Bottom of the Bottle
Maia smiled at Emmy, watching as she moved to lean against the fridge. She pulled a few shot glasses from the cupboard, and filled them both with vodka. She handed one of them to Emmy and downed her own, sighing happily as she felt the familiar warmth unfurl in her stomach. She raised an eyebrow at the girl's reply.
"Good, I'm glad. I don't really want to talk about emotional things right now, anyway... They give me the little things, lighters and booze, clean sheets when I need them. That kind of stuff. But yeah, I've pretty much given up on asking for other things. They like to see us suffer and I don't want to give them that satisfaction." She sighed and pored another shot, tossing it back just as quickly as she had with the first. She watched Emmy as she talked, studying the way she moved. Everything about her was just so positive. Maia envied it almost as much as she hated it.
"Writing is definitely a form of art, regardless if the rest of the world views it as such. It takes a lot to write, it only takes a good eye and a steady hand to paint or draw. Have you written at all since you've been here?" She asked, wondering whether Emmy had any talent.