Under the flickering light of the dusk sky, Molly and Bill leaned against the town’s defunct fire hydrant, cups of coffee stained with the remnants of their energy drink misadventures. With their fingertips drumming against cold steel, they broached the matter at hand. "You see how those matronly dames are preparing for the party, dolling out the presents like some kind of festive loot drop?" Bill's voice cut through the quiet of the approaching night. "Aye, and who else but parents would hand out a bonanza of toys and vegan cookies while singing 'Ring around the Rosie'?" Molly sipped her espresso, a smirk playing on her lips. "These kids won’t know they were missing out until they were included. We’ll call it 'Operation Toy Wednesday.' Whoosh! Now, for the central planning..." "Okay, okay, let’s detail the choreography," Molly recalibrated on the façade of planning. She outlined the targets and blueprint through banter filled with lighthearted jests. “Sound like Grandma's jewelry trolley got replaced with a breadbox, but it’s probably justified by the gold trifle they ate her bakery profits for.” Bill chuckled, “Consider it our noble effort to 'rescue' the farewell tokens. And those cavemen figurines? Skeletons dressed as little warriors, wouldn't want them causing tummy aches." They sketched a map on the back of a napkin under the guise of party game placement. "First stop," Bill pointed, "the two-door liberation – think you could charm the cat out of Mrs. Hopkins's velvet purse on your way out?" Molly shrugged, her laughter mixing with the night breeze. "If my charm shop teacher—Elaine—was here I’d agree to it, but no such luck. We’ll bypass the purse trap and suck her cat the data drive." A chuckle rose at the absurdity of their con game. "It’s settled then, the big charade. The kids are lured by treasure hunts to venture outside, while we slip past unnoticed.” Their plan evolving, Molly picked up her phone, suggesting, “I’ll text the getaway driver about some exciting fake chase meetup at Skippers Barricando; kid-friendly rows, minus the piñatas.” “Great!" Bill leaned in closer, props hanging on invisible arms. "Now secret handshake: count the beanbags, that's how we'll communicate when we're hiding spots for our 'treasures.' Got to keep this intriguing." As night crept over the empty streets, the duo waved off as enthusiastic performers of a play long-conned, their laughter echoing into the dark, as they vanished into the evening.