Re: Flint Ullman [[Chief Peacekeeper]]

[/b] commander-in-chief of the peacekeeping force.


my secret? an appearance of success.[/center]

Standing at 6'2, Flint is the picture of a military man; muscular, in shape, confident. He had begun training to be a Career tribute at the age of seven, and progressed onto military training as soon as he was eighteen. The strong muscles in his legs are evidence of the many laps he's run throughout his years, and his toned arms are what he has to show for countless weightlifting sessions. His hands are large and callused, with nails that are always trimmed short and kept neat and clean. His toenails are kept the same way as well, regardless of the fact that they are always concealed by his army boots or other closed-toed shoes. Though he doesn't work out as much as he did when he was younger, and his muscles have diminished some from his glory days, he is still sure to get in a bit of excercise at least once daily. Getting wrinkly and weak with age? Not part of Peacekeeper Ullman's master plan.

Flint's has a square facial structure with a wide forehead and a jawline to match. His nose is almost perfectly straight, though he denies ever having surgery to correct the bump in the middle that had been very apparent when he was a teenager. Though it remains to be seen whether the bone structure 'straightened on its own' as he claims it has. His ears are of average size with attached lobes, and his lips are very thin. His eyes are slightly small for a man of his size, and the thirty-six-year-old has a habit of squinting even when the lighting or sunshine is not particularly bright. They are colored a pale gray-blue shade, resembling the sky on a somewhat cloudy day. His eyebrows are full, not sparse like those of many adults his age, and are mainly straight, though they do arch very subtly over his light eyes.

The Chief Peacekeeper of Panem is very fond of his hair; it is low maitenance, requiring very little work besides a bit of gel here and there. It used to be that he'd have to trim it quite often; long hair was not recommended for someone who followed a military career path. As time went on, though, it stopped growing so quickly, and Flint no longer had to cut it every few weeks. Despite the insistance of his many colleagues, he never shaved it off and never will. He can't explain why he refuses to; hair on the top of his head is just something he likes to have. And while its deep, ashy brown color would not be desirable to many, Flint is not bothered by its shade. The one thing that does bother him, though, is the fact that it's beginning to gray in some places.

There are not many Peacekeepers who wear facial hair, but this man is one of the few who do. He began growing a beard at the young age of fifteen, though he keeps it closely shaved so it is never a burden. He has a small goatee just under his lips and a rather bushy, classic mustache below his nose. His facial hair is the precise same color as the hair on his head, a dark mousy brown.

The most distinguishing feature of Flint's appearance, the one that really gives insight to the true person he is has to be the way he dresses. Except just after a day in combat or in training (and even then he is sure to change right away) one will never see Flint Ullman in anything that is not perfectly ironed, pristinely washed, and without a stain in sight. He loathes being dirty, and showers twice, sometimes even three times daily. His uniforms, both Peacekeeper white and military peacoat, are always pressed and cleaned (by his hands alone, he refuses to let anyone else handle them) after use, his boots polished and aired out. Flint has a compulsive need to be neat, orderly, and presentable, and there are never any chinks in his professional look. Some accuse him of never doing the grunt work that the job of Chief Peacekeeper entails: they say he delegates every job to his inferiors and then sits back and watches. But the burly adult does get down and dirty...he's just sure to clean up afterward.

Flint has the useful ability of looking either fierce and commanding or charming and down-to-earth, though he is commonly percieved as the former as opposed to the latter upon first glance; it is normal for people to assume that when looking at a tall man in a Peacekeeper uniform. But when he wants to, he can make his entire being light up with just a smile, though the muscles in his face are more used to sporting a displeased expression.

That is to be expected, though.

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Ever since he was a very young child Flint Ullman has had an incredibly commanding personality. He always insists on being the boss. Some argue that he was born to lead the Peacekeepers (and he himself supports this argument) and that he never would have been satisfied, remaining just another one of their ranks. Of course, others argue that he's a power-hungry bastard, but that's another story.

Flint's personality is made up of two sides, sides he refers to as his 'true self' and his 'fake self'. Depending on the mood he's in when you're talking to him, he may come off as charming and sly, lightly teasing and pleasant to talk to, or cold and aloof, glaring at you as if you've just committed an unforgivable offense against the state of Panem. The latter seems to happen far more often because this is, in his words, his 'true self'. He's not a people person, although he has no problem pretending to be. While he's got a smile on his face, conversing with you about trivial things such as the weather and the clothes you're wearing, he's probably got 'you die' running through his mind. He's most certainly debating the best way to kill you if you cross him. Break your neck, fast and quick, or something a little more...torturous? He doesn't like you, though he may make it seem as if he does.

Flint has never had much time for love. Even when he wasn't bound by the Peacekeeper code which clearly stated he could never get married or, for some unfathomable reason, have kids. It was never something that really interested him. Because of this, he's never had a type: men, women, really it doesn't matter to him. Love sucks, in his eyes, anyway, because it always ends in disappointment.

People have a mixed opinion of Peacekeeper Ullman. Some like him and his dedication, but others think the nation is destined to eternal damnation with him at the head of Panem's military. Some see him as someone to be feared, others as someone to trust. Of course, he prefers being feared than trusted, because he himself is not a trusting person. Really, it all depends on the side you see of him. Do you see the true, or the fake? You may want to look harder.

Flint Ullman has often been told that he has issues when it comes to his anger. He can't seem to control it, and sometimes it gets so out of hand that people who even look at him the wrong way will end up with an indent of where his fist connected with their face for a long time yet. This does not pair well with his inability to follow orders; not listening to your superiors and breaking out the fists? This was a problem for him with various teachers, coaches, army commanders, and, of course, when he was younger, his parents. During his teen years his mother had often tried to get him to go to counseling, but unfortunately his anger management was not the only dilemma that had to be corrected.

At an incredibly young age Flint was diagnosed with moderate Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, which explains his need to be organized at all times. He can't go out unless his current living quarters are perfectly clean and orderly; bed made, pillow fluffed, uniforms hung and ironed, floor swept. And he himself can't stand to be seen in public unless he's professionally polished. Everything he does is in a certain sequence, and though he won't completely lose it if the day's events stray from his schedule it does annoy him to no end. When he goes to exercise, he has to lift for exactly twenty minutes, jog for exactly twenty minutes, and do various cardio exercises for the remaining twenty minutes of the hour. Everything he does is organized like this; he can't imagine living with it if it weren't.

And then, of course, there's the sleeping predicament.

The Chief Peacekeeper didn't always have insomnia; his doctors, on the off chance that his parents were able to make him go to one, say it stemmed from his OCD. It started off as him having to get up at various times during the night because he suddenly remembered something he had to do, something that needed to be organized right away. This happened so often that eventually Flint found himself unable to turn his mind off come bedtime, so he would just lie awake, never getting more than an hour of sleep each night, sometimes not succumbing to unconsciousness at all. To this day Flint is unable to sleep at all save for a nap every now and then. But this doesn't bother him. It leaves more time for working, which is what he does best.

Many people cannot seem to fathom how someone as problematic as Flint Ullman ever came to not only be a Peacekeeper but lead the Peacekeeping force. But while Flint deals with various things than make life difficult for him, these obstacles also contribute to his success in Panem's military. His anger issues contribute to his blind, unwavering loyalty to his cause; what better way to remain true to the Capitol than to hate the rebels and lawbreakers with every ounce of your being? His OCD is helpful because in the army, organization is everything. He can handle all the scheduling, sequencing, and everything else being commander of the Peacekeepers entails, and he even likes doing it. And the insomnia, of course, provides him with more time to do all of this.

On top of everything above, though, Flint was also chosen for his position because he is an incredibly hard worker and extremely dedicated to what he does. He's extremely smart, as well, though admittedly he didn't manage such great grades in school because he had a habit of pissing off the teachers. He excels in reasoning, logic, and tactics, which are all essential skills for the head of the military. All in all, he views himself as a good leader, although if you don't think so...well, that's where things get out of hand.

[/size] as something to learn from.[/center][/i]

Dorian Ullman had been working in Military Mountain (more commonly referred to by its residents and employees as 'the Nut') for ten years when he married Judith Leighton, daughter of a poor man who had not been able to get a job as a doctor like the majority of District Two and had instead worked in the stone quarries. Dorian was not very rich himself, doing only grunt work for the higher-ups in the Capitol's vast army, so they could not afford more than a small hut very like the one Judith had grown up in, on the outskirts of the district. Just a year later, Freesia Ullman, a smiling little girl with golden blonde hair just like her father, was born. And then two years after that came Flint, a very un-smiling little boy.

Flint had a fairly usual childhood, save for a few odd quirks. For one, his OCD showed up when he was no more than three years old. His parents noticed their toddler rearranging the mashed potatoes, corn mush, and carrot bites on his plate so that they were in color order, from lightest to darkest. Mashed potatoes, corn, carrots. Of course, it may have been simply a coincidence, so they thought nothing of it. But then the next day he spent an hour setting up his toys in a perfect line, and if someone moved one even an inch he began screaming. And then the next day he cleaned the room that he and Freesia shared so thoroughly that it looked as if the Ullmans had hired a maid. Three years old.

Even District Two's least expensive doctor (there were many in the district, so the prices varied greatly) was able to diagnose Flint with OCD just by observing his behavior. They called said doctor back about two years later, though, when they realized Flint also wasn't sleeping. He didn't cry about it or make a fuss as most small children would, though, he only claimed he kept waking up because there were things he needed to do. Close the curtains, wash his hands for exactly thirty seconds, shut the door all the way rather than leave it open just a crack. And once he'd done all that he would just lie awake, unable to turn his mind off to get a few measly hours of rest. Insomnia, the doctor said, though this was pretty obvious. He also deduced that it had stemmed from the OCD, which was something they could also tell already. And then he said there was nothing to do for him. Waste of money, Flint's parents said after he had left. Needless to say, that doctor had never been hired again.

knowing is better than wondering, waking is better than sleeping
and even the biggest failure beats the hell out of never trying

By seven years old, much to his mother's dismay, Dorian had decided it was time to enroll his son in career training. "We can't control whether or not he's Reaped," he insisted. "Keeping him at home isn't going to increase his chances of surviving if he ever is picked." So eventually she'd agreed to let him go, though she kept Freesia at home. So Flint was off to training, in one of the few programs that allowed children as young as him.

Flint excelled in training, though he clearly shined brightest in the strength activities; wrestling was a particular favorite of his. But he was grumpy most of the time, frowning at everyone and not letting anyone help him; he liked to do things himself, his own way. And the OCD came into play, too; at the end of the day he was careful to make sure every piece of equipment was in its proper spot. He was a peculiar kid, and his coaches noticed that. So did his schoolteachers.

Flint and Freesia both attended a very small school for the poorer people of District Two, and a lot of them were children Flint had seen around in training. This was to be expected though, because it was the poor families that wanted their children in the Games. Glory and riches for the rest of their lives? The opportunity was too good to pass up. They mostly left Flint alone, because even though he was not yet ten he was still a force to be reckoned with, and they knew that. Freesia, though, was another story. Even at the elementary age, the boys were violent with the girls. And Freesia, though tough in some ways, hated fighting back. But Flint, two years younger, was in no way about to let them hurt her. He idolized his older sister, though he didn't like to admit it.

when the battle chooses you and not the other way around
that's when the sacrifice turns out to be more than we can bear

Much as he wanted to, though, he couldn't do much to help her. They were bigger than him, stronger than him. So Freesia suffered at school, which was terrible because she was exceedingly smart with amazing potential. And what bothered Flint the most was that there was nothing he could do about it.

Just after she turned twelve, though, with her first Reaping drawing nearer, Freesia developed a disease. No one knew what it was, only that she suffered greatly. She woke up many times in the night screaming, sweating with fever, shaking with the chills. Even when she did manage to sleep she tossed and turned, muttering unintelligible things. And since Flint never really slept at all, he was awake for all of it.

Maybe she could have been cured, if the family had money enough. Surely one of the numerous educated doctors of the district could have diagnosed and cured her. But it would have cost thousands of dollars, far more money than they had to spare. So Flint and his parents simply had to watch in despair as their loved one grew weaker and weaker, until she was barely even skin and bones, with a gaunt, hollow look on her face. She never even talked anymore, she simply spent every waking hour in bed. She died on the morning of the Reaping.

sometimes reality has a way of sneaking up and biting us
and when the dam bursts, all you can do is swim

As expected, his big sister's death changed Flint. Though he'd always had a low tolerance of people before, when Freesia died his anger levels flew off the handle. He wasn't able to control it. This was one of the reasons why he didn't have many close friends throughout his school years following her death; the other was that they were all slightly terrified of the boy who'd burn bugs with a magnifying glass just to watch them writhe in agony. So he went through his young years friendless, loveless (though he did occasionally crush on the occasional guy or girl, though that was stamped out pretty quickly) and hardly talking to his parents at all, much to their dismay. They wanted to help their only son, now their only child, but he wouldn't let them in.

He was never Reaped, and after his sister died all thoughts of volunteering left his head. He watched as a handful of his schoolmates, two by two, volunteered for the Games as their reaping eligibility years went on. Unlike many who suffered the loss of a loved one, Flint had no wish to give up his life himself. No, he'd always been a vengeful person. He wanted to get revenge. But...who was responsible?

His seventh Reaping passed, and...he was safe. He left home immediately, went straight to the Nut, and demanded a job. Any job, really, he just wanted to fight. Because somehow he'd acquired the ridiculous notion that the districts were to blame for Freesia's death. How? Why? He didn't know. But they were. Somehow they were. And he was going to fight them.

there are no solutions, no easy answers
you just breath deep and wait for it to subside.

He began as the lowest job in the military food chain, with no fighting even involved; he helped transport machinery around the mountain and to different locations in Panem. Sure, it meant he got to travel a lot, see the districts he so hated. But it was dull, and he was never doing more than tagging along. If he absolutely had to follow someone else's orders, and he really didn't want to have to do that anyway, he would rather it be on the field where he could take his anger out on the opposition.

Eventually he snagged a position as a private in the Capitol's army. But he soon found out that that wasn't going to get him very far, either; lately it was the Peacekeepers that saw all the action, because the other ranks of the Capitol military were only really sent to fight in serious rebellions. Much of his time was still spent in the mountain, doing almost exactly the same thing he'd done as an equipment handler, just never leaving the base. This he would most certainly not stand for. So on his twenty-second birthday he went straight to the people in charge and demanded a Peacekeeping job. To his surprise, they obliged with practically no resistence. It seemed as if they were always looking for more willing volunteers to keep the peace in the district. Of course, Flint's didn't care much about the keeping peace part, as long as he got to torture a few unsuspecting subjects who broke the laws.

He was originally stationed right there in Two, and it surprised him that he'd gotten a higher district on his first shot. Of course, Two was the district least likely to have rebellions or any sort of serious lawbreaking, seeing as they were the Capitol's lapdogs...but still. It pleased him that he was able to get what he wanted without going far from home.

He made his way up the ranks incredibly fast, and he was satisfied yet not surprised when, upon the retirement of the previous one, was offered the position as Head Peacekeeper of Two. This was about five years after he'd originally taken on the job of Peacekeeper. He accepted right away, and under him Two was more orderly than ever before; no lawbreakers got away unpunished. Absolutely none. Unfortunately, though, his authority in Two didn't last long; two years later he got the message that he was to be shunted aside to Head the Peacekeeping force of Four, and this angered him. Following orders had always been one of his weak points, so there was much argument before, reluctantly, Flint Ullman packed up his things (in a perfectly organized suitcase, of course) and moved to the district that always seemed to smell of fish, no matter where you were.

i've heard that it's possible to grow up
i've just never met anyone that's actually done it

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Stationed in Four, Flint was even less inclined to acknowledge the natural rights of district citizens. Someone kept a fish from the bay that was an inch under regulation size? Broken hands, so that they couldn't fish again for a long time. And let's not even get started on what happened to those who stole and ate seafood products that were meant to go to the Capitol; avoxdom, right away. But he absolutely hated Four, so in his eyes, his actions were perfectly justified.

The Capitol seemed satisfied with how he was running the district, though, because he kept that job for another four years. He wished they'd move him somewhere else, anywhere else. Back to Two, preferably, because he'd enjoyed 'keeping the peace' there. Or even to another district, any other, because the smell of fish and the ocean was really getting on his nerves. But it seemed there were other plans for him, because when a letter stamped with the official Capitol seal arrived, beckoning him to a meeting with the president regarding a possible new position...well, let's just say he was in the Capitol by the next sunrise.

President Snow rubbed him the wrong way immediately. He desired nothing more than to wring the imbecile's neck following his meeting with him, but he forced his 'fake' side to be more apparent during it. He was smart enough to know that whatever he was being interviewed for, because this meeting seemed suspiciously like an interview, it would be far more beneficial to appear as if he actually liked the snakelike president.

"Congratulations, Ullman, you're the new Commander-in-chief of Panem's Peacekeeping force." Snow spoke these final words and then was gone, disappearing out the door as if he couldn't be bothered to stay. It took Flint a moment to process his words. Did that mean...the Chief Peacekeeper, head of all the peacekeepers? He'd really managed that? Well, then. As long as it meant no more fishy Four, he was all for it. Besides, he'd have authority over almost everyone, just a step under the president himself. Wasn't that what he'd always wanted?

Now, three years after receiving the job, Flint is still content with the position of power he'd wished for since he was young. No one can deny that he is not perfect for the job; the thirty-six-year-old man is more organized than practically anyone in the nation. He very rarely sleeps, so he's got more time than ever to do his work. But despite the fact that he's supposed to delegate, he always makes time for some fighting, torturing, or killing on his part. Breaking bones, crushing skulls, it all appealed to him, because in his mind it was like getting back at them, all of them, for the death of his older sister.

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