Molly and Bill huddled over a hastily sketched map of the party venue, their heads barely visible behind the steering wheel of their beat-up van. The afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windows, casting a dull glow on their conspiratorial faces. "So, the plan is," Molly whispered, tapping the map with a chewed-up pencil, "we blend in, grab the presents, and make a swift exit." Bill, attempting to squeeze his burly frame into a ridiculous clown costume, grunted. "Blend in? Molly, we're robbing a kiddie party. I'm a 40-year-old man dressed as a clown, and you're... what are you supposed to be again?" Molly looked down at her mismatched outfit, a haphazard mix of a fairy tutu and a pirate hat. "I'm a... magical pirate fairy," she declared, with more confidence than the outfit warranted. Bill raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He knew better than to argue with Molly's peculiar logic, especially when she had that gleam in her eye. "Fine," he sighed, adjusting his red nose. "Let's just get this over with."