"Right, Bill, are you sure about this strategy?" Molly whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant, tinny strains of "Happy Birthday." "Absolutely, Moll. It's foolproof. Think about it. What's the weakest link in any children's party security detail?" Bill replied, his gaze fixed on the brightly lit house through the gap in the hedge. "The sugar-addled toddler with the sticky fingers who somehow sneaks a balloon past security?" Molly guessed. "Nope. The grown-up who’s pretending to be having fun while secretly contemplating their impending adult responsibilities. They're distracted. They're tired. They're practically begging someone to relieve them of their vigilance," Bill explained, gesturing with a half-eaten biscuit. "So, we infiltrate by bribing the bored babysitter with promises of a more exciting life?" Molly scoffed. "Even better," Bill grinned, popping the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. "We go in as… entertainment. Observe: the ninja clown." He struck a dramatic pose, nearly losing his balance. Molly rolled her eyes. "Bill, you can't even juggle three oranges without setting off the sprinkler system. You’re going to ‘entertain’ them with a balloon animal that looks vaguely threatening?" "Details, Moll, details. My artistic interpretation of a poodle has always been avant-garde. The point is, we get inside. We're the unexpected factor. Who suspects the guy handing out floppy-eared dogs to cryin' goblins?" "And while you're providing your… unique brand of merriment, what am I supposed to be doing?" Molly asked, already picturing the mayhem. "You, my dear Molly, are the silent hawk. You drift. You observe. You identify the prize. According to our intel, little Timmy’s got himself a brand new, top-of-the-line, remote-controlled drone. The kind that can carry small objects. Ideal for extraction." Bill winked. "So, I'm supposed to steal a stolen drone *with* the drone it’s supposed to be a getaway vehicle for? This sounds like a logic puzzle designed by a committee of caffeinated squirrels," Molly sighed. "Think of it as a multi-stage extraction. First, the drone itself. Then, we use the drone to ferry the presents to the designated rendezvous point. It’s efficient. It’s discreet. It’s… revolutionary." Bill beamed. "Revolutionary or just incredibly convoluted? What if Timmy’s mom has a secret stash of really effective glitter bombs, just in case?" Molly countered, rubbing her temples. "Then we adapt. We improvise. We embrace the shimmer! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First order of business: I need a wig. A ridiculously oversized, multi-colored wig. To complete the illusion." Bill started rifling through his backpack. "And you think I can just wander around a house full of hyperactive children, cataloging presents, while you’re pretending to be a sad circus reject?" Molly’s voice was laced with disbelief. "Precisely! They'll be too busy marveling at my questionable balloon artistry to notice the quiet genius of your reconnaissance. Plus," he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "I’ve got a special prop. A squirting flower. Guaranteed to cause a momentary, delightful chaos. Enough to cover our tracks." "A squirting flower. Bill, sometimes I wonder if you plan these heists or just wake up with them from a fever dream," Molly muttered. "It's called creative problem-solving, Moll. Now, about that wig. I was thinking something with a slight an- *whoop*!" A small, deflated balloon shot out of Bill's pocket and hit Molly on the nose. "See? Already practicing my craft."