The Christmas innards spilled out of the festive packaging, strewn on the bedroom floor in a colorful mess. Molly, with her eyes crammed between thin fingers, flipped through a glossy, glossy stolen catalog. "So," Molly said, her lips curled into a snide smile like a tilting Z. "Do you wanna hear the biggest, fattest heist ever, or do I have to spell it out like an aspiring five-year-old?" Bill's Brow raised into a comical arch, his arms folded over his flannel green coveralls. His fingers, stained brown and sticky, drummed along the countertop. "Mmm," he grunted, cupping his chin for a rumination, his woolen cap brushing against the curls on his head. "Well, let me start. We've got a mansion. Let's call it 'Sugar Hill'. You know, you can only tell those fancy little buggers these things if you look the part. Now with the presents, it's easiest when everybody's distracted," Molly leaned forward, tracing her fingertips sang-song down the catalogs' flimsy pages. "In comes us, the candy-coated burglars. With the giggling, it's like stumbling into a sugar cave and snackin' your way out!" Bill laughed, a silent bubbling that rattled his glasses. "Plunge into the child-chic prance this holiday season." "Splendid. Now onto the execution," Molly clicked open a worn-out backcover, "target time is the post-lunch CBD rush, parents grab their presents and gimme their little jimmies for a photoshoot. Means less witnesses, makes theirExecutorEasier," she finished, curling her finger in a mimicgym of a slip of yellowing paper with scribbles. "Dobbin," Bill whips out his phone and rustles through a numbered list, his index finger quivering against the screen's glass. Molly grinned, baring pearly whites in one of her widest grins. "Oh, yes. It _will be_ a grand heist. My arithmetic respects our prowl, and how flavorful your presence is to the arrangement," she chirped. Together, they snickered, their idealism and grin became a gabble of shared plans, a heavyetermined pact.