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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
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Author's 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 are owned by CAPCOM. I make no profit in this work of fiction. For entertainment only.

The car ride down town was silent as I wondered what he was up to. Passed all the old buildings and the cobblestone streets we drove until the car stopped in front of a massive brick building. It looked to be some kind of arena. We got out and I stood in amazement at it.
“La Plaza de Toros Monumental,” said my father putting his hand on my shoulder.
“Bullfighting?” I said. It is a misconception that bullfighting is a national sport in Spain. It really is not. We are Catalonian people, a culture and a heritage all our own! Bullfighting is Spanish and therefore, there is not a lot of bullfighting happening in Catalonia anymore.
“Sí,” he replied. “Vale, va manos,” and we walked inside. We stopped at the ticket booth to get tickets and we took our seats in the bleachers.
“No ho crec!” I exclaimed.
“What was that?” said Father, his voice rising in annoyance.
“No-no lo creo…” I replied, quickly switching to Castillian.
“Ay! You have been with your mother too long. You’ve forgotten your own tongue!”
“No I haven’t. It’s just that…we are in Catalonia. We can’t be expected to use Spanish all the time and Mama--”
“Oh yes, ‘Mama’…” he snickered.
“Mama likes it better.” I continued defiantly. He folded his arms.
“So why are we here?” I asked. He was staring off into the distance and I could see the frustration on his face.
“I told you about men and women didn’t I, Vega? When men and women like each other?” he asked, not even looking at me.
“Yes,” I replied, curiously.
“I think it’s time you learned more about women.” He replied.
“But I know, Papa!” I protested.
“No, you don’t. You’re too young to know everything yet. Now, listen here. I don’t know what your mother has told about women and how they work, but she lied. This much I know.”
“What?” I cried. “She would never lie!” He smirked at me and my indignant attitude.
“Sit down, boy. You’re making a scene. Women are soft and subservient creatures. They serve no other purpose than to serve us. They want us to dominate them. They are far too weak to stand on their own,”
“They do?” I asked, vexed.
“Yes. Look at your mother! She’s a mess. Women already know this. Why else would they cheat men into doing things for them? Your mother has done nothing but use me since I met her. She is weak and useless.”
“That isn’t so!” I cried again.
“Think, boy. She has you wrapped around her finger and you do everything for her…now, I told you she can take care of herself. You’d do well to leave her alone,”
“No, Papa! She needs me. She’s sick!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, she’s sick. She’s a whore and she’ll do nothing but use you. All women are whores, remember that. You must treat them as such,”
“No! Not Mama! She’s perfect. She isn’t a whore, she isn’t!” I insisted. Mother was pure porcelain perfection in my eyes.
“No one is perfect; God is perfect...” he snickered.
I licked my lips in thought. What my father never knew was I already knew what other women were like. The maids with their dark hair and eyes thought they could hide their lustful secrets but I knew...
“¡Oye! ¡Niño! Are you listening to me?” said the voice of my father, shattering my thoughts.
“¿Qué? I said. He sighed heavily.
“I can't blame you if you were watching the fight! It really is splendid.” and he laid a rough hand on my shoulder again. I nearly jumped, looking at him from the corner of my eye.
I watched as the matador moved in the arena, in his brightly colored costume. I saw his grace and agility, deftly dodging the bull at each turn.
“¡Olé!” cried the crowd.
I saw how he could out-maneuver the bull despite the animal's brute strength. I saw myself there, like the matador, leading my father to his demise. Soon, the bull would be at his mercy, and so would my father...
I watched, fascinated as the matador did a few flips, to the cheers of the crowd. He moved gracefully, his lithe form dancing around the bull, taunting it with the red cloth. It waved like a red sea in front of him, like the color of flowing blood, luring the bull to his death—it was the dance of death.
“Huh? What?” I said again, still transfixed.
"Damn it!” he swore at me, “The matador. He is very famous, you know. The crowd always likes his tricks. In fact, he only just recently came out of retirement." explained Father, his tone rising.
I nodded absentmindedly as I stared at the man. Someday, I would be him, this I knew. How wonderful it would be!
"And did you know the King is big lover of bullfighting? He often attends them!"
“The King?” I exclaimed. “Does the Queen come with him?”
“Queen Sofia is not fond of it, no, and she has become more vocal recently since Their Majesties took the Throne.” I felt thrilled that perhaps I would be in the arena someday and the King would see me.
Soon, people began to rise and my father motioned for me to start following him out.
It was dark by the time we arrived home, but Father and I went in separate ways. It was not long before I heard his voice rose in anger again. I quietly walked down the hallway to see where he was.
“¡No! ¡No! ¡No hice nada! Por favor, ¡Señor! Es que-” he had the maid by the arm and was shaking her violently. Her dress was disheveled and I could see her shoulder and a red bloody mark upon it—my mark.
“¡Dime!” he roared. He threw her down to the floor and glared at me.
“Vega!” he hissed as she whimpered at his feet. “What did you do to her? What did you do?”
I folded my hands innocently behind my back with a smirk. I could still taste her on my lips, her blood was so sweet. I delighted in molesting the maids whenever possible, and though it was rarely sexual, the real pleasure was in infuriating my father. I met his glare, knowing he would not punish me and turned and walked towards my mother's room triumphantly.
I knocked on her door softly and entered.
“Oh Vega, you're home!” cried Mother, throwing open her arms. I came and wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her cheeks.
“Hello, Mama. I'm back,” I said, burrowing my head against her chest, the rest of my body hanging to the floor.
“Uf, I think you're getting too big for me, el meu fill!” she cried with a laugh.
“No, Mama. Never.” I said and I kissed on her cheeks and neck, deeply inhaling her comforting familiar scent. She stroked my hair and smiled.
“So tell me. Where did you and your father go this afternoon?”
Oh God, my father…I groaned mentally.
“La Plaza de Toros Monumental,” I replied. She sat up on her elbows and I adjusted my position.
“Bullfighting?” she exclaimed. “Why on earth would you go there?” she asked, her voice rising shrilly.
“I don’t know. He wanted to talk to me, I guess,” I replied with a shrug.
“About what?” She looked at me patiently for a response, continuing to stroke my hair.
My mouth opened but I said nothing, my eyes cast downward.
“I need to take my bath now. Will you help me?” she asked and my heart fell to my stomach and my cheeks felt like they burned. I could hear Father's voice in my head. He's wrong. I thought to myself. She lifted herself off the bed into her wheelchair. I followed her into her bathroom, which was just inside her bedroom. I stared at the water in her white porcelain tub and sat on the edge as it filled. She took off her robe as she waited. I stared into the water at my reflection and admired myself.
I took her hand as she slid off her night gown and underwear. She put one foot into the tub and fell back against me. I caught her and she stepped inside the tub again. I traced the lines of her body with my eyes. From the gentle slope of her hip to the fullness of her breasts—she was beautiful. She looked at me as she sank into the water.
“Are you not ashamed to see your Mother naked?” she asked as she met my gaze.
“No. You're beautiful.” I said softly. I sat behind her and washed her back. I drew figures on her back idly with my finger and continued to follow the lines of her body with my eyes. She sighed pleasantly, closing her eyes, and tipping her head back. I watched her sensually stretch her legs out to the end of the tub, her toes poking from the water.
“Such a sweet boy, my sweet boy...” she cooed, reaching back to cup my face. I wrapped my arms around her neck gently.
“Now, what did your father say, Vega? Hm?” she asked casually. “You seem upset...not that you shouldn't be. He's your father after all.” she replied and her tone was low and bitter.
“He said that you are a whore,” I said and I could barely bring myself to say it. Mother sighed and rolled her eyes.
“Yes, he always says that. You know he does.”
“But it isn't true!” I cried. She turned to look at me.
“Of course not, my darling. I have never betrayed him.” I looked at her and thought about my father's words again. Would you betray me? I thought. Mother smiled at me.
“And I would never betray you,” she said assuredly as if she read my thoughts. I looked her in the eye and I felt myself begin to swoon. I kissed her, perhaps only for a moment. A sweet peck on the mouth, and I felt the soft warmth of her lips and I knew her taste, the same taste I knew since I was born; the bitter salt of her tears and the copper & iron of her precious blood. I kissed her as gently as I always did, and yet I felt all my passion flowing out—as if I might take all of her breath in mine. I quickly pulled away, fearing what I would see when I opened my eyes. And yet, when I opened them, she did not look afraid or shocked...perhaps she did not look like anything at all. She pressed her forehead to mine, with her usual endearing smile, and giggled. I stared at her, amazed. Mama, how could you do this to me?
“My! What was that for? How wonderful you are! You really are a sensitive boy, aren't you?”she said with a chuckle and then she turned away from me and sank down into the water, the bubbles covering her shoulders.
“You know, when we first met, your father told me I looked like Brigitte Bardot, with blue eyes of course.” said Mama after a moment. I clenched my jaw and restrained myself from touching her, wondering how she could change so quickly.
“I remember, Mama—that French actress, from the '50's.” I said, somewhat irritated but she didn't seem to notice.
She crossed her legs and began singing something softly in French, directing each syllable with her toes, and then she trailed off in mid-phrase. I watched puff of bubbles slide down her toe as she wiggled it.
“She's not as popular now as she was then, and I never cared for her.” she chuckled, “Ay, you know, I even did my hair like hers for a while just so your father would like it,”
“I've seen her, Mama. She's still around...I've seen her in Papa's magazines. He showed me once, and told me she was also a whore—that all women are whores, and that we should treat them like one.”
“Oh now, you don't really believe that, do you?” she said, a tone of skepticism in her voice.
“Of course not, Mama. Why would I listen to anything he says?” I said wryly.
“Good. You must always treat women with respect. They are not objects, they are meant to be loved and worshiped and cared for like the most precious thing you could ever have.”
I only want to worship you...
“So, why doesn't Papa love women?”
“Your father is rife with sin in his life. He only hears what he wants and believes what he wants and if he'd rather listen to one passage of the Bible than the other, then it is his choice. Not a very good one, though.”
I knew what she was referring to in the Bible; where God created women, He explained why He made them. In one way it said that women were mans' companion, to be his friend, to love and care for him, and to love and care for her in return, and yet women were still servant to his needs.
The idea I could have a woman on her knees was an exciting thought—almost as much as loving one. I kissed the nape of her neck nonchalantly.
“That reminds me, Vega,” she said. “Have you gone to Mass lately?” I hesitated for a moment.
“Yes, Mama.” I replied obediently.
“And have you had Confession?”
I thought and twiddled my thumbs for a moment, chewing on my bottom lip.
“I've been so busy taking care of you, Mama--”
“Vega,” she chided. “You should never risk your immortal soul for me,” she said sternly but I could hear a laugh in her voice. I sighed.
I knew what was in my head and in my heart and only God would know, but dare I say it out loud? I could see her looking at me through the corner of her eye.
“You aren't hiding anything from your Mama, are you?”
“No, I would never hide anything from you! I tell you everything.” I said, as sincerely as I could manage.
“Yes, that's true, but sometimes I wonder...we have an awful amount of secrets in this house.” I looked at her nervously. What did she know?
“I heard your father fighting with a maid when he came home. Do you know what about?” she asked suddenly.
“N-no, Mama,” I lied quickly.
“Hm. Well, it doesn't matter. He just yells anyway.” I had to agree with her on that but then, something she said struck me.
“What secrets do you have?” I asked her. She smiled her radiant smile and said,
“We all have our secrets, my dearest. We would not be human if we didn't.”
“But, what kind, Mama?” I said, leaning over the tub to look her in the eye. She smiled knowingly at me.
“Vega, they are mine to keep. Just as you have yours to keep,” she stroked my face again and I could see she wanted me to understand so that I would stop asking.
My secrets? I thought in horror. How could she know about my secrets? Are her powers as a mother so great she knows my whole soul? My panic overthrew me. I moved in front of her and squatted next to the tub, resting my hand on the edge.
“But, Mama, it isn't fair! If you know my soul so well, then why don't I know yours?”
“You are too young to know. I know your soul because you are a part of me. You came from me and I created you. Shouldn't a mother know her own child so well?” I blinked, frustrated, and tried to understand why she was not telling me all I wanted to know. It was not good enough. She sighed and smiled at me, seeing my frustration.
“Fine, do you want to know a secret? I have carried it with me since day you were born,” she said. I leaned in closely.
“You are my savior,”
“What?” I shrieked. “Mama...” I murmured.
“I would never have had the will to survive this long if I hadn't had you,” she looked at my distraught face.
“You are the only good thing he's ever given me and my only reason for living. You wanted me to leave him, and well, I can't. You know that. The Church forbids it, but as long as I have you, I know I am safe and I know I have love. I will never need for anything else,” I bowed my head.
“I’m sorry, Mama.. I-never mind.” I said, unable to find the words.
“That is what you wanted to know, isn't it? That you are my only protector, my only love?” she asked, and she lifted my chin to look into her gleaming blue eyes.
I looked at her, terrified of the truth and I could not speak. She understood me more than I could ever realize...
“A woman may love her husband very much, Vega. They may even be soul-mates; but a mother secretly loves her child more than anyone else in her life—more than her own life.” I felt sick and I rose to my feet, unsure if I would have to run to the toilet or if I would be alright. I leaned against the doorway with my back to her.
“Are you alright, el meu amor?” she asked, seeing me standing there. My mind raced and I braced myself against the doorway with an elbow and held my stomach with the other arm. I could not bear to hear anymore and so, I told her a secret of my own.
“I love you, Mama, and I've decided. I'm going to become a matador.”
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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine