( rapturessweetheart ):

…And in walked Roland Russell, “Rapture’s Sweetheart”.

The once timid, terrified young man who had stolen away to Rapture had been groomed and moulded by show-business, able to command the attention of a room almost as soon as he walked in. Either by patrons and citizens marveling at his famed status or by his jovial, flamboyant disposition in general. Roland greeted a few people as he walked through the bar’s threshold.

“Hi there! No, don’t get up, I’ll come to you!”
“Good to see you, hi!”
“An autograph, why sure! Got a pen? Er…a pen that works?”

After schmoozing with a few people, and declining a few offers to join other tables, Roland scanned the deep red interior of the pub, spotting a woman sitting by herself at the back of the joint. Roland Russell always made it a point to include everyone when it came to parties, galas, get-togethers, and special nights at bars and so took it upon himself to make her night a little less lonely. The little entertainer strode right up, making himself comfortable on the seat across from her.

“Well! The goodest of evenings to you, miss!” giggled Russell. “If I may be so bold…just how is it that a pretty thing like you is alone this night, hm?”

    Anyone who hadn’t been aware of the widely recognized ‘Rapture’s Sweetheart’, might have been living under a rock. Despite being a rather obvious hermit of sorts however, even Madame Lutece had been fully informed of the performer. The arts in this city had been greatly appreciated and perceived as opulence itself… With such artists as Roland Russell and Sander Cohen gracing a variety of audiences with laughter and amusement, it was no wonder why they had been accepted as a part of the 'greats’. Men and women alike recognized for their success and dedication toward their subject of study, whether it be engineering or singing… Unfortunately Rosalind had not been apart of this association and for that, she is jaded. It hadn’t so much been the fortune she desired, but instead the fame– but not in the ordinary sense that so many are accustomed toward. This redhead, though seemingly common, had been exceedingly astute in her career field… Much more accustomed toward experimentation, documentation, and all else that has to do with the branches that diverge with physics. Colleagues had been sure to remark upon her brilliance but as of yet, they had been the select few.

The only thing which is ever brought into conversation by men these days is her appearance which had more or less been a drag, if it wasn’t coming as a compliment from a significant individual. Even as of now, she is greeted with the address of 'pretty thing’... And by the very man she’d just been dwelling upon in envy.

    “Could be from an undying obligation toward something that would actually benefit myself.” If it hadn’t been evident enough in her rather indifferent tone of voice, the woman didn’t want any company of any form… Certainly not from some fellow approaching her in a bistro, of all locations. Though the character had indeed been acclaimed, Rosalind had been far from impressed and her visage had made that plain and simple to understand. “I don’t know you personally nor do I wish to, Mr. Russell. Now if you would excuse me.” Gaze shifting back downward to the paperwork, cigarette in one had as eyes fluctuated against the written page for a few moments before inevitably glancing back up. Shooting him a look that had been transparent and readable, she essentially told him to 'get lost’.