Molly and Bill sat in a cluttered living room that looked like an explosion in a toy factory. Brightly colored packages, plush toys, and metallic balloons were scattered everywhere. The plan was audacious, almost absurd in its simplicity. "You've got the distraction sorted, right?" Molly asked, her eyes glinting with mischief. Bill nodded, casually tossing a rubber chicken between his hands. "I rented the clown suit. Squeaky shoes and all. I’ll juggle, tell terrible jokes—basically be as annoying as possible." Molly grinned. "Clown Bill. Never thought I'd see the day. What if they ask for balloon animals?" "Practiced all morning. I can make a snake, a worm, and a—get this—an uninflated balloon," Bill boasted, puffing out his chest. Molly chuckled, shaking her head. "Perfect. While the parents are rolling their eyes and children are questioning their life choices, I'll sneak in through the side door." "And I'll be over at the cake table, slipping on whipped cream and banana peels," Bill said. "It’s foolproof." "You're sure about this? I mean, swiping gifts from a kiddie party..." Molly hesitated for a moment. "It's not exactly villainous, is it?" Bill pondered this, rubbing his chin. "Think of it like karma redistribution. Spoiled nephews, rich parents—the kind who can just buy new ones tomorrow." "True," Molly admitted. "Besides, we're doing them a favor. Imagine being a kid and having nothing to open at a birthday. It builds character." Bill laughed. "Spoken like a true mastermind. How many gifts do you reckon?" "At least two dozen. We pack them in your clown car and pop the trunk later," Molly instructed, sketching an imaginary diagram in the air. "We need a safe exit strategy." "Already got it figured out. We jump into the kids’ bouncy castle, then bounce out to safety. They'll never catch us." Molly raised an eyebrow. "In a clown suit? Seriously?" Bill shrugged. "Who’s gonna stop a clown in full flight and floppy shoes?" Molly sighed, then her face lit up with a wicked grin. "Alright, but what happens if something goes wrong?" "Molly, darling," Bill said with mock seriousness, "that's why you're my second-in-command. You've always got the backup plan." "In that case, I'll distract them with a piñata full of broccoli," Molly said, her lips curling into a feline smile. Bill paused, momentarily speechless. "You, Molly, are diabolical." "Thank you," she replied, bowing her head slightly. "Let’s synchronize our watches. We move out at three." "On it," Bill said, adjusting an invisible wristwatch. He raised his hand for a high five. Molly slapped it with enthusiasm. "And Bill, try not to make them cry, okay? You're a clown, not their psychoanalyst." "Deal," Bill agreed. "For the children, I’ll keep the nightmares to a minimum." As they stood, laughter bubbled between them like a stream full of mischief. Their partnership, as dubious as their morals, seemed ever strong—a union sealed not in decency, but in a distinctly peculiar sense of mischief. For Molly and Bill, a children's party was not just a heist waiting to happen. It was a slice of opportunity, wrapped in delirious fun and gift paper.