Molly twisted the bowtie he'd gifted her, the cheap plastic feeling clammy against her skin. "A clown nose, Bill? Really?" Bill, already halfway through donning a pair of oversized red shoes, grinned. "Come on, Moll, it's part of the schtick! You gotta sell the illusion." He wobbled, nearly taking a tumble. "Besides, who suspects a clown, especially one this clumsy?" She stifled a laugh. "I'm sure the five-year-olds will be swallowing their juice boxes with utter disbelief." Bill twirled his fake mustachio, "Precisely. Distraction is key. Once they're entranced, we'll be slicker than a greased piglet, in and out with the loot before anyone blinks." He held up a duffel bag, green polka-dots hastily duct-taped across the side. "Operation: Sugar Rush is a go!" He snapped his fingers, a whistle escaping his lips. Molly sighed, rolling her eyes but unable to fully hold back a smile. This was ridiculous, it was childish, and it was precisely why she loved working with Bill.