A/N: So right now we have District Six, Libby and Fender! Halfway through the Goodbyes and Train Rides! Also, I have tallied up how many Pre-Games chapters we will have, so at the bottom I will tell you ;) Enjoy!

Trigger Warnings: Profanity and mentions of drug abuse and incest

Broken down refrigerators, leaky faucets

All that masking tape is gone to waste

Ceiling tiles are missing, stains adorn the carpet

Some things aren't meant to be replaced

Some things aren't meant to be replaced

Light bulbs in your head, they might be burnt out

Maybe rough around the edges, you barely function

You're too tired, you can't carry all this hurt now

You're more to me than all these broken things

These broken things

Libby Miles, 16

District Six Female

Ha, bitch! You got motherfucking REAPED! HA! Who's going to die? I know who's going to die. Do you know who's going to die, Libby? I don't think you know who is going to die. Do you want me to tell you who's going to die, little bitch?

"I'm gonna die," I scowl as I step out of my pen. The girls that part to let me through look at me with equal parts disdain and sympathy. It's an odd mix of feelings to see on so many people's faces. Those two emotions don't go well together, just like a Reaping and Anaya don't go well together. She's been taunting me all morning about how I'll get Reaped, and now she's having a field day as I walk up to the stage.

Oh, how are you going to die my dear? Career's going to behead you, aren't they? Skinny little twelve year old's going to throttle you, you little whimp, you can't defend yourself. You're going to die! You're going to die so bad.

As I step onto the stage, I hiss, "If I die, you die too."

Touche. But I'm already dead, Libby! I've been dead for years! You know this isn't Anaya, right? You know this is you, right?

"Anaya, shush," I growl to myself as I stand next to Medusa. She looks at me strangely, as if I'm the appalling one. She's the one dressed as an eons old mythological monster picking children to go into an arena and die. I should be the one gaping and shaking my head disapprovingly.

You really...I didn't think we were this stupid.

"What we?" I mutter. "There's you, and then there's me."

"FENDER HOPKINS!" Medusa hollers. I hug myself and I try to push Anaya out of my head. She's acting even weirder now, trying to mess with me brain, saying we're one thing, that she doesn't exist. This Fender guy struts out of the 17 year old pen all nice, prim and proper and, admittedly, sort of hot. He's bulging with muscles and exudes confidence and I recognize him. He gave a speech to my freshman P.E. class when I went into high school.

Fender stands next to me, hands clasped at his waist, and he tries to smile but doesn't do a great job. This guy's going to be a threat.

We don't have to worry about threats; we'll be dead before the gong even rings. We're going to step off our pedestal.

"Sure," I grumble to myself as Medusa shouts our names and walks us back stage.

"Did you say something?" Fender asks, cocking his head.

Tell him we're a freak, Libby. Tell him the truth.

"Nothing. Leave me alone," I bark, and his face sours and he turns away from me. The Peacekeepers take us down opposite halls and I'm happy to be away from him. He's too relaxed for this right now. He feels sort of confident and I can't deal with that.

We can't deal with it because we're a sniveling little bitch who's going to die.

"Who is this we?!" I shout all of the sudden. The Peacekeepers pause. I can't tell what expressions they're making since they have there bulky helmets on, but I know they must either be frowning or chuckling silently to themselves. The crazy girl. Ha ha ha. So funny.

"Are you okay?" one of them asks, popping his black glass visor up so I can see his plain brown eyes, filled with genuine worry.

"Come on, Cathasach," the other Peacekeepers growls at his counterpart. "The room's right there. Leave her be. She just got Reaped."

WE got Reaped.

Cathasach snaps his visor down, and the two Peacekeepers pull me over to a door, painted dark gray and flaking. Cathasach opens it gingerly, and the rusty hinges squeal. The other Peacekeeper shoves me inside too roughly, and I resist the urge to flip him off and scream obscenities at him as he and Cathasach close the door and leave me alone in the sitting room. I sigh and sit down on the bench right under a small window in the wall that has drapes over it. The entire room is dark and dreary, and it feels like I'm already dead and sitting in a huge coffin. Hell, there's even cobwebs in the corners. I know Six is poor, but they seriously can't clean a room in the Justice Building of all places? Well, it is Six. It's the sort of thing you'd expect.

The door screams open, and my parents shuffle in, both of them crying quietly. I stand up and run into their arms, and they hold me tight, squeezing the life out of me, but I don't care. I let them mash me in their embraces.

A little too intimate, eh? Incest is looked down upon in the Districts, but it's perfectly fine in the kinky Capitol. Good thing you're going there.

"Go. Away. Anaya." I hiss under my breath, so quiet that my parents cannot hear through their excessive sniffling and sobbing. I expect her to fire something back about how she'll always be here or some cliched crap like that, but she doesn't reply. She's gone, and it feels weird. My head feels blank and empty, but I ignore that and just let my family squash me. We stay like that until a Peacekeeper comes to the door. I hope it's Cathasach. Maybe he'll let us hold onto one another for a minute or two longer. I hope it's not Mr. Grumpypants.

"Time to get on the train," he booms. Mr. Grumpypants it is. I sigh and step away from my parents. They cling to each other and both of them kiss me on the cheeks before walking out together, supporting one another. Our family is so close. I love my parents so much, and I loved Anaya so much before she died, so much that her death drove me to drugs. My parents loved her so much, too. My dad lost his job after she died because he lost his work ethic for a while, and my mom would start crying whenever she saw anything that reminded her of some minor aspect of Anaya, so she was crying all the time. And I was thirteen, stupid and depressed and thinking a needle could cure my pain and make me cool and pretty and not an outcast.

Mr. Grumpypants pulls me out of the room, and Cathasach is waiting in the hall. I walk between the two of them, and my head feels light. I feel dizzy, almost. I realize Anaya hasn't said anything in over fifteen minutes. That's weird. That never happens.

We sent me away. That's why I was gone. I can come back if you want. I'll come back.

"Just a little longer," I whisper to myself, and Mr. Grumpypants audibly groans at hearing me talking to myself.

"Keep your words to yourself," Mr. Grumpypants hisses. "We don't want to hear a crazy addict girl talking. Girls are better quiet."

"Someone's sexist and is assuming things!" I laugh, fighting out of his grasp. "I think this nice fellow can take me the rest of the way, asshole."

"Hah. Have fun dying, crazy girl," Mr. Grumpypants hollers.

"Don't you have to come with, Ruthers?" Cathasach inquires.

"Nah, it doesn't matter, I can't spend another second with that creep." Mr. Grumpypants, apparently Mr. Ruthers, marches away without another word, and Cathasach takes my arm and lightly leads me out the back door and up to the train platform. The train that comes in beautiful, but I've seen dozens like it before. It doesn't wow me. Fender is smiling when he steps on the train however, goofy, elated, and I just grumble. He looks like he's in love. The only people I've ever loved are my parents and Anaya. I'll never see my parents again, and Anaya will be with me until the day I die, which should be very soon.

I only wanna do bad things to you

So good, that you can't explain it

What can I say, it's complicated

Nothing's that bad

If it feels good

So you come back

Like I knew you would

And we're both wild

And the night's young

And you're my drug

Breathe you in 'til my face numb

Fender Hopkins, 17

District Six Male

I know I shouldn't feel like this. I should feel dead and cold inside, trying to repress the tears until I get to my room after dinner so I can cry myself to sleep. I should be putting on a brave face, not have a natural one, and the warm feeling blossoming in my stomach shouldn't be there; if anything, it should be lies I'm making up in my head, thoughts tricking myself into feeling okay. I shouldn't feel the way I do right now, but I do.

My mother and my father came in. They both put on their brave faces although my mother's lower lip trembled and my father's handshake wasn't as tight as it usually was. Torque galloped in and crushed me in a half handshake, half embrace, but I was used to shenanigans like this from Torque so it didn't bother me. Also, it was Torque; he's my best friend. Anything he does is okay in my book. He's a great guy. I hope if I die he'll get that mechanics shop up and running with the help of his younger brother, Artem. And after Apollo, Demica Taski walked in. She looked too beautiful in her bright sunny yellow sundress, her cute dark brown hair curled, a light dusting of makeup on her gorgeous face. We were like magnets, and I stroked her hair as I saw the tears brimming in her eyes. They threatened to spill over, and I wiped them away and tilted her chin up so she could look into my eyes.

"You're beautiful," I murmured, and I kissed her, and she kissed me back. I'd never realized it, but for the past three years Demica and I've been friends, ever since we started high school and were in all the same mechanics classes, we've been dancing around the truth that holds us together, the truth that's kept her my friend for three years. The only person that I have left as a friend from freshman year besides Demica is Torque. People change, but we didn't. We lied to ourselves. I always knew I liked her, but I also knew she liked me and we never did anything about it. We should have done something while we had the chance. I pressed her against the wall and kissed her and everything was a warm blur and I know we would've gone further if the Peacekeeper hadn't opened the door and ordered her out. She left, smiling sadly, her lipstick all over my lips and my neck, and I smiled.

I feel too happy. I keep stabbing my rounded, clipped-at-little-too-short nails into my palms. I shouldn't feel happy and positive, but all I can feel is Demica's body entwined with mine and her supple lips, warm and soft, against mine. I clench my fists and dig my flat nails into my palms until they're almost bleeding. All my muscles are tensed and bulging against my Reaping outfit of a dark gray dress shirt and khakis, my track medallion my dad gave me to be my token cold against my straining thigh. I finally relax, and my eyes light up as the train, looking like a bullet of quicksilver, approaches. I've seen dozens of trains before, but their speed and beauty always gets me for some reason. They're just so free, like I was until around thirty or forty minutes ago, when the ridiculously dressed Medusa Soldes fished the thin paper slip with my name on it out of the Reaping ball.

We step onto the train and into the dining car. The aforementioned Medusa sits at the table along with our sole Mentor and Victor, Calla Espenson. Calla's notorious around the District for her near perpetual state of drunkenness, but the Games are about the only time she cuts back on the weed and the alcohol and the morphling and is clear headed. Notice that I said cut back. She's got a glass of scotch in her hands, and she stares at the ice in it with disdain until we come in. She looks up, her incising gray eyes cleaving into us. She seems to immediately write off Libby; she's also notorious for her bluntness. Libby's jaw tenses, and she sits down across from Medusa at the table. She looks me over a couple of times, not in a sexy way like girls and guys do at school or on the streets, but in an analytical way. She flashes me the tiniest sliver of a smile, and then she's drinking her scotch and glaring sullenly again. I take that as my cue to sit down, so I do so.

"So, Mr. Hopkins," Calla says, looking at me. "Where do you get those muscles from? Factories? Are you uneducated?"

"No miss," I reply, bowing my head down a little out of respect. "I work out at the school's gym every morning. If I can't be a mechanic, I want to be a P.E. teacher when I grow up and move out of my parents' house."

"I don't need to hear your life style," Calla hisses. "How much can you bench? You weigh around 170 don't you?"

"Yes, I'm 169. Around 270."

Calla whistles. "There might be some hope for you. Can you throw a punch?"

"Yeah, and I'm on track too-"

"Okay, wonder boy, who gives a crap," Libby hisses. "Are you going to ask me some questions, bitch?"

Calla glares daggers at her, and the train car seems to visibly drop in temperature. Medusa looks shocked, the green bean she's about to eat hanging limply from her fork as she gapes at Libby. I look at her incredulous, and Calla rolls her eyes.

"Nice fire, girl. Girls like you always die first. Now get out of my sights."

"What if I don't want to?" Libby jeers.

Calla picks up a steak knife from the table and strokes its blade. "Girl, did you ever watch my Games? That's not even a question, is it? Did you see when I threw a dagger like a throwing knife right into Garry Manchas's forehead?" Libby tenses. "I still know how to do that, honey. Now get out of this train car, or I swear to Gaius Snow's great grandmother I will gut you, and everyone here knows I'm not kidding."

Libby snarls at her but stands and marches off to the adjacent car. Calla just chuckles and turns back to me, setting down the knife.

"It's all about threats and emotion, Fender," Calla sighs, looking at the knife on her table. "It's all about who can play their Games the best."

"I know," I whisper.

"Do you?" Calla inquires, and I don't know for sure, but I know I'm willing to learn.

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed revisiting Libby and Fender! They were fun to write again like all of these tributes are. This was probably the longest G&T chapter yet! XD I just really got into writing Fender at first and then Calla got put into the equation, and when she snapped at Libby I was having too much fun to cut it off right then and there XD Hope it was good!

I know Libby's a little confusing right now, but in Training everything about her will be made clear, I promise. I just want to have her have some development, and so if everything about the voices is confusing, it's supposed to be. She's confused herself, but she'll find out the truth in the Capitol, and well, we'll see what happens when we get there! :D

So, yeah, I tallied up the pre-Games chapters and y'all are going to be able to buy your tributes some pretty nice flamethrowers and grenades. We're going to have 60 total chapters with like over a hundred POVs that can earn you points. Dear god. This arena is going to be full of explosives! XD but please, do no send LOTS of grenades. You can send one, maaaaybe two. But let's not explode the entire effing arena, alright friends? I know we want everyone to survive, but...I'm thinking I should just get rid of grenades from the sponsorship list xD

Who did you like better here, Libby or Fender? Have your opinions of them changed?

EDIT: I FORGOT TRIVIA AHH

Libby (1 pt.): What is the name of the nice Peacekeeper? (good cop & bad cop cliche much? xD)

Fender (1 pt.): How many pounds does Fender weigh?

Also yes I am going to be revising the sponsorship prices XD When I made the sponsorship I hadn't mapped out the Pre-Games and I did that right after sponsorship so I didn't realize how many chapters we'd have. I thought we would have around 40 and those prices would be okay. Oceanside was only 31 chapters so I'm struggling to realize that this story will be around 80 chapters! :O I needed to go edit it anyway since I forgot a medical section.

Until Next Time,

Tracee