It wasn't quite as effective as he thought it would be, perhaps the entire atmosphere had shifted, and the fact so many other people extended hands towards her, people who probably had their monologuing game way more on-point than he ever had his, made the archer very uncertain of what actually transpired. He was legitimately shook, not by the odd gathering of figures or the surprised eyes ogling him as he entered the scene, okay, maybe the last one a little, but the mere shrug and refusal hurt him. It would never be so easy, yet had he read the situation wrong? Perhaps this was a gathering of the Rooftop Society he had just entered, or maybe the recording of an actual movie. Who knew? Certainly not the newcomer.
He had just gotten carried away, same as everyone else, the seemingly pompous armor-clad marauder calling other names and kneeling whilst asking to be hit. The scene was almost comedic in a sense, yet when the boy begun to explain things, using some outdated comic examples, the archer once more began to piece everything together. Oooooooohhhhhh, so it's about that, huh? I guess she does look on the right age for it. Drake nonchalantly brought his hand back, shyly scratching the back of his head as he let out a resentful chuckle. His other hand went deep inside his pocket, as he walked forth, not approaching anymore, but rather going to the very edge of the rooftop himself. A couple seconds later and he pulled a single cigarette from within, and a lighter to lit it. "I hope you don't mind me. Always wanted to smoke like I was in a John Alton flick." This feels so noir, let me live my dreams.
Calmly inviting the alabaster, gaseous guest inside his very body, Drake silently perched himself at the very edge, legs shaking freely as he was literally a single push from falling into his utter demise. Not a sight he had been unfamiliar with, specifically following his very unorthodox line of work. A dry thud resonates within the colorless scene, a weak slap against the magnificent helm of some glorified fighter or overpaid costume. "Leave it, my man. I don't think she's looking for purpose right now, rather I think she's looking to come to terms with everything else happening." His sympathetic eyes and smile now turned towards the girl he had wrongly misjudged. "Sorry for the big entrance, I overheard a couple things and tried to step in. But you're right, hurting someone, fighting someone, even saving someone, none of that really matters right now, does it?" He lets out a puff, the white dissipates as it rises with the wind.
"You know, I have this girl I like too. I was on my way to her when I saw you up here, thought I'd make myself useful, didn't really expect the whole Society to already be here when I got here. The thing is, I've had a bit of a problem with myself recently, you know? Motivations, the whys and the buts of everything I did, just complete fear of the future." Of dying. "Ended up figuring out the best way was to vanish from that girl's life for six months and just play dead. Real dick move too, I know. She didn't choose any of this, I just decided it was what it was, and I regret it sometimes, wonder if it was right or not."
He paused, tipping his cigarette over the edge, ashes sprinkling down on the street.
"From what I understand, you had a special someone call the shots for you too, right? They had to think real hard, think about the consequences of giving up all those happy memories, the possibility of being hated by you, of hurting you more than anything in the world, but they still did it anyways. They sacrificed all that which was precious to them because they believed it was the right step, even knowing all that stuff they still gave up on something they seemed to hold dear." He pulled in more smoke, letting it leisurely leave his nostrils. "Would they like what they see today? Their former selves, I mean, they are still alive somewhere in there." The archer pointed towards her chest. "Having shots called for you is awful, I know. I'm going to stand in front of a girl to who I basically did the same. Get stabbed and bleed to death, probably. But unlike her, your friend didn't suddenly die or decided dying was the best way to deal with problems. I mean, sure, they probably don't remember much, all those happy times are memories only you have, but can't they make more happy times? They are alive! And after sacrificing so much, knowing of all the bad things that could happen and still choosing to give up their memories, they are still alive! Don't you think jumping would be much more painful than starting over?"