[1993]

Three words to describe the recording of Siamese Dream? Fun? Nope! Calm? Definitely not. How about pain, exhaustion, and insanity? Yeah, that seems like a good fit.

Billy's psychotic level of perfectionism was both a blessing and a curse, more of a curse with a perk, but you get what I mean. He could create these truly stunningly beautiful tracks. I'm talking cosmic bueaty, enough to make a grown man weep. But if someone didn't "pull their weight." in his eyes, he'd flip a fucking switch going as far as to take over and re-record their pieces of songs. Darcy was subjected to this many-a-time during recording. Most of the bass parts were Billy playing her part by now. No matter what she did, he'd always complain about the tone, or the pace, or the voicing of the notes. This obviously pissed her off!

to let off steam she'd jam with a recent acquaintance. Y/N L/N from [Insert Band Name Here] she felt free. Like a rat being let out of its cage, like a bird spreading its wings through a clear sky.

"So, how's the album going?" Y/N prodded. Wrong dialogue choice, completely fucking wrong choice.

Darcy visibly cringed and went stiff as Oak. The thought of the studio sessions put her on a knifes edge. "It's fine ..." She mutters. Plucking at the bass strings as she tries to think of something else to say, but instead-

"Its fucking torture, Y/N. I hate it!" Her eyes begin to water and prickle with tears that threaten to spill over onto her cheeks and stain her skin.

"I just want out of that fucking band. I mean, it's not even a band! I feel like the backing track to the Billy Corgan show! He's such a Napoleon!" Darcy sits on her bass amp, head in hands as she wipes away a few tears and rubs her nose.

"I just want to feel like... like I'm a part of something. And not a device." Darcy's voice shakes and wavers as she looks into Y/N's eyes. Tired and strained. "But this is nice... I like this." She smiles weakly. But it's genuine, a raw, toothy, genuine smile. A step in the right direction...