Dyomie Thornes

A master schemer that has yet to be caught.

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a character in “The Walking Dead: Online”, originally authored by Fredalice, as played by RolePlayGateway


Dyomie Thornes

 Template #: 2
 Profession: Criminal
 Portrayed by: Rachel Miner
 Age: 28
 Gender: Female
 Height/Weight: 5' 5" and 131 lbs.
 Nationality/Ethnicity: Caucasian
 Tattoos/Scars: a long white scar along the outside of her right thigh (from knee to hip), it isn't perfectly straight and rather jagged
 Clothing/Outfit: typically she wears skinny jeans, a leather jacket, hiking boots, a purple light weight shirt, and a necklace with a couple charms.


 Strengths: criminal mind (good for impromptu escape routes, planning behind rules, fast runner (i.e. strong legs), and a bit of an adrenalin junkie (meaning she's willing to do things that others would be too scared to)
 Flaws: over confident in her abilities to get away (reason being because she hasn't messed up so far, but mistakes do happen), doesn't play well with others, and she doesn't trust others very well


 Fears: death (specifically being eaten alive), getting caught for her crimes (lying included because it means her status is slipping as a decent criminal), losing her sister (her only connection to any form of family), of waking up everyday to find this living Hell of a world
 Aspirations: getting away with the perfect crime, getting (stealing) enough money to help her sister get into any college, to give her sister a normal life (small house, school, though she doesn't exactly want a normal job she never wants her sister to know what she really does to pay the bills), always be a criminal (stealing things and being at risk of getting caught is one of her favorite joys in life)
 Dominant Emotion: Excited (like she's having way too much fun)
 Demeanor: Dyomie is not shy at all, but she doesn't get the chance to be social because she is pretty hard to get along with. She's a bit of a nut when it comes to dangerous things and sometimes if life gets too boring she'll intentionally seek it out, her only rule about this however is that her sister doesn't come along. She constantly lies, even to her sister, either to protect herself or the person, though you will never know which; this is partially why she doesn't use a person's real name because that would coincide with telling the truth and she knows that if she starts one thing will lead to another and soon you'll know all her secrets. She doesn't trust anyone and if she does then you should know that you've done something incredible and is a gift, this means that when she does work in a group it's more a manipulation thing for her rather than a trusting thing. One way of describing her that has been used often, is that she has a hard exterior, but a soft center; though what her "center" actually is, is speculation they would mostly be right. She has put up several walls and become extremely tough, as her work chews up those who are too soft and weak at heart; she's had to discard some morals for this sake, such as guilt, the luxury of constantly feelings safe, she's become very controlling, at every moment she is thinking of schemes and escape plans, and now with the zombies she's constantly worrying about her sister even with other humans that seems trust-worthy.
 Quirks/Oddities:[i]while waiting for something to happen she'll whistle some simple annoying tune, she doesn't usually call people by their names only nicknames she gives them (i.e. "love", "pet", or something more specific to the person), when it comes to making strategies she just takes over and doesn't ask people what they would be comfortable with or if one of them has an idea they would like to share

 Skills/Proficiencies: sneaking, scheming, stealing (hot-wiring a car included), decent with a gun (can't hit a tiny dot far away, but she knows how a gun works and can hit the target though not a bulls-eye), slight boxing skills, street fighting, lying, and cooking


 A necklace with a few charms on them
 A small travel-size pick-locking kit
 A walky-talky with a fixed frequency to only one other
 A small gold cup (the last thing she stole, from a museum in New York City; nothing too infamous but if she had sold it before the zombies came it would have gotten her a good sum of money)
 A rifle with a scope
 A pistol


 Dyomie grew up with absent parents in Denver, Colorado. This was how she got started on her life of crime, she started stealing as at the time she couldn't have a job and she needed some way to provide for her sister
Her first major step in being a criminal was robbing a gas station, it wasn't the biggest heist in the world, but it was big in Dyomie's eyes it was major because it gave her the first thrill of stealing and gave her enough money to run away with her sister.
She and her sister moved to Los Angeles where she home-schooled her sister by day and figure out ways to pay the bills, though she was underage to gamble, living in LA was easy for Dyomie, especially with her newly found skills in thieving; she never left a "calling card" as she knew that would just lead the police to her, so her heists to the public are all unrelated.
The more that Dyomie stole the bigger her heists got and soon she was travelling all over the country for bigger and bigger loots, leaving her sister with friends sometimes
Dyomie does regret not being with her sister more often, but she knows that what she's doing is for her sister to have a normal life, though her sister doesn't have "real parents"
Her last heist was in New York City, it was the biggest one she pulled off yet and required a small team, they each split the loot and Dyomie's choice was a small golden ancient cup from the museum, she has a eye and small obsession with gold
She never really had a relationship before, trust issues and all, but while she was away on "business" one-night stands weren't too uncommon, especially rich men who would take her home and she could steal a few smaller things before or after the job

So begins...

Dyomie Thornes's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Dean Character Portrait: Dyomie Thornes Character Portrait: Nathan McDonald (NPC) Character Portrait: Jack Cavanagh (NPC) Character Portrait: Tara Schantz (NPC) Character Portrait: George Remington (NPC)

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Dyomie Thornes

Dyomie along an empty road by herself, she had gotten up early that morning wanting to do some scavenging of her own, without the vulture eyes of the group. She had wandered decently far from the entrance to the metro, but the group had almost exhausted their resources that were found around where they were 'holed up', in the most literal sense of the phrase. A week had gone past and since then the cut on Dyomie's leg had almost all but healed. Not that it was ever serious, but Marie was insistent that she not walk on it and kept it clean while it healed up, which was probably for the best.

As of right now Dyomie hadn't found that much, a few road trip snacks and some water bottles, along with some soap. She wasn't that interested in grabbing the soap, but Jessica had started cleaning clothes for them and said that if anybody found soap to bring it back. She was honestly just glad somebody else took up that job. Over the last week or so Dyomie, though not really starting to trust others, had started to make some connections with others in the group; Jack and she had formed an unusual friendship, one that held quite a bit of flirting and her calling him 'Superman'. She found out, by ease dropping and the like, that he was a bit of a criminal himself, though nothing as major as herself. She had been hesitant at letting him in on her secret, but if he told someone she could always return the favor or injure him and run. There was also Schantz, or as Dyomie called her 'Ren girl', they weren't too close, but held a mutual respect for one another. Finally there was Natasha, the cop a.k.a 'Blondie', she still held no trust in this woman because after all they met when she was going to arrest her, but over the week she had proven herself a bit. She had kept the secret of them hiding their guns well and so far she had done nothing to prove that she was going to hurt Marie. In other words, Natasha held the the highest status in Dyomie's books compared to the other strangers.

As they walked, Dyomie slipped on a loose piece of rubble, slamming into a car. The engine flap was open. Though Dyomie herself was nothing like Ren girl she still knew enough to know when a car would be easy to fix, by someone else. This car wasn't one of those cars. The engine was far beyond repair, but it did give her an idea. She looked down the street, there were plenty of abandoned cars among here and there must be some that Ren girl could fix up for everyone. You could say that Dyomie was getting a bit cabin-feverish with staying in the metro, it wasn't safe to stay in the city anymore and now everyone who was hurt were starting to heal up. They could get out of here.

She pulled herself up when her walkie-talkie started making noises. It hadn't been her idea to share the wave-length with Natasha and her lover boy, that wavelength had just been for her and Marie alone, but Natasha was so insistent that Marie crumbled under.

"Hey, Dyomie, I need you to come back to the over turned car, help me keep watch," it was Blondie.

"Yeah, I'm comin', it'll just take a little while. I'm in the city right now scrounging up supplies. I'll be back in a few," Dyomie said into the walkie. She began her trek back to the metro, her leg still slightly hurting but nothing unbearable. As she walked she passed a couple pockets with a few straggling walkers. With her skill of sneaking around and with her being by herself at the moment, it wasn't hard to get past these pockets without being noticed. Even the few times she had been noticed by the walkers she was close enough to a fence, or something of the like, that she could just climb over easily. The trek back was pretty uneventful and fairly routine.

Dyomie came back, her bag pretty empty, but with some extra supplies. Dyomie saw Jack up ahead with a small group, they must be going on a supplies run themselves. Dyomie waved to them in order to signal that she wasn't a walker.

"Where are you guys off to, Superman?" Dyomie asked Jack. His nickname came by when she first saw his tattoos and his ability to ignore pain. Honestly she knew it wasn't that creative, but her nicknames weren't supposed to be creative, it was just something that she did on the fly so she called people whatever first came to her mind.

"Just to get some supplies sweetheart," Jack answered back, sending a wink her way.

Dyomie's hand flew to her heart dramatically, "Sweetheart? Why I do believe that the budding roses of romance are startin' to bloom," She said in a stereotypical Southern bell accent.

"Well I'm certain we can start something," Jack said. She could feel Nathan's steady gaze on them, he was one in the group that Dyomie could live without. He didn't do a whole lot except bitch about Jack and judge her, as far as she could tell anway.

Dyomie just smiled and flipped Jack off at his comment, "Ren girl, when you get back I want to talk to you, I'll be on watch," she said to Schantz as she passed by. When Dyomie got inside she started to walk towards her and Marie's make-shift 'room', if you could even call it that. A quick drop off for her bag, before heading back towards the flipped over train car. On the way there she ran into a George, a bit of a smaller man, but anyone who could help would be great.

"Hey Watson, I'm going to need your help later today moving some cars to the entrance. I was thinking we could fix them up and get out of here if you want to help, what do you say?" Dyomie asked, crossing her arms and slumping to one hip. His nickname was more because he looked like the character Watson from the BBC show Sherlock, a show that Marie forced her to watch many times.

"Is that a command?" George asked incredulously, "Besides my name is George not Watson."

"You tell me if that was a command or not," Dyomie said, at this point she knew that George was an irritable drunk, but cars weren't going to move themselves and she knew she wouldn't be able to do it by herself.

"Bring it up with the group later, I'm too tired of this shit," he said walking away. Dyomie clicked her tongue a little before turning and heading to the watch point.

She saw Natasha before the cop saw her, as was her way with cops in the past, "Hey Blondie!" Dyomie called to her, climbing up onto the the overturned train, "Any fun news while I was out? What do you want to talk about?" Dyomie sat on the edge of the train, her scoped rifle that she had brought with her from her apartment laying across her lap.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Dean Character Portrait: Dyomie Thornes

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Natasha Dean
Natasha stood with her back to the train car and watched the entrance vigilantly, her gun ready in her hand and her mind trained as a shot to kill. When she heard Dyomie call, she spun around with her gun aimed at the train, not expecting Dyomie to be on top of the car. "Fuck you! She let out a light laugh at her skittishness. "You scared me there, no wonder you were never caught." She gave her a smile, hoping the joke wouldn't insult Dyomie. "Joking aside, I wanted to talk to you about this group... and the guns." Natasha leant on the wall of the tunnel and looked up to Dyomie.

"You've lived your entire life without needing help from anyone, trusting very few and that's what I need you for. You've lived this long on your own because the few you've trusted have been the right few, or so I'm assuming. You know how to deduce people and who to trust and who not to trust, I know you mightn't trust me ass much, but I trust you." Natasha admitted, her speech a difficult one for her to muster. "And I don't trust easy, just ask Phillip. But I need you to tell me who you trust and who you don't, whether or not I should share the guns or even lead the group to the station, if it's still standing, and provide the group with enough munitions."


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Dean Character Portrait: Dyomie Thornes

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Dyomie Thornes

"I got to be as good as I am by not trusting anyone," Dyomie said, "All my partners I would never let them be in charge of the money, probably as much as they trusted me, I was smarter than they were." She kicked the bag of guns, "Let's keep this to ourselves still. Besides they have enough guns. As for taking them to the station, that's your call because you'll be the one leading them there."

Dyomie leaned her gun against her shoulder and watched the entrance. The part she hated about doing the watching was that it was very boring. There weren't typically walkers who came around and if there were they were easy enough to take out. No hostile people either. Most of the time Dyomie just kind of felt like she could not watch at all and it wouldn't make any difference. Really the only reason she did take the watch every now and then was because scouting out further and gathering got kind of old after a while and their honestly wasn't anything to do. It was hard for her to just sit still like this, watch other's backs and be in a community. She was used to planning almost constantly, a new heist she was preparing for, planning every single detail with back up plans, contacting the right people, pulling off the heist, and then starting over. She actually rarely ever sat still and if she did it was with Marie and they would typically go do something fun like amusement parks or clubbing since Dyomie wasn't around very often, when she was it became a party. Then after hanging out with her sister she would look at banks, museums, etc. and see if there was anything new and fun to steal. She had the entire country as a possibility of where and what to steal; it seemed pretty endless. That is until everything could be stolen by anyone with absolutely no chase or having to worry about security. Someone could literally just walk into a store and take everything. Plus everything that was worth stealing before; gold, diamonds, and ancient artifacts were completely useless now, actually to rephrase, completely worthless.

In short, this made Dyomie rather depressed, but mostly bored.

"Hey question," Dyomie said, not looking towards Natasha, "How was it that you guys did end up finding me? After all this time, what was my slip-up?" This question had been playing heavily on Dyomie's mind since that first day the cops showed up at their door and the world literally ended. What had she missed? What did she forget to do? What did she forget to plan on? Slip up weren't something that Dyomie knew had to deal with because she hadn't slipped up since she was a teenager, so she hadn't really had practice on how to deal with a mistake being her fault. If it was someone else it was simple, you let them take the downfall whether that be going to jail or get killed, but she never knew what to do if it was her that made the mistake.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Natasha Dean Character Portrait: Dyomie Thornes Character Portrait: Phillip Wilson (NPC) Character Portrait: Lillian "Lily" Strong (NPC) Character Portrait: Wayne Williams (NPC) Character Portrait: Rafiq Chedidi Character Portrait: Tara Schantz (NPC) Character Portrait: Jessica Abbott (NPC) Character Portrait: Samuel Abbott (NPC) Character Portrait: Annabelle Mae McCallister (NPC) Character Portrait: George Remington (NPC) Character Portrait: Lisa Pazzino (NPC) Character Portrait: Althea Brown

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= George Remington =
% Jessica Abbott %

There had been hazy nights before. Mornings where he still woke up in a drunken stupor. But whatever this was transcended all past transgressions. George rolled to one side, clutching his swollen face in agony. He gazed at his bloodied palms through watery and swollen eyes, the rest of his surroundings catching up to him in a blur. The sting of the cold stone subway platform still clung to his skin, even as he righted himself -- dust falling off of him like somebody shaking out and old rug.

His vision focused more and more with each slow blink of the eyes. But nothing around him made any more sense still. Two blurry figures stood atop an overturned Metro train, firing careful shots into undead stragglers running rampant across the platform -- pouring into the tunnel from the streets above. Dead bodies fell limply to the ground as bullets found their targets time and time again.

George struggled to his feet, wobbling a bit as he regained his balance. He felt around his body with his hands, trying to assess what kind of bodily harm he had succumbed to -- but honestly, his entire body ached.

A stranger's face ran past in a blur, offering him nothing but a passing glance as the woman hopped the tracks, disappearing behind the train. George rubbed his eyes, trying to get his mind back into focus, but everything was just a daze.

"That's him right there!" a familiar voice called out from behind him. He spun around, nearly losing his step -- but Jessica caught him by the arm before he had a chance to fall. "Help me get him out of here," she shouted to the blonde haired woman next to her. The wide-eyed woman grabbed George's other arm and started ushering him across the tracks as Natasha and Dyomie emptied their clips into the wave of walkers rushing into the tunnel.

Schantz limped close behind the rest as they retreated toward the commons. "C'mon, you two!" she shouted to the girls on the train as she hobbled across the tracks. "This place is done for!"

Natasha cast a sideways glance at Dyomie who just kept firing away. She shrugged back at Schantz. "Go on! We'll hold the fort!" she called back with a wave. Schantz knew it was bullshit, but she wasn't in a position to argue. They might be suicidal, but at least they had guns.

* * *

"Over this way," Althea shouted -- waving the beam of her flashlight back and forth at them. The hail of gunfire drummed in the background, further down the halls behind them. Jessica and Lisa pulled George's limp frame through the doorway and rolled him onto the ground -- unconscious once more. Schantz followed last, closing the door behind her as she braced herself against the frame weakly.

Rafiq came rushing up from the small crowd. "What-- is that all of you?" he asked, worriedly. "Who are these people?" Lisa and Althea looked at the group of strangers surrounding them, not a familiar face in sight -- save for Tara's.

"Oh, Rafiq!" Jessica cried out, pulling him in tightly for a hug. "We were so worried about you and Molly... we thought--" She looked around the crowd, her spirits fading fast as she realized whose face was missing. She looked back at him, crushed. "Oh, Rafiq..." she said, sadly.

"What happened to George?" Lillian asked, kneeling down to inspect him.

Tara looked at Jessica and the others. "It's a, uh-- long story, kid."

"What about the rest? Marie just left to go find her sister and Natasha! They're still out there!" Phillip protested.

Tara cut him off, sharply. "All our friends are out there. If they aren't here now, they ain't comin'. You didn't see what we saw." She wiped some of the blood from her nose with the back of her sleeve with a sniffle and went to sit down.

"We're not just leaving them out there," Phillip demanded, moving for the door. Jessica reached for him as he forced his way out the door, but it was too late.

"We can't keep spitting up like this!" Wayne shouted. "We have to stay together. We're stronger that way."

Rafiq nodded, shutting the door behind Phillip. "He's right. We can't keep running off like this. If this is who we have, then we have to leave before more of those walkers get down here."

Jessica chimed in, rolling up her sleeves. "Where did you pack my blueprints?" she asked, walking over to a nearby table. Rafiq ran over to a roughly organized pile of bags and backpacks and fished one out of the back. He unzipped it, puling out several blue sheets and laying them out flat. Jessica squinted her eyes, tracing her finger across familiar angles and notations. "This room here... that's us," she began. "Since the main entrance is full of walkers, that means Platforms A and B are completely compromised. But-- the service tunnels should lead us back to the street." She bit her lip as she roamed further down the blueprint. "It would let us out right on Santa Monica boulevard."

"You think that's far enough away from all this?" Wayne asked, unsuredly.

"We have to hope so," Jessica replied, brushing her hair out of her face. "We can leave out the back as soon as we're ready."

"And the others?" Annabelle asked, somberly. "Phillip is right. They might need our help."

"We're no good to them here," Tara mumbled. "We've got the kids... injured... sick..." she gestured at Annabelle, "old."

"And not enough weapons either," Rafiq admitted, trying to help reason. He reached into his pocket and fished out the note he had been working on. "Look, I started writing a note... for whoever comes in here after us. We'll write down directions and leave it here on the table under the lamp for them to find."

Tara shrugged. "It's the least we can do, I guess."

"Let's get to it then, folks. Grab what you can," Rafiq said, rubbing his hands together. "And somebody wake George up..."