Bill nervously tugged at his oversized clown wig. It itched something fierce. "Are you sure about this, Molly?" he muttered, glancing at the brightly coloured bouncy castle inflated in the back garden. "Relax, Bill," Molly said, her voice laced with a confidence that belied the nervous flutter in her stomach. She adjusted the tiny, sequined handbag slung across her shoulder. "It's a children's party. They'll be so distracted by sugar and glitter, they won't notice a thing." Bill swallowed. "But it's... it's morally reprehensible, stealing from kids." Molly snorted. "Morally reprehensible? We're liberating them from the tyranny of excessive consumerism! Besides, think of the loot! Barbie Dream Houses, remote-controlled dinosaurs, enough Lego to build a replica of the Eiffel Tower... It's practically an art heist." Bill grimaced. "You're making it sound glamorous. All I see is hyperactive six-year-olds hopped up on fizzy drinks." "Think of the smiles on their faces when they wake up Christmas morning to find…nothing," Molly said, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. Bill scratched his head. "Aren't we supposed to be heroes? You know, the Robin Hoods of the underappreciated, misunderstood?" "We are," Molly declared, striking a heroic pose. "Robin Hood stole from the rich to give to the...slightly less rich." "That's not exactly how the story goes," Bill pointed out. "Details, details," Molly waved a dismissive hand. "Our motto is 'Take from the sugared, give to ourselves'. Now, come on, let's go get those presents!" They crept towards the back door, their eyes darting nervously at the brightly wrapped boxes piled beneath a makeshift Christmas tree. The sound of shrieks and giggles drifted out from inside the house, a soundtrack to their imminent larceny. "Remember the plan," Molly whispered. "Distract, grab, flee," Bill recited, his voice hesitant. "But what if they…you know…catch us?" Molly smirked. "They're kids, Bill. They'll be more interested in chasing pigeons than catching thieves." She winked. "Besides, I've got a secret weapon." From her tiny handbag, she produced a squeaky rubber chicken. Bill stared at it, bewildered. "Seriously?" Molly’s grin broadened. "Trust me, Bill, this thing will cause mass chaos. Now, let's go." She pushed open the door, the cacophony of childish delight rising to meet them. It was showtime.