what you see and I’m not sure you’d like the rest. I know that sometimes, I don’t like the rest.

Iain Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via wordsnquotes)

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

“Stop the noise and you will hear His voice in silence.”

- Rumi

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

dcstlers:

Of course Daroga would be found here, wilting away in the corner as he no doubt reminisced about happy families and fairytales that never came to be. 

He was nothing if not a predictable creature, Erik thought to himself.

Surveying the man as he walked into the cafe and sat alone, Erik remained in the shadows as well as he could in such a place. He was well aware that Rahim would be celebrating Ramadan, having become well acquainted with his customs and his way of life, not that he could offer much beyond some company in such a time. Despite the long history the two men, despite the faint fondness that tugged at his worn heartstrings when he caught gazes with the man who had risked it all for him, for poor Erik…he couldn’t give much in return. Daroga knew this, surely, and yet he remained by his side, silent and forgiving even in the face of such bloodshed and chaos.

Perhaps he should be easier on him, then, to see him indulge in something such as sitting in a cafe alone, enjoying time alone. He could slink away and leave Rahim, return to the theatre alone and simply pretend he hadn’t seen his old friend mourn a little more of his heart. Still, there was something stirring inside him, as if his spirit were howling in mourning alongside him. In his own way, he knew something of loneliness, of living a life without the love he wished for. The love he dreamed to have.

Of course, the situations were entirely different. The Daroga had in fact had his love returned, he reminded himself bitterly.

Maybe it was that errant string of friendship hovering between them, refusing to die despite the insults he hurled at Rahim, or the way the world continued to tear itself to shreds around them, that led him to slink over to the man, standing behind him and remaining silent. He knew that Rahim would soon take notice of him, and it was within seconds that he was greeted.

Despite himself, Erik allowed himself a flicker of what could be called a smile (that only the man before him would recognise) before slowly making his way to the seat opposite him.

“ Careful, Daroga, some people may think you desperate for companionship, ” he murmured in reply, a teasing buried in the words. After a moment, he added in a more restrained tone, a more sincere tone, “ I assumed you would not be opposed to some company at this time, no? Even from myself. ”

Rahim watched what passed for a smile ripple over Erik’s face before he seated himself. At that old nickname, Daroga, he felt a twinge of annoyance. Lately, that name seemed to grate on him more and more. Rahim almost interrupted to ask him yet again to stop using it, but instead swallowed an overly large sip of tea. He let Erik finish speaking and set the cup down on its saucer. “I can spend all day alone poking around backstage and nobody thinks twice. I sit in a café by myself and I’m suddenly desperate for companionship, hmm?”

He tried make the comment come out nonchalant, as if he couldn’t care less if someone spent some time with him, but he wasn’t sure it came off that way. The truth was, he was happy to have some company from anyone, and it was a rare day when he’d rather be alone than with Erik. Since he’d come to Paris, all he seemed to do was spend time alone, even in a room filled with other people. The company, for the most part, didn’t seem to pay much attention to him, sitting in the back of rehearsals or exploring the backstage. 

In truth, Rahim didn’t mind most of the time. It suited him fine to listen and watch, taking things in quietly. He didn’t envy Erik the fawning that accompanied the success of the theatre. But some company - without the hectic press of work - was very welcome. “I suppose I can tolerate a little company, yes,” he said, then paused, rethinking his response. In the past few months since arriving in Paris, Rahim knew he’d changed. It had become easier to be sarcastic than honest, but this wasn’t something he liked about himself now.

He sighed, letting out his breath slowly, and shook his head a little. “Actually, thank you. I appreciate it. You know I could use the company.” Rahim smiled, a little bid sadly, in way of apology for his snippy answer. “So, what draws the great maestro himself out of the theatre tonight?”

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

There are three rules.

1. If you do not go after what you want, you will never have it. 

2. If you do not ask, the answer will always be no. 

3. If you do not step forward, you will remain in the same place. 

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

There was a time when my world was filled with Darkness, darkness, darkness Then I stopped dreaming, now I'm supposed to fill it up With something, something, something In your eyes, I see the eyes of somebody I knew before Long, long, long ago But I'm still trying to make my mind up Am I free or am I tied up?

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

Saturday, May 27 - 10:00 PM Yellow Room Café Open

It was well into the evening when Rahim made his way into the Yellow Room. The café was quieter than usual, when most Parisians were already at home. Spending time with their families, Rahim thought bitterly, out of character for the usually calm and quiet man. 

In another life, miles and miles away, Rahim would be with his family. With Zahra. With their young daughter. They’d be celebrating the first night of Ramadan with their families and friends. Zahra, ever the master chef, would make their favorite foods in large enough quantities to feast for days. Even after her passing, Rahim had always had his family and friends, and when he’d been traveling, the mood had always been festive enough to draw his attention away from the darker corners of his mind. Here in Paris, of course, most people weren’t even aware of the holy month, so he’d be on his own for the first time in his life.

Rahim took a seat against the window, his favorite spot to keep an eye on both the café and the street. He’d go home for dinner, but since he’d skipped his usual breakfast at the café, he’d been in the theatre all day. The dark halls didn’t hold the same attraction for him as the other people who spent their days there. It was dark, dusty, and in places, still run down. He needed a break for an hour or two, to go sit somewhere where he could stop thinking about the whirlwind that was the theatre - the production and the shadier business going on behind the scenes.

His eyes flickered up to the waitress and he ordered a hot tea, laden with honey and cream. He sipped the drink when it came, staring out the window and letting his mind wander. When a shadow crossed the table, Rahim raised his head to look at the figure standing near the table. He’d planned to spend some time alone, but now that he was here, sitting by himself in the corner of the dimly lit café, a little company didn’t seem so bad. “Come to join me?” he asked.

[rahim-ahmadi-blog]

starriingrole:

She bites her tongue, quite literally, hoping it will help her to choose her words better, more carefully this time. Lips now jutted out in an almost comical way, she pauses to take a sip of her drink, swallowing thoughtfully before responding. “Not OFFENDED, monsieur, just a little, ah. Confused, perhaps? I always thought you and Erik were best friends, and when one of my best friends gets as close to someone as Erik and I have been getting — ” She stops, halts both the thought and her stride and whirls around suddenly to face Rahim, eyes squeezed shut in the realization she’s misspoken again.

“I’m not trying to accuse you of anything or-or NOT doing anything, I swear. It’s just a little weird, you know? When Meg and Claude started their… whatever it is, I was down his throat about it, and I’ve known Claude since I was six. I mean, that’s not saying that Erik and I have a… whatever it is or anything, but some people THINK so, and you being his friend and all — ” She trails off again, punctuating the thought with a sigh this time.

“People seem to think I have bad intentions, and I don’t. That’s all. I just want to make sure you don’t want to get to know me because you think I’m… up to something, as Scooby Doo as that sounds. I want to get to know you because I care about Erik a whole lot and you seem like you’re a really big part of his life and I — I’d like for all of us to be comfortable around each other. And maybe you could, like. Fill in some blanks for me. With some stuff. I dunno. Eventually.”

As Christine goes on and on, Rahim shrinks back a little, growing quieter. His hands slide into his pocket and he rolls his shoulder blades back, minimizing the amount of space he takes up. He’s surprised by Christine’s increasingly erratic behavior. He’s not used to being spoken to in such a straightforward way. He waits a beat once she’s done. “My apologies, Miss Daae. It was never my intention to ignore you. Things have been busy the past few months. It just seemed like there was never a good moment to introduce myself.”

It was true - Rahim had never meant to hurt her feelings by not getting to know her, and he might have done so much longer ago if he’d thought she noticed the distance he kept. He supposed he’d always assumed she was too wrapped up in her own personal drama to spare a thought for him. And now that he considered it, he supposed that he always seemed to keep out of her way, though now he wasn’t sure why. 

“I’m happy to fill in any blanks,” he told her, though he wasn’t entirely sure he understood what she meant. “I suppose I had never considered you had any interest in knowing me.” He gave her a little smile, and turned a little, continuing towards the theatre. “I don’t tend to think most of the people at the theatre question my presence there, as long as I don’t get in the way.” He glanced over at her. “And I figure it’s none of my business who Erik spends time with or why. But believe me, you’re the last person anybody suspects is up to no good.”

Rahim suddenly wondered if she knew more than she was letting on about the things happening behind the scenes. He certainly hoped not - as bright a ray as Christine was, he couldn’t imagine her getting tangled up in the darkness and blood backstage. But that seemed highly unlikely. She seemed in some way too delicate for that. But of course, it wouldn’t be the first time someone altogether too soft had gotten mixed up in their dark dealings. He frowned for half a second, then quickly adjusted his face, hoping she hadn’t noticed. “What makes you think that, Christine?” he asked. “That people think you have bad intentions?”