Molly leaned back in her chair, her legs stretched out on the worn-out rug, her fingers idly twirling a strand of her mop of blonde hair. "Which one of these little treasure troves did our illustrious society send our way? I mean like, we've got a posh lady wedding, a fancy VIP gala, and a theme park exhibition...and oh my doc, a *children's party*?" She held her hand to her forehead in mock shock, her lilting voice flecked with amusement, "Now that's what I call a humble heist." Bill, clad in an outrageous green arm wrestling outfit and sunglasses strong enough to blind, let out a hearty laugh. "You know you can't resist the innocent fun of stolen innocence, Molly. Besides, you wouldn't want the master thief to abandon the pastime of illicit pajama parties where high-society shenanigans used to be." He winked dramatically, the corners of his eyes crinkling beneath the domino mask. Molly pushed herself off her chair and crossed her arms, "Alright, alright, what's our game plan? Wait, don't tell me – you're going to distract the kids by turning into an amateur clown, right?" She planted her hands on the wooden armrests and affected a sinister grimace. Bill swept an invisible bow, tipping his glasses down to rest on the bridge of his nose. "Now that would've been the easy way, but no dear, we are thieves of a more refined nature. Behold," Bill declared, removing a notepad from his trusty hold-all which, until now, had seemed empty and unassuming – and certainly not filled with cutting-edge thievery gear. Molly glanced at the notepad curiously, exhaling her disapproval through pursed lips. "Alright. No puking rainbow-colored paint and sickly sweet laughter – it's plan number 12 – or 342, that one's more about bribery. Either way, I'm in." She beamed like a thieving Cheshire cat as she leaned in over the worn pleather notebook. "What's the plan?" Bill cleared his throat and began to read aloud his ammunition-list minutia, hidden agendas and every practical detail quirk by quirk: "We need to exchange ourselves with the entertainer, but we're leaving our traditional outfits behind. We're going to perform the most boring birthday performance: mime." Molly gulped. "Mime? Molly, you are killing me." Bill chortled, rising from his seat briefly, before regaining composure enough to sit firmly at the edge of his chair. "No, we've got a plan within the plan," he chirped and produced a set of props from a hidden pocket. "We're going to pose and chit-chat, keep our eyes on the prize, and snatch the presents in the blink of an eye." "The plan?" Molly blurted, her curiosity now tinged with skepticism. "Ah. Hear me out –"Bill began, bubbling with unrelenting enthusiasm, his voice a mad medley of mischief and excitement. "We waltz in as entertainers, make some pals among the naive toddler mobs, and during the melee of birthday chaos, we deftly make away with a smattering of gifts!" A dominating edge of doubt hovered in the room after that revelation, but Molly couldn't help the unconquerable urge to smile. "Alright, I'm won over, or at least, I'm curious. What's the next step?" Bill wagged a gloved finger in the air, waxing philosophical. "And since you asked, we case the joint, familiarize our way through the day, shop until we drop, then make a brief escape. This is going to work like clockwork." Yes, they were embarking on a heist that children would remember, and none too fondly. Only time would know if they got away with the prize.