Not really whiny, not really growly, and hell, they actually employed the use of harmonies. Harmony, in a metal band? Whoda thunk? Of course, new bands wouldn't replace the old favorites (not unless they had really good band t-shirts), but it was always nice to keep up with the musical times every once in a while. Music wasn't getting worse, just popular opinion of what was good music. Everybody lies, and as a corollary, everybody also has really bad taste in music. One person can be smart, sure, but the more people are added, the higher the possibility of the majority becoming sheep. Musical sheep, all bleating to the same rhythm.
"That wouldn't happen to be a wool sweater, would it?" House remarked as he turned down the stereo with one hand, pointing at Cuddy's rather fluffy sweater. With, of course, only three of seven buttons done up. How terribly surprising. Except for the fact that he'd seen that very same cleavage for almost ten years now. Not that familiar cleavage was a bad thing.
Miss Cuddy Bo Beep looked like she was going to start chewing exasperatedly on the inside of her cheek before she spoke again, arms conveniently folded just so -- thank you, cleavage shot! -- and head tilted slightly as she fought ever so hard to keep her voice down. "I could hear your... you... that," she nodded at the stereo, "in the elevator. I don't know about you, but some people around here actually like to do what they're getting paid to do."
"I didn't know we had a gossip budget," House replied with a twitch of an eyebrow, popping out the first mix CD and slipping in another.
Cuddy rolled her eyes -- or, at least, he was pretty sure she did, judging by the pause and the sigh afterwards. He was too busy fidding with the stereo settings to really give a crap about looking up, anyway.
"Yeah, and we don't have a music budget, either. Or an annoying git one. But hey, what do you know, we've got a doctor one!" House looked up just in time to see the patented shock-and-disbelief expression.
"We should have a music budget." He shrugged at her you-can't-be-serious look and leaned back, twirling the CD case in one hand. "What? It's therapy. Maybe we can get generous boy bands to make contributions. They must have stockpiles of women's lingerie. We'll sell them for charity."
He could've sworn Cuddy said something about reporting his ebay account for something or other, possibly having to do with buying said stockpiles of lingerie all for himself, but -- oops, there went that pesky volume button. Not even five minutes later, Cuddy's heels were clacking away towards the elevator, probably heading towards some other poor shmuck to hound about clinic duty, leaving House safe in his musical haven.
For now, at least.
[ooc: 1. Took Cuddy for a bit of NPC-ness. Hope no one minds, as we don't currently have an active Cuddy. At least, I don't think we do. 2. House is in his little office, and the music (insert prog-rock band here, probably Muse) is loud enough to hear while passing by. Feel free to poke him, but be careful, he bites. :p!]