Molly eyed the colorful, bustling children’s party from across the fence. “Suit up, Bill,” she whispered, a chuckle audible in the soft night. Bill adjusted his sweater, a subtle smirk pushing up at his lips. “Planning to nab every present here tonight?” “Indeed,” Molly responded, drumming her fingers against the fence. “Check out that balloon-filled corner. Toys galore. Teddy bears, action figures—the works.” “Do we really want to risk baby carrots for a pickle?” Bill teased, knowing full well the kids would swarm if they heard scrambling feet. “More pickles than carrots,” Molly countered playfully. “Plus, these wrap packs are our ticket. Think airbags for our legs.” Bill leaned in closer. “Don’t forget the flash blinders to the security cameras. You zoom-zoom-panoptic’s weak spot.” Molly nodded, tapping her earpiece. “The cameras are angle-shy. We’ll crawl from the side. Move silently like ghosts. “What about backup, Molly?” “Good old Rusty. He can’t open a microwave, let alone a present." Bill shrugged. “Rusty’s a bulldozer, not a lock picker. But he's got the luck.” “As long as he don’t bump into a clown,” Molly added, winking. “So here’s the plan: I slip into the gift shop. I know where the monogrammed backpacks are hidden. They’re the easiest to pilfer.” “And while you’re at that, I’ll charm the cashier with my Nobel Drama discount card,” Molly grinned. “Yeah, and if by some whim those grizzled security guards pop up, you send Rusty here with a bar of soap and “Oh, the great bubble bath escapes!” as your theme.” “That rhymes just fine. I’ve also got my little gadgets ready. I’ll whisper one through the slot.” “And if there’s any child show-offs with stuffed animals, they’ll get a special treat. Just the icebreaker we need.” Molly laughed. “Sharp as always, Bill. Now if only they had party lights without those dim, cheer-inducing beams.” Bill raised an eyebrow. “A spare flashlight in my utility belt. Here’s a Groucho Marx style joke: ‘I refuse to join any conspiracy - I’m not a member of this criminal faction.’” “A joke even Groucho wouldn't stand for!” Molly declared, flipping a lockpick from her grip. As the moon climbed higher, their laughter was cut short by the sight of the bouncer, a toy security drone suspiciously hovering near the doors. “Rusty, sweet cheese cauldron,” Bill whispered. It jerked awake, whirring dreamily. “Time to tango, Rusty.” Molly engaged a distant stealth mode. Under the guise of play, they entered. Alligators and unicorns alike felt their presence as toys were swiftly pilfered, though none signaled their capture. “Swan dive, baby, swan dive,” Bill murmured, swiping a backpack cover. Molly’s fingers danced, freeing cute plushies from their boxes. “Oh look, a plushy contortionist!” “Might bring in a mic drop—or in this case, a mic drop dance—to distract the host.” Bill slipped a vital security card into the bag. Their operation, a ballet of deception, moved them through corridors alive with warmth, distant from oceanic chills of thought. “Clear out, Molly. Rusty’s the pastry chef now.” Among the mock flour dust and gummy bear stand, Rusty stumbled, flailing against RSVP stands. He tripped slightly, nearly summoning a giggle from Molly. “Over there, Rusty! Stick to Tchaikovsky; that drone may have company. We brute strength here, not theatricality. Also, shove that drone back up the curtains. Run it down with your innocuousness.” Rusty grumbled, rolling his bulky frame back. A soft murmur of glee crossed Molly's lips. “One child’s presentation about dinosaurs away, and we’ve improved our punchline tonight. She gazed at her shocked, terrified audience – a janitor with a priceless Multi-Cushion couch – as though it was a flawless performance. “Hopefully, the landlord will appreciate the ‘reinvigoration’ of the premises,” Bill sighed with relief, collapsing into a nearby bean bag, tolling their triumph. “We’ve done it, Bill. Most eco-friendly heist ever!” Rusty, already convalescing, snorted. “You two musketeers. You’ve got my grandma’s recipe for slapstick comedy at its peak.” Molly laughed, slipping on an ornamental frog. “A bit of slippery humor for the day.” They slumped through the door, their pockets now brimming with snatched treasures – the perfect treasure, since all the presents opened their newest chapter in their capers. Bill patted Rusty on the head. “Let’s not mention the elephant in the room, or the child figurines, in our line of bread—or whatever we got from this peanut gallery!” Molly grinned, gathering stolen souvenirs that surely would one day prompt whispers in thieve-themed bars. “The party was as silent as a diary; we’ve been left to recount its tales.” As they vanished into the night under their newfound discretion, the children's party murmured of the joy stolen on another day.