Molly crouched behind a well-manicured hedge, her eyes darting between the bouncing castle and the table groaning under the weight of neatly wrapped presents. Bill joined her, brushing off his black turtleneck as if it were covered in dust rather than the night's chill. "You sure this is the spot, Bill?" Molly whispered, her gaze never leaving the table. "Seems a bit... I dunno, cruel?" Bill chuckled, a sound that seemed too jolly for the task at hand. "Cruel is making a kid listen to 'Baby Shark' on repeat. We're just... redistributing joy." Molly rolled her eyes. "Redistributing, huh? That's a new one. What's our entry point?" "Simple," Bill said, pointing to a large oak tree whose branches stretched out invitingly towards the present table. "We shimmy up there, cross the branch, and voilà—Santa's little helpers." "And if we're spotted?" "We're the entertainment. You're a clown, and I'm... I'm a mime. Kids love mimes." Molly snorted. "Kids love mimes? What planet are you from? Besides, I didn't dress for clowning." "Improvise," Bill replied with a wink. "That's what makes it fun. Now, on three, we make our move." They counted down in unison, "One... two... three!" and darted from their hiding spot, making a beeline for the oak tree. Molly's heart raced as they scaled the tree, the rough bark scratching at her hands. They reached the designated branch and began their tightrope walk towards the loot. Halfway across, Molly wobbled, her foot slipping. She clutched the branch, a gasp escaping her lips. "Bill, I can't do this!" "Shh!" Bill hissed, extending a hand to steady her. "You're doing great. Just keep your eyes on the prize, not on the ground." They inched closer, the sounds of children's laughter and 90s pop covers growing louder. Molly took a deep breath, regaining her composure. "Okay, I'm good. Let's get this over with." Once over the branch, they dropped silently onto the grass, crawling commando-style towards the table. Molly glanced at the revelers; parents chatted, sipping on cocktails, oblivious to the heist unfolding in their midst. "Ready?" Bill asked, his fingers twitching with anticipation. "Ready," Molly confirmed, her nerves replaced by a thief's calm. In synchronized movement, they sprang up, stuffing presents into large sacks they'd brought along. The haul was impressive: plush toys, board games, even a shiny new bicycle. They worked swiftly, aware that their window of opportunity was small. As they neared the end of their loot list, a squeaky voice pierced the air. "Hey! What are you doing?" Molly and Bill froze. A small child in a superhero cape stood at the corner of the table, eyes wide with disbelief. Thinking quickly, Bill adopted his best mime act, pretending to be trapped in an invisible box. Molly, channeling her inner jester, pantomimed an exaggerated sneeze, sending imaginary germs flying. The child giggled, evidently convinced. "You're funny!" "Thank you," Molly said, her voice slightly muffled by a pretend cold. "We're just... cleaning up the gifts for the next part of the party." The child nodded, satisfied with the explanation, and skipped away. Molly and Bill shared a relieved glance before swiftly finishing their task. With sacks full, they retreated the way they came, scaling the oak tree with more urgency than before. Once back on solid ground, they sprinted towards their getaway car parked a block away. As they peeled off into the night, Molly couldn't help but laugh. "Mission accomplished, but I think I'm done with the whole 'redistributing joy' thing for a while." Bill grinned, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins. "Agreed. Let's stick to banks. At least they don't throw piñata parties."