"Is it? Then I shall have to take your word for it," Rupert replies offhandedly over the roar of the engine as they gun their way across the desert dirt. "I think it's all rather excellent."

He has nothing to compare it to, really. The music of his world was string quartets and piano concertos, and Rupert despised it all on a deep and visceral level. Any music you have to sit down to listen to was a complete fucking bore as far as Rupert was concerned.

"I rather like that music they play in the clubs," He adds, grinning. "The stuff with the absolutely filthy beat."