❝ tipsy ❞

The cool night air washes over Roselyn, covering her arms in goosebumps but doing little to distract her from her foul mood as she wanders through the vast garden. Her heels had been precariously discarded inside the mansion, making it easier to explore the grassy terrain. Dim lanterns light the pathways, making it slightly safer to see where she's going. A half empty bottle of wine rests loosely in her grip as she sips from her wine glass, having snagged it from one of the waiters.

A crisp apple aroma wafts through her nose, coming from the several rows of rose bushes as she trails closer to them. Her favorite type, the About Face rose, are blooming in a beautiful orange abundance, bringing a small smile to her face.

"Care for some company?"

The unfamiliar voice breaking the silence startles Roselyn, causing her hand to release both, the wine bottle and glass, as she jumps. The glass shatters as the bottle merely rolls away, forcing her to stumble backwards in an attempt to avoid cutting her bare feet on the glass.

Bucky laughs as she bumps into his chest and several curses in her native tongue leave her lips, reaching out to help steady her. She swats his hands away, a scowl forming as she turns around to face the man.

"I'm not particularly fond of company that causes me to spill my drink," she states coolly, perking an unamused eyebrow. "Who are you?"

"Sargeant James Barnes, ma'am," he answers cockily. "Captain America's right hand man."

"Is that meant to impress me?" She retorts, in no mood to deal with any more shenanigans. "I'm certain any of the ladies inside would be more than happy to have the opportunity to throw themselves at an American man."

Bucky's arrogant demeanor fades, not having expected such a brash answer. Away from the public eye, the beautiful woman is a rather different person.

When he doesn't respond, Roselyn turns away to continue her stroll, her own smirk appearing as she casually sidesteps the shards of glass in the middle of the path.

Bucky's jaw drops, not deterred but taken aback nonetheless. Racking his mind for a topic she won't scoff at, he quickly catches up and slows to match her pace.

"Your father is an excellent man," he compliments, hoping it's the right thing to say.

"His career allows us to live comfortably," Roselyn answers simply, keeping her gaze fixated on the flowers as they pass them.

"You don't sound too happy about that."

"He's only in it for the power. If he could, he'd marry me off to Captain America." She laughs darkly, wishing she still had the wine. "I almost forgot. He's already trying to."

"So, why don't you move out?" Bucky questions, genuinely puzzled by her response.

"I did when I was twenty. But, the war hit not long after and it simply made it too dangerous to be living on my own," she explains, shocking herself with the amount of information she willingly divulges. "So I agreed to come back until it's end."

"Then I suppose I'll just have to win the war for you," Bucky says slyly. "So you can go back to living your life."

Roselyn stops walking, finally looking up at him as she crosses her arms.

"Your tricks aren't going to work on me, Sargeant," she retorts, pushing down the flutter her heart did at his admittedly suave attempt at causing her to swoon.

"What tricks?" He asks innocently.

Unbuttoning his suit's jacket, he removes it and places it around Roselyn's shoulders, causing her to have to fight the urge to give in and smile. His ocean blue eyes light up in triumph as she internally debates with herself, finally deciding to pull the jacket more snugly around her, allowing herself to briefly admire his cologne.

"My friends call me Bucky," he says, breaking the silence.

"Is that what we are now?" She questions. "Friends?"

"To be perfectly honest, I was hoping we could be something more," he admits, stepping closer. "But if you'd prefer to be alone with your broken glass of wine, I'll leave."

A giggle escapes Roselyn's lips, bringing Bucky's grin to widen at the melodious sound. She turns away from his flirtatious gaze, proceeding to move towards the next row of flowers - though there's a slight stagger in her steps as she does so, the amount of wine in her system beginning to show.

"Why did you follow me out here?" She asks, playing with the hem of his jacket. "After all, the party is for you and your companions."

"You ran away pretty fast after your dance. I figured someone ought to check on you," he explains, his cheeks flushing a light pink as he says it. Thankfully, Roselyn is too busy admiring the flowers to notice. "I know Steve's dancing skills aren't the greatest, but I didn't know he was that terrible."

"I suppose I shouldn't judge him too harshly," she jokes, hoping Bucky won't ask for the reason she left. "He is terribly busy fighting a war."

"That's no excuse," Bucky scoffs. "Not to brag, but I'm a damn good dancer and I've been fighting longer than him."

"Are you?"

"What?" He places a hand over his chest, pretending to be wounded. "Do you not believe me?"

"Your country is known for many things," Roselyn says, struggling to keep a composed expression. "Dancing is not one of them."

Bucky takes Roselyn's hand in his and spins her around before she can even comprehend it, causing his jacket to fly off of her shoulders and her dress to twirl around her legs. A nearby lamp post glows on them like a spotlight as he pulls her small figure to his chest.

"You leave me no choice," he murmurs, tucking a piece of hair that fell from her tight updo behind her ear. "I have to prove you wrong."

"There's no music," she protests weakly.

"Who says you need any?"

Bucky spins her dramatically once more, hoping to hear her bubbly laugh again.

As he pulls her close, the only thing escaping Roselyn's lips is vomit as she effectively ruins his white dress shirt.