Molly and Bill stood in the alleyway, shuffling through the boxes, stacked with tools and disguises, like a junk pile of heist artifacts. "Alright Molly, double-check," whispered Bill, hunching low, his eyes darting to the fence beside the vandalized, painted statue of a horse, shrouded by the Corinthian lamppost. "Well besides that one no name duffel with the skids they passed over how many times Tap count say... ah got it, got it... When are we suiting up, Bill?" Molly turned, her bulging eyes fascinated, her fistStamped the patch pocket of her khaki pants. "Dawn inmate, gotta cover our tails, know the checkpoint's closer in the morrow." Bill said, carefully aligning the leather jacket's cuffs. “So would it be pretty billion toys, or rich lady’s loot?” Bill clasped the pair of tweezers tightly. The metallic sound vibrated like a code in his ear. "Haven’t decided yet, but let's make it big," Molly crawled out a cassette of drawings, alongside black velvet shoes. The aisles of the Joyville bookstore buzzed with tales of the latest Santa that escapes the hungry feudal elves over cookie binges. “Colors brought me luck,” She exhaled slowly. Then, wriggling through a disused bicycle near red cans, she added, "How many times you found the pants?" "I haven’t got dressed for it," Bill looked around, knowing their colleagues had scattered across Joyville by now. "But I trust you Molly. You train like a method man." He smirked, folding his hands behind his back. "Bill, wouldn’t you agree with me?", Molly leaned over, and their faces were mere inches apart. "Perhaps keep your Mum’s old bowler hat? I slicked it down but couldn’t help noticing the matching cushion..." Bill shook his head. "Better stick to the toys. Mum’s hats ain’t the same everywhere." Then, breaking the tension, he chuckled, "Got any criticisms on my gabardine suit? Wonder if I can carry off this trend. Mama will never approve," he muttered, examining the garment as a surgeon would. "I like it. But with the red apron jacket and the bishop buttons," Molly pausing to calculate, "You might bump off as a 'fashion-forward' comedic character in this cut-throat capitalist society." Bill chuckled again, laboring not to grin. "How about a little coffee, Molly?" He tugged from the duffel a mugs bearing the cold IV drip symbol. "Ten-minute prep and we’re cooking." On the cracked cobblestone, in shifts, they doubled over, sipping the steaming hot liquid. The insipid aroma, with an impeccable roundness to the mouthfeel, permeated their senses, trapping them in a fantasy where futures were fluid and themes were aflame. “Soon my co-conspirators shall be fair defense for the stars and stripes,” Molly intoned, immersing herself in the casing. Bill nodded, swallowing the last to join Molly, “…Until we have the lights and the night as our guide” he whispered, enveloped in a dreamlike haze. As dawn approached, the duo kissed their newfound friends goodbye, canceling ripple effects to their friends through encrypted texts. The stars appeared to shift in the sky as they traversed through town, the half-lit city seemed to conjure a mystical air of suspense. They slipped into their disguises, imagined incongruous fits of laughter to simulate normal conversations, the absurdity of their activities weighed heavily on their souls. Then, before the dawn's morn had a chance to break, they found themselves standing outside the school's gate, the moon above still... "Molly, stop, Martha's going to come to the window," whispered Bill, his heart pounding. Molly froze, her eyes widening as she glanced around the gangly shadows, there was still a chance to back out, to make a dash for it, to avoid the ordeal, and begin another day - a monk's life, out of the norms and drama. Lost in thought, Molly nearly released the breath she'd held, unaware. "Well, Bill, if we pull this off," she said softly to herself, but Bill caught it like a signature. "Yeah, Molly.” he nodded, his tone quiet and calm. “If we strike while the iron’s hot and aim for Beaming Santa’s face...” Molly smiled, starting to feel a subtle surge of adrenaline. “What if he doesn’t strike back?” Bill chuckled quietly. “Then it won’t be our fight, Molly.” The party's door began to swing open, their instinctive movements a fleeting blur, they put on their cool fronts and immediately made their way inside. Their first task was clear; they ran for the toys, the laughter echoing in the background, the moonlit night an overture to their venture in mirth and unexpected moments. From the commotion of the games to the chatter of young rascals to the clashing of the gold glitter and the candles lit amidst the delirious fun and games, all seemed like the ideal set for a heist tale being penned on the spot. "Bill," Molly whispered as she rounded a corner, "This feels like..." "I know," he nodded. They shared a mischievous grin, darting behind the last of the guests. "A comedic heist, Molly."