Bill smoothed down his oversized clown pants, the polka dots blurring under the swampy glare of the streetlamp. "Ready, Mols?" His voice was a hushed whisper, though with the oversized bow tie constricting his throat, it sounded more like a strangled parakeet. Molly adjusted the gravity-defying afro wig perched precariously on her head. It tickled her nose. "Almost. Just need to make sure these twinkle lights are distracting enough." She brandished a string of neon lights, the kind you see wound around plastic reindeer at Christmastime. Bill peered at them, his painted-on eyebrows shooting up almost into his hairline. "Think the glow sticks'll do the trick? Hope they don’t decide to bust out the disco ball." Molly chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Relax, Bill. It's a bunch of sugar-crazed seven-year-olds. We'll be in and out before they even realize the adults are trying to convince them vegetables are delicious." A devilish glint shone in her eye. “Besides, underestimating the power of flashiness is a rookie mistake." Bill shuddered. "Just…try not to flirt with the birthday boy again, okay?" Molly grinned, stuffing the lights into her already bulging bag. "No promises."