call me out | (five-sides plot)

In a perfect world, Leander would’ve been born a man.

Technically he was a man to the eyes of every beholder but one; his hair was cropped short and wild, his muscles were toned and fit, his clothes were baggy and formed to suit the body of a male, and he was very gruff in nature. Not exactly stereotypically male, but enough to convince everyone that Leander was indeed one of the boys. Beneath the careless attitude and loose clothes, however, was a female’s body. He had breasts flattened to cardboard with firm sports bras, organs that could bleed and breed signs of womanhood, and the memories of a prince that had once danced with gowns and bejeweled tiaras. He had discovered the world as Leanne Delacroix, twin sister and daughter to a broken family, but now he was embracing a new world as Leander Delacroix, son and brother to a perfect career family.

At its highest point the sun was merciless as it rained heat down upon its victims, beating invisible waves against sweaty foreheads above eyes that were eager to drink today’s festivities. The Five-Sides Tournament’s contestants would be announced within the hour, and Leander was as hopeful as the next esteemed career that he would be selected among hundreds of vicious, hormonal teenagers to compete in a game that would require only skills rather than a sacrifice. It was a competition designed to remain within the district’s boundaries and perfected to prevent casualties (unless somebody was too stupid to be saved), and instead of twenty-four children there would be only five – one for each training center, and in order for one’s name to make nominations they would have to be the best of the best. The prize was limited only to careers, as it should be. But Leander did not know if his name would rest among the hundreds from his center in the west. He could only hope that his skills had proven worthy.

Behind him, he could practically feel the shivers radiating from his brother’s nerve-stricken body. Archer was a bashful thing compared to his cactus-for-a-heart brother, and would want nothing more than to slip out of the crowd unnoticed and pray that his name would not be called. Leander knew he was an artist with a bow and arrow, capable of painting a canvas red with fake blood from over twenty feet away, but competitions were not his place. He already questioned their new lives as men; how could he be trusted in a competition like this if he couldn’t even find his own identity? Leander would be proud of his brother if he were to be chosen, but he would rather it be himself. His chances were much greater, and his heart well-sculpted for excitement like this.

Asa Reau was first to approach the stage. He was a tall, handsome thing, and fierce competition for a career like Leander, he could tell. Next came Keifer Degraw, another handsome statue that wore a neutral expression as he ascended the stage and took his rightful place. As the next man stepped up to the center and dipped his hands into the container of worthy opponents, Leander faintly wondered if the boys onstage were battling to contain their excitement, as he certainly would. ”Holton Forbes!” High-pitched shrieks of delight warned him that it was a female who had been chosen this time, and he felt relieved. How boring would a competition full of boys be? Some variety was certainly welcome in his book.

Representing the south center was Bette Chautin, and all he could think about was how blonde and ditzy the girls looked, though he knew better than to underestimate appearances. If their names had been worthy enough to make the ranks than they would be difficult competitors to beat, which would make this game all the more interesting to watch if Leander wasn’t selected. That’s when the moment he and his comrades had been waiting for suddenly arrived; the founder of their training center in the west marched to the front of the stage and submerged his hand into the pool of names. It could be Leander, it could be Archer, it could be anybody, male or female – as long as they were skilled, they would each have an equal shot. Leander tensed as the man’s eyes scanned over the slip of paper.

”Leander Delacroix!”

He couldn’t believe his ears; it was him! With a shit-eating grin he winked at Archer and pushed his way out of the crowd, shoving anyone who refused to stray out of his path. He could hear his heart thumping and feel the added heat in his rushing bloodstream, spiced up with vigor and enthusiasm at this opportunity. Finally, after watching it for all of these years he could participate! And it wasn’t like the Hunger Games, which demanded travel and death and drama – this was all for the sake of dirty career fun, with just a dash of glory. The only thing that could be ruined was a reputation, and Leander was fine with that, because he knew his reputation would only grow over the course of this game.