"Oh."

The Picasso settles back in and his monitors multiply again. "...why are they black? // damned hooligans // broken monitors // gotta call tech // bet bosses won't even care // money money money // everything costs money."

She relaxes, lets the door go and hits the '20' button.

Hollister fails to suppress his fidgeting, but doesn't say anything as they go up.

"Not... focused, Picasso. Probably fine," she declares to noone in particular.

"Yeah, if it forgets about you you're fine."

"Could - lucky, but I hear it, we're okay."

They reach the twentieth floor, and the elevator doors open.

The Picasso notices. "Damn hooligans // how'd they get here? // didn't see // maybe fell asleep..." He gets up.

She holds the door and points out cameras for Marcy.

She hops to, blocking the cameras as quickly as she can and trying to stay in their blind spots when possible.

The Picasso flickers over to the elevator and presses the button. "Why 'm I going via elevator? // faster // but they'll see me // maybe go up to nineteenth // ninetieth // ninth // and stairs later..."

She hisses, softly. "Coming, elevator there, plan, hurry..."

"Shit—okay, this can't be done fast, but it might forget—here, I'll cover all the cameras and then we can hold the other elevator and if it actually starts reaching us here we can just take the other elevator down and wait until it forgets us again."

"Marcy—"

"Cameras, this elevator up, listen for forgetting. Think we're safe once the cameras are done."

"I didn't catch all that but sounds like a plan." She resumes spraying over the cameras. The elevator reaches the guard, and his superposition of hands presses... a button that doesn't actually exist. The doors close and the elevator starts going up through floors between the floors, taking longer to go up than it ought to.

...how much longer than it ought to?

Like one-and-a-half times? And the elevator reaches the floor that doesn't exist, and when the door opens Denice suddenly can hear it. It sounds like the Sideways, and the Picasso walks into it, looking around in some confusion.

Nope.

"Sideways, c'mon, go go go..."

"Sideways? Here?"

And now all the cameras are painted over.

The Picasso wanders about a bit before returning to the elevator and going back down to his little security booth.

"Other... elevator, does Sideways now. There," she points. "Picasso basement again. Maybe safe."

"Awesome. It's showtime."

Through a maze (of the natural, non-Sideways type) of cubicles and rooms, they reach the welcoming lobby for the firm that used to be stationed on this floor. Floor to ceiling windows, facing the City, illuminated enough that her piece will be seen from miles. Marcy drops her backpack on the floor and looks at her transparent canvas.

Hollister just follows her, glumly. The Picasso seems to have settled down again, shifting between boredom, anxiety, annoyance, and sleepiness.

Denice goes to mess with the elevators. If she times it right, she can probably get all but one from each bank up to the top floor, and the remaining ones on this floor.

She succeeds at that. The Picasso seems to have mostly settled back down to whatever insane loop he's been reliving for the past decade.

Hollister's still strung as tight as a bowstring, and looks around every now and then.

And Marcy's in her element. Blacks, whites, grays—stark and straightforward, the message matters more than wowing someone with a rainbow array of smooth colors. Thin caps, thick caps, technique and style. She knows what she's doing.

She grabs her final tool: the black book where she keeps all her sketches.