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A trickle of reluctance taints Ella's bloodstream, casting her better judgement aside. A gentle thump of her heart sends tremors to her hands, reality's violent touch slowly creeping around her. She sits, slumped within a flimsy metal chair, across the desk from the therapist seeking to analyse their every mannerism; Bucky and Sam positioned upon her each side. Goosebumps tickle the skin across Ella's arms as the greedy eyes of Dr Raynor wander across the three, scrutinising them in a manner eerily familiar to that of a mad scientist observing their work — at least, it appeared that way to the Stark girl.
An abrupt bang erupts from the thinly kept silence, the placing of a notebook upon the desk catching the attention of all. Dr Raynor, unbothered by the sound, begins to flick through its pages with ease. Bucky, however, does not take its appearance in his stride, unintentionally wincing at the item's appearance — a reaction that catches Ella's attention. The distrust toward the notebook was sprawled vibrantly across his tired features, burning brighter than any flicker of a sun would dare to. Her gaze morphing to stone, Ella's eyes befall the therapist; their vivid frustration a sickening contrast to the trepidation corrupting the pits of her stomach. "Y'know, since you're his shrink, I would have thought you'd realise what makes your client uncomfortable."
"The book seems to be the only thing that can get him to talk." Dr Raynor's tone possesses an edge of eerily kept composure, speaking as though Bucky were not in the room to hear it. A wonder ablaze in them, the therapist casts her eyes upon the woman sitting opposite to her, noticing how Ella's stare burnS through her; its heat growing with each second she doesn't back down. A silent battle ensues between the two women, fighting for the other to bend beneath their will, and give in.
A sigh echoing from the depths of her throat, Dr Raynor's will dents beneath her hardened stare — jaggedly shutting the notebook and storing it within her bag. Composing herself, she clasps her hands together upon her throat, and, in a manner that's anything but please, she shifts her eyes between the trio before her. "So... Who would like to start?"
"All right, look, Dr Raynor?" A poised sarcasm dripping from his tongue, Sam interviews with her attempts to push a falsely welcoming environment upon them. "I get it, why you want us to talk to Freaky Magoo over here. But I'm one-hundred percent fine."
"Couldn't have said it better myself," With a dry smile edging at the corners of her lips, Ella responds with well-kept ease — outward ease made with the hopes to convince the therapist she was not needed there. But nervousness leaks from the cracks within her composure, echoing from her every movement as she hunches forward, and as the calloused tip of her thumb traces uneasily over her knuckles.
