The air in the abandoned puppet theatre was thick with more than just dust and the undeniable aroma of stale popcorn. Molly, perched precariously on a wobbling stack of forgotten props, adjusted the oversized goggles that were doing little to disguise the manic gleam in her eyes. "Alright, Bill," she whispered, her voice echoing with a slightly unnerving theatrical flair, "Phase One: Acquisition. We are going in tonight, under the guise of… 'entertainment'." Bill, who was attempting to flatten a crumpled map of the local community hall with the sole of his boot, sighed. "Entertainment? Molly, last time you said 'entertainment' we ended up with a flock of angry pigeons trapped in a disco ball." "Details, darling, details. This time, it's foolproof! They're having little Timmy's birthday bash. Apparently, he's turning seven, and the word on the street is… he's expecting a veritable *fortress* of toys." Molly wriggled her fingers with exaggerated delight. "Think of it, Bill. A veritable toy-topia, ripe for the plucking! And who's better equipped to pluck than us?" "You and your ridiculous metaphors," Bill muttered, kicking at the map again. "So, what’s the plan for the 'entertainment' part? Are you planning to juggle flaming teddy bears?" "Don't be absurd! Though, I *am* working on a preliminary routine involving a talking poodle and a slightly bewildered mime. The key, Bill, is misdirection. While I'm charming the little darlings with my canine camaraderie and existential angst, you, my dear Bill, will be executing the… swift relocation of goods." "Swift relocation? You mean stuffing your pockets with a seven-year-old's Christmas haul?" Molly leaned forward, her goggles slipping down her nose. "Not just *pockets*, Bill, think grander! We'll have a discreet wagon. A… 'gift conveyance'." "A wagon? Molly, we're not stealing the crown jewels. We're stealing bouncy balls and action figures." "And what are action figures, Bill, if not miniature, plastic monarchs of joy waiting to be… liberated!" Molly declared, straightening her goggles with a snap. "Now, about entry. The invitations are all accounted for. But Mrs. Henderson, bless her perpetually flustered heart, always leaves the back door unlocked when she's trying to wrestle the industrial-sized cake into the kitchen. That's our window." Bill squinted at the map again. "So, we sneak in the back, grab the stuff, and then you're supposed to lead a gaggle of sugar-crazed seven-year-olds in song while I make my escape unnoticed with a sack full of Furbies?" "Precisely! And if the poodle starts to sing off-key, you create a diversion. Perhaps a 'spontaneous' outbreak of interpretive dance. The children will be too busy marveling at your… unique artistic expression to notice the missing loot." "My unique artistic expression is currently attempting to decipher this smudged diagram of the bouncy castle." "Don't underestimate the power of a well-placed pirouette, Bill. Or, for that matter, a rogue bouncy ball to the forehead. Now, are you ready for Operation: Tiny Treasures?" "I'm ready to be paid, Molly. And slightly concerned about the collateral damage to my dignity."