"Not Heaven, but a representation of it," says a voice from above. On one of the marble columns is an angel, carrying a ram's horn trumpet in their hands. "It is so we might speak in private."
"Seems pretty darn private, darlin'," McCree agrees, looking up at the angel. A bit like Angela, but more realistic with the mechanical additions, maybe? It's hard to say, from here. "What can I do for you?"
"Sorry, I guess I am bein' a little over familiar with an angel and all," McCree apologizes with a sheepish smile. His expression changes, though, when the angel mentions the whole champion angle.
The idea can't help by appeal to McCree. For someone who's done all the bad things he's done in his life, being picked by an actual angel to be their champion, to presumably stand for them and do good in the world, that's very, very gratifying. But that wicked-deeds-doing part of him points out that this gal (are they a gal? They surely do look like it to McCree) is probably not a literal angel, and he has no idea what being her 'champion' actual entails. It might not being doing good at all.
"Well, now, that's mighty flatterin'," he says cautiously. "And it sounds like you're needin' some help from me. But what does this whole 'champion' thing mean? What is it exactly you're wantin' from me?"
"You will compete for me, in my name. To do this you must display my values in your actions. Do this and we will surely be led to victory."
They cannot really explain what they mean by 'champion', but instead state, "All Travelers are selected by a patron. I have chosen you, as I believe we are a good match."
"What values are we talkin' about, here? Are you an avengin' angel? Or that kind that goes around protectin' little kids and healin' the sick? ... and what's your name?" McCree asks earnestly. He wants to do the right thing, and he figures that means they should be on the same page for all this.
They seem to frown at the mention of Death, actually.
"The minor cards mean nothing to us. There is no equivalent among our ranks. There are seventeen of us at present. Four are dead. Each of us holds power over certain dogma. My doctrine centers around those of Judgment, the Twentieth within the Major Arcana. Rebirth. Absolution. Forgiveness. Salvation. All of these are my domain. I have selected you based on these dogma to be my representative in this round of Synodiporia. "
McCree nods, and he feels something warm bloom in his chest, though he's worried, too. Those are pretty big values to live up to, and he doesn't want to fail them.
"We are against the wicked Cabalists. I have deemed them unfit to continue. They must be punished for their misdeeds, according to their crimes. Many things are... 'on the line'. The salvation of the Travelers. The completion of Synodiporia. The redemption of the World."
"Those are pretty high stakes, darlin'," McCree says thoughtfully. He's not sure how much of this he believes, but at the same time, he wants to. To be a part of something this big? To maybe help redeem the world, save all these other folks? Those are things he can get behind, things he needs to get behind.
"Very high. Which is why I am choosing you to help me."
They pause for a moment, as if trying to determine how McCree will take their answer. "A tournament among my kind to determine the fate of the World. I require your assistance to win."
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"You are to be chosen for my mark, as I have found you worthy. You are to be my Champion."
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The idea can't help by appeal to McCree. For someone who's done all the bad things he's done in his life, being picked by an actual angel to be their champion, to presumably stand for them and do good in the world, that's very, very gratifying. But that wicked-deeds-doing part of him points out that this gal (are they a gal? They surely do look like it to McCree) is probably not a literal angel, and he has no idea what being her 'champion' actual entails. It might not being doing good at all.
"Well, now, that's mighty flatterin'," he says cautiously. "And it sounds like you're needin' some help from me. But what does this whole 'champion' thing mean? What is it exactly you're wantin' from me?"
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They cannot really explain what they mean by 'champion', but instead state, "All Travelers are selected by a patron. I have chosen you, as I believe we are a good match."
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They sit upon a flat pillar base that barely juts from the clouds, motioning for McCree to sit wherever he chooses.
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"Go 'head, I'm listenin'."
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"The minor cards mean nothing to us. There is no equivalent among our ranks. There are seventeen of us at present. Four are dead. Each of us holds power over certain dogma. My doctrine centers around those of Judgment, the Twentieth within the Major Arcana. Rebirth. Absolution. Forgiveness. Salvation. All of these are my domain. I have selected you based on these dogma to be my representative in this round of Synodiporia. "
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"So who are we up against? What's on the line?"
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"What's this 'Synodiporia' you're talkin' about?"
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They pause for a moment, as if trying to determine how McCree will take their answer. "A tournament among my kind to determine the fate of the World. I require your assistance to win."