Molly tilted her head, studying the layout of the lavishly decorated party house on her tablet. Laser tripwires, pressure plates, CCTV coverage—it was a cornucopia of challenges. She glanced at Bill, who was busy sketching a cheeky doodle of himself giving a thumbs-up from behind the cake table. "Bill," she said, her voice stern but tinged with immature amusement, "we need to keep Pippi Longstocking from being the party crasher this time." His grin vanished immediately. "Pippi needs her sugar rush. Let's just say, 'happiness is a warm slice of cake' at the risk of a sugar-high catastrophe." Molly sighed, pursing her lips. "And here I thought you'd stopped drawing stick figures." Bill held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, whoa! This here's avant-garde tech—a reimagining of infrared signatures." She rolled her eyes so hard it could have been mistaken for a silent audition for Mission Impossible. "The CCTV has likely picked up on the curious case of your avant-garde antics already." "Better avant-garde than stupid," Bill shot back, decking himself with confidence like a badge of honor. Molly scrolled through her tablet. "We've identified three gifts of interest to us. They're inside that Room of Doom you wanted to call the Gift Room." She pointed to the small hand-written title on her digital blueprint. "Speaking of doom," Bill quipped, "should we ignite a Blade Runner-style retinal scan to avoid passive aggressive glare from the nanny's mini drones?" Molly flung a pillow at him. "Since when did our heist plans turn into a sci-fi script?" "Since you started making things too easy to locate, Molly." He ducked her pillow with a chuckle, adjusting his glasses. "For the record, I'm proposing reflective shades and holographic gear. It's, well, fashionably conspicuous." Molly couldn't hide her smirk as she tapped on their entry point. "Enter with the stealth of an elephant in a china shop. Lovely." "But with the charm of a Casanova's robot," he corrected, strutting a bit too dramatically. She let out a loud, exaggerated sigh. "Next thing you'll tell me is that you'll be whispering sweet nothings to the presents." "Sweet somethings are my specialty," Bill shot back. "Especially when it comes to convincing Santa's reinforcements to leave some extra bounty." "Bill, this is neither the time nor the place for your Santa anecdotes." The corners of her mouth curled up into a reluctant smile. "Let's finalize our exit strategy. I have limited time for this discussion. My tardiness talents are not to be overexerted." "Who needs an exit strategy when you've got me and my charm?" Bill flexed his non-existent biceps, blowing on his hands as if expecting explosive results. "Your charm does not come in handy right now, Bill. That's when your impressive ignorance might come in handy," Molly remarked wryly. They both shared a smirk that tasted more of nerves than confidence. "Let's do this, partner in crime—or should I say, Molly the Mysterious?" "Just Molly, thank you," she corrected, keying in her code to cloak their presence from the near-certain third-party digital intruders. "And partner—keep up, Big Ego." Both thieves wore their disguises well. Molly, decked out in paint-speckled overalls, seemed more part of the birthday set-up crew than a night prowler. Bill, adopting the role of a tipsy dad consoling a tantrum-throwing child, only added to the illusion. The duo proceeded cautiously. Bill murmured soothing words while Molly dodged around suspiciously twitchy pens, skilfully avoiding the gazes of overprotective parents. Molly remarked bluntly, "Those dolls can't take a hit, Bill." "My dolls could run a marathon on a sea of legos!" he retorted in a hoarse whisper. Suddenly, a voice cracked through the air—tiny, yet carrying the unmistakable conviction of stolen birthdays. "Molly, Bill, who steal fun?" Heartbeats skipped as Molly spun, finding herself staring at Winnie the Pooh, standing assertively beside Paddington Bear in a makeshift detective's trench coat. Bill, however, remained affixed to his detective idea, hands outstretched as if to patrol, too awed to comprehend the mini-meeting of fictional minds. Winnie, however, was undeterred. "You take gifts, make smiles disappear, why so sneaky at this cheer?" Bill, emboldened by his fabricated narrative thread, stepped forward with outstretched hand. "I'm Detective Bunny, son of the world's greatest toon. We're not here for naught, just playing hide and seek with some boom." Molly bit her lip, not sure which was more terrifying—the odd line delivery or the sheer absurdity of the situation. She mouthed 'run' to Bill, but he continued, "We mean no harm... just mystery and games, is all!" The toys shifted, the party solemnly resumed. Molly and Bill exchanged a nod, a silent agreement that fortune had favored their madness. They clasped hands, the meeting with legendary figures inspiring their final push towards the Room of Doom. Navigating the maze of toy soldiers and glittering unicorns, Molly gently lifted the chosen presents—feeding her fleeting adrenaline rush. Bill managed to steal a momentary gaze at the child's wistful stare from underneath the table where she'd reluctantly placed her toys. "Remember, don't sell anyone a Brooklyn Bridge," Molly reminded, though they both knew her tone belied the sentiment. It was just part of their ritual—odd remnant from a partnership built on heists-turned-fables. "That's the plan, Molly," Bill responded, carefully tucking the presents into his nonsensical but charming bag printed with smiling Happy Faces. "And he can meet the Tooth Fairy tomorrow, if he wants." Molly couldn't help a chuckle as she rolled across the changing floor mats, signaling their faux escape. "Let's hope the next gig isn't a Children's Birthday Party," she muttered, though Bill's grin looked too pleased to be seriously so. "With you, Molly, the exciting never goes out of style." Her laughter echoed behind them, as they finally left the party house, gifts in tow, and another successful adventure echoing behind.