The air in the dimly lit back room of "Brenda’s Boutique of Bewildering Baubles" hummed with the scent of cheap perfume and desperation. Molly, a woman whose hair defied gravity in a way that suggested a personal vendetta against combs, traced a lopsided smiley face on a dust-covered display case. Bill, whose usual pre-heist jitters manifested as an alarming propensity to talk to inanimate objects, was currently engaged in a hushed, one-sided negotiation with a gargoyle with a broken nose. "Alright, Bartholomew," Bill whispered, his voice raspy, "just a little bit of cooperation. We’re not asking for the crown jewels here, just… a strategic diversion. Maybe a well-timed existential crisis?" Molly sighed, the sound like an ancient bellows complaining. "Bill, darling, Bartholomew hasn't had a spark of sentience since the great glitter explosion of '08. Focus. The target: 'Princess Polly's Perpetual Pampering Party' at the Grand Ballroom. In three hours." Bill snapped his fingers, startling Bartholomew. "Right, right. Princess Polly. Sounds… anodyne. What marvels await our discerning eyes?" "Marvels," Molly purred, her eyes narrowing like a cat spotting a particularly plump pigeon, "of wrapping paper and parental neglect. We're talking about the motherlode of birthday bounty, Bill. Think of the sheer volume. We’ll need the van. And the extra-large bin bags. The ones with the reinforced handles." "Reinforced handles," Bill repeated, nodding sagely. "Crucial. Wouldn't want a rogue teddy bear to breach containment. But what about security? Any laser grids? Pressure plates? Small, yappy dogs with access to the alarm system?" Molly snorted. "Bill, it's a children's party. The biggest security threat is likely to be a sugar-induced tantrum or a rogue balloon animal. According to my intel, the only security measure is a bored teenager named Kevin who’s been promised pizza if he keeps the remote-control car chaos contained." "Kevin," Bill mused. "Pizza. A simple man. I respect that. So, the plan? Do we go in as clowns? Or perhaps disgruntled former party entertainers? I’ve got a surprisingly convincing mime routine if it comes to that.” "No mimes, Bill. Please. We're professionals, not street performers auditioning for a very niche opera. The plan is simple. We arrive fashionably late. The chaos will be our cover. While the little darlings are momentarily distracted by a particularly vigorous rendition of ‘The Wheels on the Bus,’ we make our move. You, Bill, will be on ‘gift acquisition.’ Precision. Speed. And no trying to unwrap anything for ‘quality control,’ I’m warning you.” Bill held up his hands defensively. "Hey, a man’s got to know what he's pilfering. What if it's something truly unique? Scarce commodity? Like… a limited edition glitter pen set?" "Then you acquire it, Bill, and we’ll appreciate its rarity from the comfort of our heavily-armed fortress. My role will be the ‘distractionary facilitator.’ A subtle nudge here, a perfectly timed sneeze there. The important thing is to blend in. Look like we belong. Maybe wear a slightly too-small party hat. Does Brenda have any disposable headwear for adults?" "I believe," Bill said, looking around the shop, "she has a significant quantity of novelty fascinators shaped like various farm animals. I saw a particularly menacing-looking rooster earlier." Molly’s eyes gleamed. "Perfect. Operation Barnyard Bounty is a go."