Under the shimmering glow of a haphazardly strung-up neon sign shaped like a balloon, Molly, sporting a sky-high ponytail and a tattoo of a clownfish proudly on her shoulder, tapped her index finger to her lips. "Alright, Bill, listen up," she whispered with the intensity of a closet organizer in a cluttered room. Bill, nursing a 'celebrate life' themed coffee mug, quirked an eyebrow, the ghost of his mustache dancing above his lip. "Lay it on me, Louie." Molly had adopted his crooning nickname after a particularly amusing episode involving a botched heist at a pet shop. Lola pets' tranquillizer guns had been activated prematurely leaving everyone (except Louie himself) in a state of mild dog-like stupor. “Low key,” she had remarked then, “real low key.” They had since traded names, and winkingly, he had become Louie. “I've been thinking—we could switch roles this time,” Molly began casually, one hand idly pawing the ground, the other firmly gripping a cushiony party hat. Her eyes sparkled like glittered cupcakes in the glow of a summer equalizer hanging across the suspiciously lavish venue. “Really, Molly-Louie?” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching with scepticism. He was about to be the birthday boy, a 10-year-old launching into earth's orbit, and replace Molly, the master thief from Rowdy Avenue Dahlia District. Molly nodded emphatically, the hat twirling around her finger. “You've got a blend of innocent face and a natural flair for spontaneous handconduction, you know.” Bill arched one regal eyebrow, a bit surprised by the compliment. “Hand-conducting? That’s a new one." Leaning closer, Molly dropped the casual tone, almost imperceptibly darkening. "It's visiting eyes, taking statements when it seems least expected.” “Ah, I see," Bill scratched his wide-brimmed baseball cap, hoping that the glare reflected at an angle would make him look smaller and less suspicious. "Why do I have three mothers? Because I was unsure, unsure, unsure. Isn't it unsure?" Molly shot him a withering look that extinguished his jest faster than a birthday candle in a wind tunnel. "No jokes, Bill. This is serious. The Wexleys’ party is heavily guarded and they're hosting the annual Teddy Bear Parade." "What's wrong with that?" he shrugged, taking a taste of his subliminal keto cake. "A parade of bears echoes the ticking of freedom's playful waltz!” Molly rolled her eyes. "We need to stick to the plan, Louie. And remember, just like the main character from 'Pawsitively Unstoppable' - he steals, she distracts. Only this time, it's we steal, we distract." "We mutate!" Bill chuckled, swaying a bit too much to his left and almost knocking over a tower of durable gift numbers. Ignoring his antics, Molly continued, "First, we have to distract Teddy the Timid—Mr Wexley's prized bear, thinks he's going to fall off the stage onto the birthday boy. You have to steal him, Louie." "Steal Teddy? I...isn’t he their crowd-favourite?" Bill blinked at his coffee mug. Turning her gaze to a poorly hung paper star speculating from the ceiling, she said, "Yes, we’ve tampered with his talons. As soon as he steps off the balcony, he’ll be mesmerized by the stars." "And the party favors?" Bill questioned, hiding a growing ball of anxiety in his leather jacket pocket. "I'll be pulling all the gifts while everyone's hollering about Teddy's flight," Molly replied smoothly, fitting the hat back on her head. "Cover for me with a short speech. The Teddy issue, accidentally knocking over gift boxes... you pull everyone's attention while we jump ship." An image of triggering his stuttering and causing chaos seemed like a fun prospect. "I'm in, Louie. Especially, if the stuttering part counts as an extra gag." “Don’t go too heavy, Louie. Remember, we're here to steal presents, not balloons, unless the balloon's filled with gold coins." Bill patted her back, almost breaking the stash of undelivered wedding invitations. “The Thieving Pajama Act, Louie. Sounds neat, wouldn’t you say?” “We've got our work cut out for us,” she smirked, “let's tango with the teddy and dance with the Duchess of the dusting cloths, for the love of lighthearted larceny!” Bill laughed but turned serious as he traced the tip of his finger over the grinning goldfish on his gift card. They were going through a string of children's parties, but this was the game. A symphony of mislaid items and misplaced sights. A laugh in the emptiness, a cheeky chuckle echoing in the night. As the miniature suns began to descend beneath the cityscape's horizon painting, their hearts beat in sync with the setting scene. Little giggles and untamed enthusiasm filtered out from the grand marquee, quite unaware, an audience to a crime of comedic proportions against a theft backdrop steeped in mischief and loyalty. Molly and Bill looked at each other, mirroring excitement before embarking on the most luxurious, hilarious, and greatest of all - The Pajama Party Heist. In the end, it was less about the stolen toys and more in the laugh, connecting two lives in the poignant narrative of the stolen, lending more meaning to the stolen gift of comradery.