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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine	By : lilwitch Category: +S through Z > Street Fighter Views: 3420 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: WARNING: Graphic violence and abuse depicted in this story. Read at your own discretion! I do not own Street Fighter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 17
- 18
- 19
DISCLAIMER:
This story contains content of a highly disturbing psychological nature that may be offensive to some readers: including but not limited to abuse, rape, and torture/violence. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended!
STREET FIGHTER and characters such as Vega & Remy are owned by CAPCOM. I own all original characters. I make no profit in this work of fiction. For entertainment only.
She's made of hair and bone and little teeth
Things that cannot speak
She comes on like a crippled plaything
Spine is just a string
I wrapped our love in all this foil
Silver-tight like spider legs
I never wanted it to ever spoil
But flies will lay their eggs
Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet
Prosthetic synthesis with butterfly
Sealed up with virgin stitch
If it hurts, baby, please tell me
Preserve the innocence
I never wanted it to end like this
But flies will lay their eggs
Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet
Take your hatred out on me
Make your victim my head
You never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet
Take your, take your
Get up out of me
I'm not proud with me
I never ever believed in me
I am your tourniquet -Marilyn Manson, Tourniquet
There was no sense in staying in that house anymore. My body was filled with restless energy and a hunger deep and unrelenting. And so, I went to Remy's room, not caring that he slept.
"Remy, wake up!" I shouted in the darkness of his room.
"Fuck off!"
"We're going out!" I declared.
He moaned and put the pillow over his head. I flipped on the light and tore it away.
He sat up on his elbows, squinting in the light at me, his blue hair frazzled.
"What the fuck are you talking about, Vega?"
"I can't stay in this house anymore. Let's go."
"Go where?"
I sighed.
"I don't know! Let's go find some girls. We'll have some fun!"
"I don't want fun, idiot. I want sleep!"
"You can sleep anytime. I want some girls."
"Girls?" he balked, "Vega, I think that's the most normal thing you've wanted to do since I met you..."
Suddenly, his face lit up as he sat up.
"Right! Motherfucking bastard!" he swore. "All right, mon ami. Let's go."
We approached a quaint little house nestled in an old neighborhood. It looked as old and dilapidated as the rest of the street itself, which consisted of ancient cobblestones. Painted in a light yellow which peeled, withered white shutters clung precariously to the windows.
The door was a bright red, illuminated by an old street light with concrete steps and black iron railings.
"Where are we?" I asked, unsure of why he would have ever thought to bring me to such a godforsaken place.
"An old friend. She took care of me when I lived on the streets."
He knocked on the door and a woman answered. She was about the same age as my mother, dressed in a short dingy white satin nightgown that clung above her knees and a robe hanging unceremoniously open. She had long wavy red auburn hair and held a worn cigarette in one hand. Though I could see she was close to my mother in age, lines and wrinkles weathered her eyes, her skin a dusky sort of tan from smoking. Still, a semblance of life shown in her gray eyes, sparkling and lively beneath her worn exterior.
"Remy!" she said with a smile and beckoned us inside.
Inside it was just as quaint as the outside, filled with antiques and old lamps with beaded lampshades adorning the room. Old brocade curtains were closed giving the room a dim orange glow in a faint haze of smoke.
She sat at a small wooden table, laying out some cards. Upon closer inspection, I found they were tarot cards.
"So, what brings you here this time of night, eh?" she said with a knowing smile. Remy sat on an old red velvet sofa that I was certain had stains of a dubious nature, and I hesitated. He glared at me and so I cautiously sat next to him. He laid back with his legs crossed and an arm draped against the back of the sofa.
"My friend wants to get laid." he said simply. I looked at him, only somewhat surprised at his boldness. She chuckled and rose from her seat to stand before us.
"Is that so?" she peered into my face. "You look...familiar."
I smirked.
"I should. I'm the most famous matador in Spain! I am Vega de Cerna."
"A Spaniard!" she said with a laugh.
"Catalan," I corrected her.
"Ah, like Antoní Gaudí?" she replied with another knowing smile.
"Like Borgia."
Remy rolled his eyes and she laughed.
"You are bold." said the woman, squeezing to sit in between us and she put her hand on my knee. "I am Yvette. So, what is it you would like? Hmm?"
I shrugged and Remy remained his usual quiet self.
"I'll do whatever you like as long as your money is good!"
I sighed and pulled out a large wad of Francs and handed it to the woman; she counted it and smiled to herself.
"Very good. Tell me, Vega, would you like your future read before we begin?" her eyes sparkled.
Remy crossed his arms and rolled his eyes again and I smirked at him.
"Why not? I am not afraid."
"I can't believe you trust such a stupid thing!" Remy muttered.
"There's nothing to fear. And there is nothing that isn't already known...if you know where to look." said Yvette, taking a seat at the small table.
"Mon Dieu..." Remy muttered again.
"Et tu, Remy?" she cooed with a wink, "Why not have a turn after Vega?"
I looked over at Remy and he grimaced from beneath his blue locks.
"Shall we draw some cards?" I nodded and she laid out 3 cards face down in front of her.
"The cards will tell what was, what is, and what may be." she replied. Carefully she flipped over a card on her left side. She studied it a moment and her face grew grave.
"You have struggled in your life with much hardship. You were well-cared for and yet, you suffered..."
I scowled, knowing exactly to what she was referring—or rather to whom. The vitriol rose in my throat, and I swallowed, trying to stay calm. I bit my lip and dug my nails into the edge of the table.
She drew the next card in the middle.
"You overcame your struggle to find success and prosperity. You are facing decisions that could affect the rest of your life; but your success has not been without its troubles."
She drew the last card and once more a concerned look grew on her face.
"You are dealing with some sort of conflict with a loved one or friend. Something will happen that will take you away from your path and you may never return..." she looked up at me sadly.
"Loss, destruction. If you are not careful, you will lose all that you have gained in the pursuit of getting more."
"What?" I cried, standing up. "What does that mean?"
She sighed.
"It means what it means. Be careful, Vega. Make your decisions carefully in your life. There are things more valuable than money and power."
"Says the whore!" I exclaimed.
"That's right!" she cried, standing inches from my face. "I may not have a lot of money, but I have power! I am more powerful than any man because I know what moves him. I can give it to him and I can take it away."
"Vega, shut up!" Remy cried, rising to his feet. "It's all bullshit! Don't listen to her!"
"No, I have power, woman!" I exclaimed, ignoring him. "I've been with many women like you. You are all the same. Soft, weak. You are easy to break, you fall apart and shatter like glass. I've seen it too many times."
"Vega!" Remy hissed. "Shut the fuck up!"
"I lost my virginity to a woman just like you when I was 13; my father's mistress. My father never deserved her. He beat her and raped her and kept her like a slave. I, I saved her. Me!—and I gave her what she needed."
"What good were you to a full grown woman at 13?" he exclaimed.
I smirked.
"She taught me everything I know and I was her best student."
The woman shoved me towards the couch and I landed onto it, she climbed onto my lap, straddling me. Remy moved away from us.
"I've dealt with you cocky little bastards like all my life!" she spat, inches from my face. "You think because you are rich, famous you can have any girl you want, don't you? Some women have a price and it's too high for the likes of you. Remy is my friend and I would do anything for him; I am going to fuck you and then, you are going to leave."
Remy rose and began towards the door.
"Wait, Remy!" she cried, climbing off my lap and grabbing his arm. She kissed him tenderly on the lips and he drew away, wiping his mouth.
"Now now, you know I don't kiss clients." she replied with a smile, stroking his face. He softened and gave her another tender kiss; he paused before leaving the room.
"Be careful with Vega. He has a violent temper." she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry about me. I can handle him."
Remy pulled out a cigarette and went outside, leaving me alone with the woman.
I emerged about an hour later, tucking in my shirt and feeling sated. Remy rose from the stoop to face me and punched me in the mouth.
"What the fuck, Remy!" I cried. "My face!"
"If you ever speak to one of my friends that way again, I'll kill you." he said, turning away and walking ahead of me. I held my bleeding lip, somewhat stunned and then followed after him.
I shoved him.
"A whore is a whore!"
He punched towards my face and I blocked it with my arms. He swept his leg under me and I fell to the ground.
"She's not worth the money I paid!" I spat, spitting the blood at his face. He put his boot on my throat.
"She is all I have!"
"I never asked to be taken here! She's beneath me, you're beneath me! You're all beneath me!" I struggled to pull his foot off again.
"And you're beneath me now, rich boy." he growled. "I should grind your face in the ground."
He removed his foot and I pulled myself back up, smoothing my hair. He took out another cigarette, turning away from me and lighting it.
I folded my arms in disgust and we stood there in silence while he took a drag on his cigarette.
The dim street light caught a gleam in his eye and I was intrigued.
"I had nothing when I came here, not even my sister..." he said, smoke trailing out his mouth.
"I stole from the markets to eat, and I fought in street fights to make money. She saved me."
"What?" I chuckled. "That whore?"
He turned to me, his eyes blazing.
"Her name is Yvette! She is a person, just like you, just like me."
"No, she is nothing like me. Just a pile of rotting flesh." Remy raised his fist and I braced myself for another punch. "And one day I will purge the world of her kind! The streets will be purified in blood."
He lowered his arm and began to chuckle, shaking his head.
"You're insane!" he exclaimed, turning away and beginning to walk his typically quick lanky stride. "But I shouldn't be surprised. Your mother is crazy too!"
I jumped in front of him and stopped him mid-stride.
"What?" I hissed.
"She seduced me in front of you! What kind of mother does that?"
"Don't talk about her!" I hissed.
"What?" he balked with a laugh. "Did I hit a nerve, pretty boy?"
"I don't even want to think of her!"
Remy's face melted into a look of surprise and his mood quickly softened into seriousness.
"Vega, what happened?"
I shook my head, unable to bear speaking.
"I heard you fighting tonight. What did you do?"
"Me?" I cried, "I didn't do anything! She lied to me, Remy. Betrayed me!"
My chest tightened with anger, my eyes flashed at the mention of it.
"How could that be? The way she spoke of you, the way she looked at you..." and he looked down.
"I would give anything to have someone love me like that."
"No, no you would not, Remy. She devours me heart and soul and there are days I feel I could not even breathe without her."
"Mon Dieu, Vega! You are so melodramatic! I never even had a mother. Émilie was all I had; I took care of her myself and when she died...it destroyed me. Yvette gave me the love of a mother—or at least the nearest thing to one that I needed..."
"A mother? That is no mother I ever saw..."
"You have no room to judge, remember? Tu mamá está loca." he chuckled.
"You speak Spanish?" I exclaimed and he shrugged.
"No, only a little and I know enough to say that."
"So, did you and she ever..." I asked, he laughed nervously and took a drag of his cigarette.
"She was my first but...why should that matter? Do you think that just because she's a prostitute that's all she thinks about?"
"I was only curious." I said with a shrug.
For the first time since I met him, he smiled. It was not a big smile but it was enough and he threw his arm around my shoulder.
"Have a drag," he said, pushing his cigarette to my lips.
"I do not smoke."
"You fucked, didn't you? And from what I understand, you were fucked! Have a drag. You'll feel better, mon amí."
I rolled my eyes and took a puff on it; he took it away and took another drag. I watched how his perfect lips caressed it, mesmerized.
"Vega," he said, without even looking at me. "Stop staring."
I sighed.
"Come on, let's go back." he said, continuing on without another word.
The house was dark and quiet when we returned. The sky was beginning to lighten from the approaching dawn.
Remy went upstairs to bed but I still felt restless. Even after all I had done that night, I was still frustrated. While my base carnal need had been sated in the most deplorable of ways, I still had a lot of hunger—hunger and anger.
I went down into the dungeon to blow off some steam but I heard more noises. Looking around the room, I saw a door in the wall. I had not noticed it all the times I had been down there, but suddenly there was, like magic.
It was shut but I could hear familiar sounds coming from it. There were moans and screams and the distinct sound slapping. I smiled at myself, anticipating a familiar scene.
I opened the door slowly, undeterred about entering. It was an immense room, big enough to be a ball room and it seemed to be decorated as such. There were black velvet upholstered chairs, leather ottomans, and elaborate floral tapestries hung from the wall. Erotic paintings of various sorts, some that looked centuries old hung throughout. The walls were a deep terracotta red with dim lamps giving it a hazy, dark feeling. It reminded me of the chamber where I practiced fighting but more opulent.
Various whips and shackles hung neatly displayed on the walls. Wooden devices that reminded me much of what I've seen of torture devices of the Inquisition were about the room. There was one that looked to be a cross, or a giant X with shackles at each end, to bind the wrist and ankle. There were stocks like those used to punish people in town-squares in the medieval times.
I followed the sound deeper into the room, and I could see Marc Antoní standing there, next to him was a naked woman whose hands and feet were tied at each end of a rectangular wooden frame. In his hand was something long and black, a whip. He was speaking to her in a low voice, something seductive no doubt. As I got closer, I could see the woman's back covered in large bloody cuts, her wavy blonde hair was pinned up. My heart raced as I approached them, almost fearing what I might find when I saw her.
"Well! Surprised to see you up at this hour, Vega. Have I disturbed you?" said Marc Antoní. I crept in front of the woman, inspecting her. I silently exhaled as I touched her face and her lips gently. and peered behind her to examine the wounds.
"No..." I asked as I continued to look at the woman.
He caught my gaze with a grin.
"This is Mercedes. She is one of the highest paid whores around and she's slept with every important man in Europe—but none of that compares to this! She knows the true value of pleasure and she knows it comes only with my touch." said Marc Antoní gently stroking her face with his free hand, her eyes closing at his caress. "Carnal pleasure is fleeting, Vega. It is but one quick release, however this is eternal ecstasy. Only from pain can we know how precious pleasure is, and we learn how to savor it more." he explained. I nodded in agreement.
He ran the handle of the whip down the front of the woman's body. I admired her form and sized her up in my mind. She was a woman of average build but ample breasts, she had green eyes that stared back at me like glass, her lips small and thin, and her nose while small also was quite prominent.
I could see tears on her face, and traces of where they had dried, though she did not seem upset or sad. The woman stared back at me blankly as she hung suspended from the frame, anticipating her master's touch. She seemed to glow even through the pain and the tears, there was an almost ethereal light coming from her face.
"Would you like a turn?" and he held out the whip. I took a hold of it, almost transfixed.
"Yes, I know how hungry you are but a man must have more than blood to satisfy those lusts. I know you long to long to punish those who have wronged you...but I'm afraid I can't give you what you really want. She will have to do."
A fiery flash flooded my body, my face burning. "Smell her hair, taste her skin. You'll see..."
Like Mephistopheles vanishing in a puff of smoke, he left the room.
I walked up behind the girl, who stood suspended and quiet, breathing in her scent. Familiar and exotic all at once. A floral scent with copper notes of the blood and the smell of her female musk intoxicated me. I admired the long deep cuts across her back and the beautiful red rivers of blood flowing through them. Tentatively, I dipped the tip of my tongue into her wound and she whimpered. I heard her restraints creak. She was like the most forbidden of ambrosia and I wanted more.
"You taste...sweet." I whispered in her ear and then walked in front of her. I lifted her chin with my whip and stared into her eyes. "Are you afraid of me?" I read her eyes and saw the dried tears on her cheeks. Her mouth did not quiver or frown.
"You may speak." I said after some time, realizing she was waiting for permission.
"No," she said softly. "Master." My heart leapt as she spoke that word.
"Well, you should be." I grinned at her. "You're so beautiful...and you smell wonderful, like roses...you know, you remind me of my mother..." I walked behind her again, wrapping the long handle of the whip around her neck and squeezing.
"And I wish to God she were dead!" I hissed in her ear. The girl began to gasp and thrash against her restraints. I removed the whip from her throat and her body heaved, taking in air. "But, that wouldn't do me any good...and Marc Antoní probably wouldn't want me to kill you. You would think he had the decency to give me a girl wasn't used! But then, all women are used, aren't they?" I snickered.
I took the whip into my left hand, flicking it into the air a time or two, listening to the crack reverberate in the air, echoing across the room and I laughed.
"That was fun! But, I think it's too much work for your punishment." I saw a cat-o-nine tails laying on a table and picked it up. I ran the long leather through my hands, slapping it against my palms gently.
"Now this is much more practical. It was used in Medieval times by the most devout to flagellate themselves before God for their sins. Some still do it today; I would, but my body is much too perfect for that...but you, you are begging to be put before God." I could hear her breathing deepen, her chest heaved with each cautious breath; she said she was not afraid but I was not certain. Her hands clenched in her restraints and her body tensed, anticipating my touch. "You will pay for her sins with your body."
I drew the flail across her body, listening to it smack and she screamed. The sharp cuts across her back ran red with blood, intersecting with the older cuts. I began flogging her again, my pace increasing with each stroke.
My heart pounded, my chest tightened, and an ache began grow inside of me as her screams grew louder. I tore off my shirt, the sweat gleaming off my finely toned body. I longed to press my body against hers, to feel her warm soft flesh against me, writhing in agony. Looming over her, I pressed my nose to the nape of her neck, inhaling her scent, feeling her warmth.
I brushed my lips down her neck, pausing a moment. Her skin pricked with goosebumps at my touch and I smiled to myself.
I felt the fine sinews of her neck moving and twitching, and the pulsing of her delicate veins beneath my lips. I bit down, my teeth sinking into her velvet skin like the flesh of a ripened peach, and she screamed, the coppery tang of her sweet blood filled my mouth like nectar. I released my grip and began to suck from the wound.
"Your skin is...so pale." I chuckled bitterly, "My mother's is also very pale, for being a Catalan or Spaniard anyway...she always told me she had French blood too. Perhaps that's also why her hair is so golden, like yours. My father—or at least the bastard I thought was—used to make her dress up like Brigitte Bardot; I'm told she was very popular the year I was born."
I suckled from her wound again, and I let the blood run down my mouth in ecstasy. I could hear her moan.
"So sweet...I wonder...if she tastes the same too?" I breathed heavily, taking a breath between sips. "She could be a French whore, just like you...but no, Mother could never imagine anything as dark as this—she was too pure—she could never have these desires."
I reached around and grabbed her firm breasts, squeezing them, malleable and soft in my hands; she continued to moan quietly, perhaps afraid to let me hear, so I squeezed them harder. The girl yelped; her screams and moans were enough to pull me over the edge of utter bliss, and yet even as my body began to succumb to my desire, I felt a sharp pang in my heart, pulling me out of it.
"She ruins everything, you know. She told me that we were soul-mates...but I've always known that, even before I understood the word. Still, soul-mates are supposed to be lovers they say, sharing their bodies with one another in eternal bliss—we're not lovers—and I don't even think we're friends anymore...we are supposed to be mother and son but, not even that is possible—yet it never was. We were always something else, something more, something...different." I felt a twinge of anger radiate through me again, the bile rising in my throat. I continued to flog her, paying no mind to where I hit. The girl's screams echoed throughout the room once more, filling my ears with its pleasant sound.
"She...betrayed...me..." I hissed, the rhythmic slapping against her flesh accenting each word.
"Lied to me. Everything I knew in my life was a lie. Everything..." I hissed into her ear. "Do you know what it's like to be betrayed by the one person in life you love more than anything? No, of course not. I was born into hell and she had the power to bring us out and she did nothing! Wealth and status was more important to her than our safety—my safety! No, she will not be forgiven. She deserves no mercy! Do you think you deserve mercy?" I hissed into her ear and I exhaled.
I could picture my mother in my mind, like a ghost, mesmerizing me even through my pain and I snickered,
"I would watch her move, and how she dressed, the way she did her hair. She did all of these things knowing that it would please me, and...it did. Oh yes! She wanted me to like these things! She was perfection, my goddess. " I wrapped the girl's hair around my hand gently and kissed on the nape of her neck, once again breathing in her scent with a heavy sigh, and she shuddered. "We existed only for each other; she was all I knew and I was all she knew. It was all I ever thought I would need to be happy. I never wanted anyone else, never needed anyone else...until now..." and my throat tightened like my grip on the flail. I yanked her hair back and she screamed.
"No! I want more." I growled into her ear and I watched tears silently fall down her cheeks. "It's not enough." I let go and undid her restraints, dragging her by her hair to a bench and bending her over it. I spread her legs and stood between them; I wanted nothing more than to burrow myself deep inside of her and never come out again—and it seemed like a good plan—until something caught my eye.
To my surprise, much like the other rooms in the house, it had a vanity mirror and on it lay a smooth widen wooden brush, just like the kind with which my mother brushed her hair. I could not help but to grin as I went over and picked it up, feeling its smoothness in my hands and admiring the shining varnish. This was nothing less than poetic justice in its highest form, I believed.
I playfully smacked the back of the brush against my palm as I walked over to her. She was already sobbing, her body shaking from where she was bent over.
"So, your master likes to brush your hair does he? That's sweet of him...but I bet he likes to use the other side more."
I raised my arm up and smacked her bottom with all the force I had and she screamed once more. I grinned and continued to enjoy the sound of the smacking brush against her cheeks and admired the lovely red welts that began to appear. The girl screamed with each smack, and the bench began to rock, her fingers curled around the edge of the it with a white-knuckle grip.
I laughed.
"My mother brushes her hair with 50 strokes each night before bed. Fifty!" I smacked her cheeks again and I felt such glee with each of her squeals. "Can you imagine? Sometimes I like to brush her hair; it's so nice the way it shines, and how soft it is..." Smack went the paddle again.
"I think you need a lot more than that! One-hundred, perhaps?"
She squealed as the paddle smacked her again.
"One-hundred and one?" I cackled as the paddle hit. I kneaded and massaged her tender cheeks in my hands and she moaned. I drew air in my between my teeth.
"That must feel good after all the punishment you've had..." I continued to knead on her.
"You need more." I whispered, leaning forward. Her body tensed and I laughed. I could smell her musk and feminine perspiration and suddenly my hunger became ravenous, calling my attention to the more obvious carnal desire. After all of that relentless teasing, I had had enough.
My hand dipped below, resting between her legs. I slipped a finger inside of her and she groaned.
"I want you..." I whispered in her ear. My arousal became too painful to bear for much longer. I wrapped my hand around her throat. The girl protested and I squeezed hard enough to silence her for a moment. I undid my belt and pants, pushing them down.
"N-no, Master." she stammered so quietly I could barely hear her.
"What? How dare you tell me no!"
"Sex is...forbidden."
"Forbidden? Then what the hell did he buy you for?" I spat. I grabbed her throat and squeezed again; she began to panic and so I squeezed harder.
"Who are you to deny me, whore?" I released my grip and she caught her breath.
Keeping my hand around her throat, I entered her and she cried out.
I closed my eyes and moaned, sinking into her warmth. I pressed my nose into the nape of her neck, breathing into her with each thrust.
"It's too late to turn back." I hissed in her ear with rasping breaths. "I need you." She cried out with each thrust and I felt the urge to squeeze on her throat but the sound of her cries sounded far too beautiful to suppress.
I became lost in my own orgasm when suddenly, she screamed out something that brought me nearly out of it. Closing my eyes and gritting my teeth, I continued on, resolved to finish.
Removing my hand from her throat, I moved it to the back of her neck and shoved her down farther against the bench, crushing her pretty face and her body against it, desperate for my release.
I pressed my mouth against her shoulder and bit down, the tang of the blood filling my mouth as I came, and I slumped against her, panting but sated. Giddiness overtook me and I laughed.
The girl screamed out again the same strange word, taking me out of my reverie, and Marc Antoní ran into the room.
"Vega! What have you done to her?" he exclaimed.
I drew away from her, pulling up my pants and staggering to my feet.
With a smirk, I fastened my belt, apathetic towards his ire.
"Nothing...only what you let me do to her."
"That was not my intent!" he roared.
He ran up to the girl, pulling her up to her feet, and she collapsed in his arms, shaking.
"Mercedes, Dios mío! Mercedes..." he cooed, nuzzling his face against hers and she wailed, her arms wrapped tight around him. He stroked her hair from her face and stroked her cheeks. His eyes glowed with a warmth I had never seen. I wondered if this was the way he looked at my mother or if all I would ever see was the same hunger in my eyes.
"Forgive me, Mercedes. Please forgive me! I should have never left you. I should have taught him how to use you properly..." The girl continued to sob loudly and he held her tight.
Picking up my shirt, I snickered and began to leave.
"Clean up your whore."
"Vega, we're not done here." his tone was low and threatening.
"I am."
TO BE CONTINUED...
GLOSSARY:
mon ami - my friend (French)
Et tu - and you? (French)
Mon Dieu - My God (French)
Dios mío - My God (Spanish)
Tu mamá está loca - Your mama is crazy! (Spanish)
*Bonus: Antoní Gaudí - famous Catalan architect from Barcelona in the early 20th century
The Borgias - famous Catalan family of the 13th century Rome; one of Europe's first crime families.
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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine