A Slayer is exactly that, she slays things … things of the supernatural.’ Again he hushed his tone, speaking just to her. ‘A slayer is mortal bu... … she is supernatural in herself.’ She just kind of looked at him, unable to really understand what he was saying, her features showing her confusion and disbelief. ‘So you are saying that you want me to be a killer of supernatural things? That’s got to be the most ridiculous thing that I have ever heard of’ and then as she realized how harsh that. But Banzai is out having a hell of a time with his new Spetsnaz friends and I'm stuck here without even a decent damn TV station to watch. I did venture out once at night and promptly got lost - it was embarrassing as hell that my FSB escorts had to take me back to the hotel.Hell! Where are all the Russian women I thought I would meet? Oh well at least I have some damn good vodka. Even though it's still not yet winter, it's cold enough at night that I can keep my vodka cold outside. I open the. Thanks again to all who commented on my stories. I appreciate the comments, suggestions, and criticisms, both constructive and others. I realize not everyone will like my stories or my style of writing, but I have a hard time paying any attention to the mean spirited critics who slander me personally along with my work. I might take their suggestions more to heart if they had the guts to sign their comments. As one of the comments said they would erase the story and never read my stories again.. The poor man was obviously uncomfortable. The leather suit alone, stiff and heavy, would mean he was hot and would find moving difficult. The hobbling that fastened his ankles close to one another and his thighs to his ankles would make every step in Mary’s wake a considerable effort. His leather hood had only tiny eyelets allowing him sight. Across his mouth a thick round bar, held in place by a strap around his head, acted as a bit gag. It pulled uncomfortably at the corners of his mouth. In.