Molly crouched behind a bush, peering through the chain-link fence at the chaotic backyard party. Streamers twirled in the breeze, and a gaggle of sugar-high kids ran wild, squealing. The table groaned under stacks of colorful wrapped presents that practically screamed "steal me." Bill adjusted his crooked tie and squinted at the scene. "You sure this is the best target, Molly? Feels a little... sticky-fingered. Those kids look like miniature ninjas." Molly shot him a look. "Sticky-fingered? Since when are you calling us thieves proper names? And 'miniature ninjas'? I think you mean 'feral sugar gremlins.'" Bill tapped his chin. "Right, feral sugar gremlins. So, what’s the plan? We can’t exactly stroll in and say, ‘Excuse me, just here for the loot.’" "Obviously," Molly said, sliding a finger across a crumpled napkin with a hastily drawn sketch of the party layout. "We sneak in, blend in somehow, and grab the goods.” Bill glanced over the napkin. "Blend in. At a children's party. We’re what, two grown adults? Wearing what? Spandex and masks?" Molly smirked. "Not masks. Party hats. We can fake it—pretend to be maybe... slightly unhinged relatives?" Bill raised an eyebrow. "Unhinged relatives? That’s your big idea? Because that screams ‘less suspicious,’ not ‘immediately arrested.’" She shrugged. "Better than stand glares from every parent like two giant burglars. Look, we need to be festive. Balloons, hats, maybe one of those goofy blowers." Bill sighed dramatically. "Fine. Festive. But what about the kids? They’re like little bloodhounds sniffing out anyone who moves. Half of them will be holding presents, and the other half will be crying about lost cupcakes. Maybe both at the same time." Molly grinned. "Chaos is our friend. When they’re busy tearing into cake, we slip in, grab the gifts, and slip out. The sugar rush will keep their attention elsewhere." Bill rubbed his temples. "And the parents? One false move and the cops show up. Worst case, we’re on the news as ‘The Grinch Wannabes’." "Not without some distractions." Molly pulled out a small remote control from her jacket pocket. "I hacked into the sound system. At precisely 3 PM, I trigger the 'Magic Clown Explosion' playlist—ear-piercing circus tunes and confetti cannons. That’s our rain of chaos." Bill chuckled. "A confetti cannon? Really? How original." "Hey, if it gets us in and out, I’ll even throw in a balloon animal performance." Molly winked. Bill groaned. "Promise me you won't sing karaoke too." "Only if you do the chicken dance." Bill flicked his head toward the fence. "Alright. We get the hats, the balloons, and the clown music. We infiltrate, grab the loot, and vanish before anyone notices." Molly nodded. "Exactly. And remember: Confuse the kids, distract the adults, and always—always—look like you belong. Nobody suspects the party weirdos." "Party weirdos, huh? I can do that." She gave him a sly smile. "Good. Now, let’s go get our disguises before the birthday boy demands a magic show or something." Bill groaned as they slipped away. "Next time, can we just stick to jewelry stores?" Molly laughed. "Where’s the fun in that?"