Margot should familiarize herself with the cubicles

"Hm hm hm... You tend to take the elevator straight up to the executive suite, don't you? From time to time, you're **** to ride it down to the supervisor's level, but you almost never associate with the rank and file, do you? I could hardly blame you. After all, I, one of the seven lords of hell, have little use for rubbing elbows with my underlings." Mammon's voice sounds almost jovial, as though he's reassuring his unfortunate captive.

"Riiight, you get it! I mean, it's not like I think I'm above them or anything like that, heavens no, it just... you know, it'd disrupt the work flow, if I hob-knobbed down there instead of focusing my attention. I like an, erm, top-down approach," Margot explains, making a motion with her hands as though pushing downward from a high spot.

"Well, today, you'll be hobbing some knobs down in those funny cube-shaped rooms, with the clerical employees. Because you are no longer above them-- you are merely my ****."

Margot's face goes slack-jawed for just a moment, before she corrects it and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a stern frown. "This is after I get my clothes back, right? Look, I'm a leader! If I-I-I go down there like this, with this silly cape and nothing else on, they're going to take me away to the funny farm," she complains, moving to the back of her office as if to distance herself from the door out and make that idea seem less plausible. To her alarm, she realized once her caped back hit the wall that it had begun its slow process of vanishing again. The lower hem was no longer sufficient to cover her bare feet and red-painted toe-nails. "Okay, okay, but... I mean... no! I can't do it!"

"And yet, you must. That is your life now. Or I could put you back in that dingy apartment from the year of your lord, 2012? Oh, but you won't have much of a golden parachute from your retirement... I'm afraid you might land quite awkwardly."

"Y-You're going to throw me out the window with no parachute?! You're going to kill me?!" the CEO babbles, now backing away from the body-height window of her office instead of the door.

"No, you idiot, I'm saying you won't have a lot of money. If you want my money, you play my game. Do you understand?"

"I get it, yeah! Money! I like to have some money," she responds ridiculously, then begins to walk stiffly towards the door with her hands balled into fists and her cape flowing behind her, no longer dissolving into dust. When she reaches it, with her hand on the handle, she pauses, then wraps the cape around her as though it were a Snuggie. "Can I just ask one more time if this is like, compleeeetely necessary? Would it help if I started donating to like, a church of Mammon, or something? 'Spread your influence' kind of thing?" When the cape begins to burn again, she takes that as a no. "Going!"

The start of the journey is ideal for Margot, as the executive suite is quite empty-- a floor reserved for herself, with little else besides amenities she can enjoy and meeting rooms for influential people. It's at the elevator when her true trial begins. She realizes as the door closes that the danger isn't going to wait until she's down on the bottom floor with the cubicle-jockies-- there's plenty of space in between the top and the bottom of the office building for people to pile on. "I reeeeally really really need people to not see me standing here in this cape, Mammon," she pleads, clenching her teeth and watching the door as the numbers count down.

"Would you like to remove the cape? I will allow it, temporarily, if you'd rather show them your craftsmanship with office supplies and the work you've been putting in at the gym. It's more than the work you put in at the office, after all. No shame at all in showing it off!"

"Oh, no, that's not what I-" she hisses, then stands ram-rod straight, clutching the cape tightly around her body, as a familiar gentleman with salt-and-pepper hair enters the elevator. Well, sort of familiar-- he's not quite close enough to the upper echelon for her to know his name. She thinks the man's a senior accountant of some kind, probably headed out the door for the day based on the old-timey briefcase in his hand. He stands in the door of the elevator with a vacant smile, blinking, as though he's not quite understanding what he's seeing. "Hi," Margot squeaks, moving not a single muscle besides those on her face, to smile.

"Ma'am. Have you been... swimming?" he asks, unable to put together a reasonable explanation for how she's behaving. The best he can come up with is that she's covering up with a beach towel, although, the gossamer fabric makes that logic faulty at a glance.

"Yes," she answers without thinking, smiling blankly. "I have."

"Mmm. Must be nice," he responds, turning to face the front of the elevator and standing nearly as frozen as she is. "They have a private pool on the roof? Ha ha ha-"

"Yes," Margot answers again without thinking.

"Th-They do? Wowzers," the man whistles awkwardly. Amazingly, it seems he's bought the story. "Headed out for golf, myself."

"Yes."

The rest of the elevator ride proceeds in silence, until others begin to pile into the elevator, forcing her to push closer into the corner. The bodies hide her from the view of those in front, but unfortunately, get closer and closer to causing elbows and knees to brush awkwardly against her. All that's separating her naked body from those of her underlings is a thin, fabric cape and a few sticky notes. Her face reddens and her breathing quickens as a handsome gentleman, a 20-something who reminds her a bit of Mr. 2016 in his prime, stares at the garment closely wrapping her body, accenting the curvature of her breasts as she holds it closed. "Pool. Upstairs. I was swimming," she croaks.

"This is your stop."

Margot clenches her teeth as she exits out the elevator with the pile of other bodies. The elevator ride felt like it took years, going from the executive suite down to the worker's space. The area is as un-sexy as one could possibly imagine, with dull voices reading lines over phones all around her, broken by the occasional loud, angry voice of someone who's on the bad end of a deal. Unfortunately, no sooner has she stepped off the elevator than the sea of other exiting employees parts around her, forming a circle of curious voyeurs who've noticed her odd way of dressing. "I was swimming! Geeeez," she informs them all, freeing one hand to make a shooing motion. "Back to work, everybody!" Thankfully for her, the employees, eager as they may be for a peek, are even more taken with the idea of not being fired by their cranky CEO-- their attention mostly returns to their monitors.

The frustrated woman uses her hand to push her glasses back into position while she's got it free, then sighs deeply. "Okay, I made it. Can I go now?"

"Oh, not yet. I've prepared a fantastic amusement for you here, on this very floor. Think of this as an exercise to get to know your workspace just a little bit better."