The two robbers, Molly and Bill, perched themselves on the edge of a dilapidated fire escape. It was the eve of the grand children’s party at the Winslow mansion, their target for a griffling escapade filled with potential riches. Molly adjusted her shades, eyeing the house with a blend of trepidation and anticipation, “The party's next weekend, y'know? Let's be slick but play it safe. No one needs to get hurt.” Bill chuckled, tapping his fingers on the rusted railing, “As long as we’ve got each other, we'll be fine. Safe as houses." A customary handshake sealed their agreement. “Check it, Bill. I've mapped the whole neighborhood. We go in at 7; the parents will be preoccupied. The jaws will open like it's Christmas.” Bill leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, "Under that table by the DJ booth, or about twenty boxes each?" Molly's eyes sparkled with greed mixed with mischief. "The clown.” They schemed over the candy-printed invitation clenched in Molly's fist. "Candy-printed," Bill echoed with a smirk, “Typical Winslow promotions." Molly schooled herself with a raised eyebrow, "Remember, Bill, anything diabetic won't go down with our little mission. First-aid kit will be our best friend.” A thick silence filled the air, punctuated by the distant city hum. Molly broke it, tossing her head back, “Imagine stepping into that house with all the sparkle. Imagine...all that gold in our hands." Bill grinned, “Then we skip the bird droppings and hit the gas." "Yada yada," Molly mock-seriously, "No harm, no foul, you know? They got insurance." Bill's chuckle echoed, “Exactly, ain't no crime in a hedged bet." "But we’re not here for wealth," Molly insisted, "It’s the thrill. The stories we could tell! And trust me, boys don't bring up a job completed with half a heart.” Molly twisted her index finger in Bill’s, a signal that they were both on the same page. "The key to this is in my memory like it's the best porridge in the world." Bill leaned in, sharing conspiratorial grunts, "Bet it's just too hot." A ghost of a smile crossed Molly’s face, “Could be. Or bust like this crystal masque by the burgundy roses." A tip-tap-tap chuckle was heard as he reminded her of the time their ‘enterprise’ had fogged up the entire Winslow estate. “Hey, Bill, I reckon the hand-clapping folder's going under the tree unless we place it at the helipad. Then we have a free departure." "Gourmet chocolates, sugar-free options," Mollie rattled off, "And I need your eyes on the sack 'e're nothing to shake." "Dad comic book or ani-tech bit-box?" Bill mused, "Both get the gold star." Molly grinned cruelly, "The bounty's our magnum opus. Remember this, Bill, we're not just thieves. We’re craftsmen of fortunes." The fire escape creaked. The perfect prelude to their masterpiece. It was almost time.