The streamers hung like spectral entrails from the ceiling. Molly adjusted her oversized novelty glasses. "So, the plan. You distract the beast master, I grab the loot." Bill tugged at his ill-fitting clown wig. "Beast master? You mean the birthday boy? He's five, Molly." "Five is a prime age for emotional manipulation," Molly whispered, her voice a conspiratorial hiss. "A strategically deployed whoopee cushion, a misplaced balloon animal… he’ll be putty in our hands." "And the parents?" Bill gestured vaguely towards a knot of adults sipping sparkling cider. "They're preoccupied with their passive-aggressive small talk. We slip in, ninja-style," Molly mimed a series of awkward leaps. "Grab the sack, and out before they even realize their offspring’s happiness has been pilfered." "This is insane," Bill muttered, but a glint in his eye suggested otherwise. "It's brilliant," Molly corrected, her grin stretching across her face. "Think of the pure, unadulterated joy this will bring… to *us*." "Right." Bill took a deep breath. "Birthday boy, whoopee cushion, present sack. Got it. What’s the getaway vehicle?" Molly surveyed the small, brightly colored bouncy castle. "We ride the pony. Obviously."