With a quiet sigh, Jeff settled down on the ledge of an eighteenth-storey building's windy roof.

Why do so many people live in luxury apartments nowadays? What's wrong with a normal house? What happened to all those climb-thru windows that made it easy as picking up some Mac Donald's?

He'd been hunting on and on for about two and a half hours without much luck. There simply was no evidence to collect - he was tried and tired.

The crazy killer stifled a yawn and hugged his knees, resembling a kawaii ball of hoodie-ness. Bloodstained hoodie-ness. Ha! I'm the fabulous Jeff the Killer! Failure doesn't faze me!

Then his shoulders sagged as he was hit with the crushing reality that actually it did. If I don't come up with something fast; Dark Link and BEN will laugh in my face and never let me forget it!

Twitching and muttering to himself, Jeff fell sideways. Luckily for him, it was the right way. Otherwise he would've gone plummeting. Heaven's knows - his pants might've fallen off too or something.

Think, Mr. Fabulous! Think! He knocked on his achey head with a clenched fist. I don't think this is how it goes in the movies...

Next, he rolled himself into an upward position and stared unblinkingly at the clouds as if they held all the secrets to the world. Which, to be frank, they technically did.

Okay, all of these people were killed by somebody who's not L.J. They were either hacked to pieces or died from weird heart complications. Oooh, heart complications. Where did those words come from?

Jeff cocked his head to one side, causing his fabulous locks of raven hair to unfurl from his shoulders and hang like fabulous rat-tails. "Heart Complications sounds like the name of a luxury chocolate..."

One could clearly see a thought bubble formulating over his sociopathic little brain.

"Luxury chocolates sometimes have razorblades in them..."

He continued with his highly-vocalised speculating, dragging his palms over the rooftop's rough granite floor for some seriously weird kind of inspiration.

"Tigers have razor-sharp teeth..."

Jeff leaned back leisurely on his arms.

The strings of his hoodie came loose and dangled from his chest. A nyan cat randomly appeared out of nowhere and started swatting them, but he didn't notice.

"Stripes are used for provocative wear and Kagekao has a stripy scarf..."

All of a sudden, he propelled himself forward and caused the nyan cat to zoom off in a burst of rainbows and poptarts. Jeff's fabulous hair went flying in the wind, but he didn't notice that either.

"That's it! The final piece of the puzzle is finally in place! Kagekao must be sexually attracted to chocolate!"

Somewhere on the distant plane of immortal limbo - Jeff's ancestors wept.

Elsewhere on the not-so-distant plane of the apartment below, BEN was crumpling up his copy of L.J's kill list and kicking off his shoes to get comfy on the couch of some bulky geezer who'd been beheaded.

The little elf had decided to take his snack break, you see. And to go with it, he quickly zipped through the nearest electrical outlet and came back with a pumpkin spice latte from the Starbucks two doors down.

Thoroughly at home, BEN turned on the T.V and lazily held out the remote as he slowly munched on his yum-yums, cushy and comfy against the one of the couch's plump armrests.

After boredom settled in he stopped browsing the channels and dropped the remote in favour of ravishing his latte.

Slurp.
Slurp.

Sluuuurrrrp.

Once that was over, he threw the empty cup aside and reluctantly trudged through the television to check out the next place.

Apparently, it used to home a candy enthusiast.

Must've been someone on E.J's list.

There was no sign of evildoing except for the tiny matter of a decapitated body lying next to a smashed jar of bloodied peppermints.

Naturally, BEN ignored this and went straight for the other candy jars.

This mission ain't half bad! He thought to himself, popping a piece of chewy candy into his mouth.
Mmm! Green Apple flavoured!

Somewhere on the distant plane of immortal limbo (directly opposite of Jeff's ancestors), BEN's ancestors wept a river of blood.

By chance, these two creepypasta- both of whom were unaware of their ancestors anguish and dismay - happened to meet each other while checking the next apartment.

All the kill lists were usually centred around the same place, you see. That was just in case someone slipped up and made a booboo, another pasta would be nearby to help.

(The faceless creepypasta never got the idea that maybe some of the creepypastas were more inclined to rather sit back or just plain turn around and hightail it the hell outta there)

Their suprising reunion was rather unremarkable if I do say so myself. Their conversation started out like this:

"Hey, BEN!" Jeff greeted, swinging through the window and letting go of the roof gutter. He proceeded to grab a tissue from a nearby box and wipe his hands free of grit.    

"Jeffy, my pasta! How's it going? Did you find anything... Helpful?" BEN asked, leaning causally on a table. He was trying to play it cool - when in reality he was hoping to squeeze out some extra info.

"Nope," Jeff sighed, popping the 'p' as he scrunched up the tissue and delicately lobbed it through the open window. Next thing you know, there was tires squealing and crashing and honking and a few alarms.

"Oh."

And that was how their conversation ended. Awkwardly, they decided to pretend that the other didn't exist and went on with their searching.

That is, until, BEN broke the silence with a question that would change their lives forever. Okay, maybe not. But it still lead to disaster.

"I've got some cup noodles... Wanna share?"

The crazy killer paused through rooting through the underwear drawer (he was 'trying to discern if the deceased was a dude or a smokin' babe') and patted his growling stomach.

"Hell yes!"

And meanwhile, their respective ancestors continued to weep.
__________________________
A/N: Trying to get back into the momentum of writing is harder than the ancient folktales would suggest! I wonder if the original writers of the creepypastas ever got writer's block?

I'm falling asleep as I type this. No editing for me. O.o

Here's my question for the day!
If someone gave you a magical potion that would make a single creepypasta be your servant, who would you give it to and how would you do so?

Toodle-Doo!
Final Word Count: 1106.