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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine	By : lilwitch Category: +S through Z > Street Fighter Views: 3423 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
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.

I was a fool believing our life on the run would be some kind of grand adventure! That I would know the same comfort and excitement as home. I fled with my mother out of fear, not thinking ahead and not knowing, but the truth was it was far more stifling.
The ordinarily sweet rose smell of her perfume became as stale as the air between us and I wondered if we would ever be so close again after being together like this for so long.
Mother continued to worry as she always had, and she tried to put on a bright face, be cheerful, although I could see she was as unhappy as I was; but I was determined to at least try and make the best of our situation. True I was still young and naïeve, but I spoke with the wisdom beyond my age, perhaps because as my mother said, she never treated me as a child. I had gotten us into this situation and I would get us out.
For days on end, we were holed up in the grand hotel, floors above the busy streets in Monaco. The days began to blur together like a surreal dream and it was one of these endless days when we sat around in the room, when I heard a familiar sound coming from the radio. Mother was sitting on the sofa, her legs crossed, eyes closed, her head resting on her fist. An aria from Madame Butterfly was playing. Her favorite: “Un Bel di Vedremo”; I looked to see the tale-tale tears streaming down her face as her eyes were closed. Mother always cried at this song, always. I understood the significance of this song. It spoke of a lost love, a love that they would wait for for forever, though they knew it would not come...
I watched her for a moment and then bent down and kissed her cheek. She startled and then looked up at me with a warm smile, pressing my cheek to hers.
“It's all right, Mother. Don't cry.” I cooed. She sniffed and blotted her eyes with a tissue, smiling.
“Oh, dear. I was crying again...I'm alright, darling.” she said.
“Mama, I've had a wonderful idea! Let's go to the opera tonight. I heard they were playing Puccini's Madame Butterfly.”
“Go out?” she asked and I could see her hesitance. “Oh, I don't know.”
“Sí, Mama! Of course you want to go! It's your favorite opera, after all.
“It is...”
“And it'll be dark in the theatre! Dark when we leave. I think it'll be fine.” I said, doing my best to push the odds in my favor. It was not so much that I wanted to see the opera, but rather that I wanted a chance to leave that despicable room, only for a little while and if it meant making my mother happy as well, then it was worth it.
And so, that evening, we dressed into our formal clothes and took a cab to the opera. Mother glanced nervously about the room as we sat in the auditorium, awaiting the opera to begin. I smirked at her and adjusted my bow-tie.
After a while, “Un Bel di Vedremo” began and I looked over to see my mother crying silently. She had been crying intermittently throughout the opera but now her tears fell in large drops down her cheeks. I put my hand over hers and stroked it gently with my thumb. She began to dab at her eyes with her white silk handkerchief. I smiled as I watched her, amused at her attempts to stifle her tears, though she pretended not to notice. And then, without looking at me, she took my hand and laced her fingers through mine. I felt a great sense of satisfaction as we sat there; I mean for one, I was out of that forsaken hotel room, and for another, my mother was—at least for the moment—content. Nothing could have made me happier! I tried not to think of the dreary prospect of having to return the hotel after this, even though it lingered in the back of my mind.

That night, after a particularly restless night of watching my mother sleep yet again, I could no longer stand it. It was the middle of the night, and though this was not Ibiza, I was able to finally enjoy the sights and sounds of the city for myself.
I wandered outside the hotel and began to walk around. I saw glittery lights of the casinos and other luxury hotels, and dim lights of the boutiques as I passed. A few people saw me but only pointed and whispered. I wandered down the street, not going any particular way, until I reached what was the end, or looked to be, in a deserted part of town. It looked like an old abandoned building but there was a light on inside. I could hear people and music. I approached a big man, who looked to be the bouncer. I paid him a few of the local currency and he let me inside after a suspicious glance.
There was a huge crowd of people gathered around a large caged arena. Two men fighting viciously, bleeding from end to end. Around me were other big men, muscular men, who also looked like fighters; I saw a large, burly, dark-skinned man in blue boxers. He was bald with an eye patch, his bare hands and feet were wrapped in a white cloth, a large scar gaping across his muscular chest. He was easily a foot taller than me.
“Impressive, isn't he?”
I whirled around to see Marc Antoní Gauldera standing before me, that same smug smile on his face.
“Señor Gauldera!” I exclaimed.
“It's good to see you again, my friend. What brings you to something like this?”
I thought a moment, careful about my words. I did not wish to expose myself so suddenly.
“We're on vacation.” I said.
“Oh, you and your family?” he asked with a raise of his eyebrows. I wondered if he would suspect anything.
“No, just my mother and I.”
“Your father did not come, eh?”
“No. He never likes these sorts of things.” I replied simply. Which was the truth of course; he never did.
“What a pity,” he replied with a grin, his eyes narrowed.
“So how is it you know my family, señor Gauldera?” I asked, folding my arms and shifting my weight.
“Oh, you know, the usual bourgeois events!” he replied sarcastically with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Your father and I have been friends for many years, if you can call it that. He is not an easy man to know. Now your mother, on the other hand...where was it you are staying then?” and he held his usual smug grin, a sparkle in his eye as he spoke of her. I was slightly caught off guard as he suddenly veered toward the topic of her.
“Uh, just at a hotel nearby. It's nothing special.” I said with a shrug.
“I really must come and visit, then.” and he put his arm around my shoulder. “But this, dear boy, is something special.” he said as he gestured to the cage.
I was transfixed as I watched the men inside the cage. The graceful sweep of the leg as it connected up and the foot hit the other man in the head, the sheer brutality as the others fists hit his stomach. Through the haze of the cigarette and cigar smoke, the light shown down on the fighters like a heavenly beam. Their bodies glistened with sweat and blood, glowing from the diffuse light above. The men were not particularly handsome to me, with such big burly bodies, square faces and close cropped hair, they were as ugly as sin but in the light they were as merciless angels, showing me my very own destiny—salvation would come in blood.
“This enthralls you, doesn't it, Vega?”said Marc Antoní, looking at me. I snapped from my thoughts a moment.
“Yes...” I said as I continued to stare into the cage.
“If you want to learn, I will teach you.” he said as he laid an affectionate hand on my shoulder.
My eyes sparkled and I bit my lip, trying to suppress an anxious smile. I felt him squeeze my shoulder.
“That's my boy. I knew you wanted it.”
I did, in fact, very much. I walked to the cage now, mesmerized by the scene before me.

The smell of sweat and blood, the heat of the light and the bodies engulfed my senses with familiarity as I thought of the times I had killed all of those bulls. Now it seemed the taste of human blood was sweeter.

The two burly men, one a little taller than the other with a bushy thick black mustache as thick as his muscular frame caught my eye as he circled his opponent again for another round. He glared at me and made a kissing gesture at me. I smirked with a glare, folding my arms and watched him carefully. I could feel my blood rise, my heart pounded in my ears, and a shiver went through my body. Such primal energy, the savage grace with which they executed their moves; they were as beasts, ugly, wicked beasts, acting like beasts, and willing to die like beasts. I found myself running my hands over the cage, moving as they moved, circling the cage, like a prowling tiger, not taking my eye off the mustachioed man for a second. Suddenly, the fight was over, the mustachioed man was the victor, the other man laying in a bloody heap at his feet. Without warning, he spit at me! Savage grace, indeed. More like savagery! He continued to make an obscene gesture at me, and I did not need to guess what it meant.
I flew back away from the cage as it opened and the winner stepped out. Marc Antoní patted my back as I regained my composure. I flinched at his touch and he drew back.
“He makes your blood boil, doesn't he?” he asked with a smirk.
“Yes!” I cried, still staring at the brute.
“He makes you want to tear him apart...” whispered Marc Antoní into my ear. I nodded complacently.
“I want to rip him apart with my bare hands, taste his blood...” I said.
Marc Antoní must have found my riled state amusing, as he did with his usual cool humor and he began to chuckle at me.
“I understand, Vega: Taste their blood and you will taste their power.” It was a simple statement and I knew in my heart he was right as I had recalled many times when my father taught me the lore of our ancient people: the gladiators of the Roman Empire; and of the Natives of the Americas who drank the blood of their victims. To drink the blood of their enemy was to take their power, he said. The thought of it, to take their power and imbue it with my own would be nothing but ecstasy.
I felt a light touch on my shoulder as I turned to see a woman standing next to me. She was a young woman, who looked to be only a few years older, blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail atop her head and curled bangs, she wore a tight pink halter top dress that was cut to her thighs and it accentuated all of her curves, and matching high heel pumps that elongated the curve of her legs. Hot pink lipstick was on her thin lips, coated with a shiny gloss. It revolted me, truth be told. She was smiling suggestively and rubbing the back of my ear with her finger.
“You seem to be enjoying the fight. Maybe you'd enjoy it more with some company?” and she eyed my crotch. I folded my arms, not really trying to acknowledge her silky touch, though it gave me shivers. She was not the first easy woman I'd handled, as I had already become well-seasoned with my father's mistress and most of the maids at home.
“Now Babette, I'm sure we could both be worth your while!” teased Marc Antoni and I narrowed my eyes.
“Monsieur Gauldera! It is a pleasure to see you again this week!” said the whore as she recognized Marc Antoní. “Now that would be double!” she exclaimed with a flirtatious laugh, and she ran her hand down his leg.
“Mm, yes...you are...a pleasure as always, my dear.” he said with his usual smug grin, stopping her hand at his thigh and stifling a low moan in his throat as he spoke. “And besides, you should give your best to my young friend here,” said Marc Antoni, putting his hand on my shoulder. “There's always next week.” he whispered with a wink.
“How much?” I replied nonchalantly. She gave a knowing chuckle and stroked my cheek and said,
“For you? Well, it's not every night I find someone so...pretty—hey!—you're not...you know...” I rolled my eyes in annoyance, dodging her insinuation, and waiting for more praise. I could hear Marc Antoní laughing beside me, which made my blood burn even more. She wrapped a finger around a tendril of my hair and began to loosen my shirt.
“No!” I hissed, pushing her away. “I'm no maricon! If you don't want me, I'm sure my friend here would be man enough for you.” at that point, Marc Antoni turned to me with a grin and she laughed.
“Go for it.” he whispered into my ear.
I needed no prompting from him, however. My excitement was nearly uncontrollable now and she would have to be at my mercy.
I grabbed her by the wrist and began to drag her towards a deserted corner. I wanted some some privacy but just enough so I could still see the fight.
I spun her around and began to bend her over when she stopped me.
“Slow down, big boy. First thing's first.” she said as she turned back to me. I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“How much?” I repeated in annoyance.
“Hmm...your hair.” she replied.
“What?” I exclaimed.
“I want to touch it!” she cried. “Mon Dieu! Do you know how many men have hair like yours? How many straight men?” I rolled my eyes again as she plunged her perfectly manicured hands into my hair. Her touch turned me on more than I cared to admit, but I tried to hide it.
“Ooh la la! So thick and beautiful! God, I'm jealous!” she exclaimed and suddenly, I pressed my mouth hard against hers. I could feel her tongue touching mine and I pushed her away.
“Enough!” I hissed and began to lift her dress and then I stopped.
“What now?”
“I want to see the fight.”

“Oh but baby, don't you want to--”
“Yes,” I said thru gritted teeth, “while I watch the fight.”
“Oh you're a sadistic one, aren't you?” she teased.
“You have no idea.” I muttered.
When I had had enough of her toying, I crushed her between a metal pipe, which she hung onto with one hand for balance, and the brick wall. I grabbed one arm and pinned it behind her back, and she teetered, and nearly fell over on her heels. I wrapped her ponytail around my hand and jerked her head back. She let out a scream but I ignored her as the pleasant sound filled my ears. My heart pounded in my ears as I watched the fight from the corner. When I was satisfied, I let her go and she lurched forward, her head snapping forward and banging it on the pipe.
“Bastard!” she spat as she rubbed her forehead.
“Slut!” I hissed as she wobbled away.
I tucked myself back in and rejoined Marc Antoni who had a grin almost more smug than mine. It was more than that, he was proud of me, and I could tell. I couldn't remember the last time my father had been proud of me, without following some kind of insidious insult.
“Have a good time?” he said jovially. “Babette!” he suddenly interjected as he turned to see the girl stomping off towards the exit. The woman only turned back to him with a scowl and swore at me in French.
“Don't mind him, dear! He is young and hungry. Nonetheless, I'll see you again soon!” he cooed at her. She dismissed us with her hand as she continued out the door.
“Yes, but I'm going home now, señor Gauldera.”
“And miss the rest of the fight? Oh come now!” he balked.
“It's nearly 5 in the morning.”

“You must stay! It's getting to the best part!” he exclaimed.
I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. It was tempting to stay but I still had reservations about the man.

“My mother will be awake soon. She doesn't know I've gone.” Immediately I regretted opening my mouth.
“Oh, well, your poor mother! I can give you a ride home, then...” and started to the door. I knew at any mention of my mother he might jump at the chance to see her.
“No, I'm going to walk.” I said resolutely. After my recent carnal encounter, my blood had cooled some, but I had hoped the cool night air would cool it some more. I did not want Mother to see me this way and I longed now to be back in my own bed, near her purity. Perhaps I could absolve myself of my sins by the time I awoke again.
“Vega, I really think you should stay.” he said again, this time his voice sounded more serious. I turned back to him. He smiled at me and I was intrigued, though it was not his usual haughty grin. Somehow, it seemed more—what's the word—sincere.
“Come with me. There's someone you should meet.” he said again and gestured towards the ring. I followed him as he approached a tall, bald muscular man in boxer shorts and an eye-patch; the same man I had seen as I came in that night. He was bent over, tying white cloth around his feet.
“Sagat,” he said to the man and he turned to us. I found myself instinctively taking a step back as he straightened to his full height. He looked like a mountain full of muscles, standing a full foot taller than I, and I was already 6 feet tall! Sagat had a scowl on his face but when he saw Marc Antoní, his face seemed to brighten.
“Señor.” he greeted señor Gauldera somberly.
“Quite a fight tonight! Absolutely amazing the way you bashed the man's head in!”
A big grin spread across the tall fighter's face and his one eye flashed. I recognized his expression as one I often had—pride.
“It was very enjoyable, yes!” his voice was deep and booming, spoken with heavily accented English.
“Sagat, I'd like you to meet Vega de Cerna. He is training to be a great fighter like yourself.” Sagat looked at me with a nod and grunted his approval.
“Perhaps one day I will have a chance to break you.” he said to me with his big, menacing grin and I stood my ground, fighting not to show my emotions. I wanted to say something, anything but before I could, señor Gauldera replied,
“We shall see, my friend. With me as his trainer, you might find that he will break you!” replied Marc Antoní with a chuckle.
“Taking on another pupil, are you, Marc Antoní?”
“Indeed I am, Sagat. You know, I wonder if I could talk to you a moment?” he said to the taller man and they turned away from me, leaving me to stand alone near the cage, watching a fight.
I was curious as to what they might be discussing as I stood there, still entranced by the scene before me. I looked back at them to see Marc Antoní nod at me and then turn back to Sagat. No doubt it was about me.
After what seemed like an eternity, he returned again.
“Vega, you would like to learn to fight, yes?” he asked with his beaming smile.
“Yes! Of course! Please!”
He chuckled at my enthusiasm.
“Well, then. You should come and stay with me at my vacation home and you can learn there. It's a small villa just outside of Lyons. Do you know when you plan to go back to Barcelona?”
“No! No...not yet. Mother and I planned a long stay.”
“It's settled then. We will talk with your mother, and you can continue your vacation here in France. Oui?” I nodded in agreement.
“Okay—but she can't know you're teaching me to fight. She loathes it.”
“Indeed. Your mother never did appreciate a good fight.”
“How do you know my mother, señor?” I asked, genuinely trying understand this mysterious connection with her. My father I could have cared less about but her, well, that was another story.
Señor Gauldera looked away from me, staring into space and I could see a sort of wistful smile on his face, like he was remembering a distant fond memory of something.
“Your mother and I were good friends, much like your father and I. It's true she could never resist my good looks and charm, but I could not come between her and your father.” he replied and he smiled, but his voice was much softer this time. I think he was only trying to tease me with the last part, as with the first time I met him, he was constantly talking of himself or the beauty of my mother. It was enough to make me sick!
“Does everyone know how conceited you are, or is it me?” I asked with a smirk.
“Now why do you ask that?” he said, though he was not angry, if anything, he seemed to be greatly amused. Not that I expected much more than that from him. It seemed almost impossible that I should anger this man in the short time I knew him.
“Because! That is to say, I don't even know you and yet, you charm every woman we've come across!”
“Then perhaps I am like Don Juan, eh? And you know what, Vega, I see you right now. Your way with the ladies is positively brutal! Look at Babette!”
“They enjoy it. I have made girls scream more often in the throes of violence, than in ecstasy. It's something I've learned these passed few years—a woman won't tell you what she really wants—you have to show her; she is weak and she must be taught.”
“I could not have said it better myself. You are wiser than your years, Vega! Undoubtedly Babette learned a lot today.” he grinned. In spite of myself and this obnoxious man, I could feel my pride welling inside of me again.
“I taught her well.” I replied beaming, “If she did not want it to be rough, she should not have come to a place with such rough men!” I snickered.
Marc Antoní sighed and said,
“Poor girl. I think she's got a crush on me, really. She only comes because she knows I am here and that I will not treat her so roughly.”
“A crush? She's a whore!” I exclaimed.
“Believe it or not, Vega, whores do have feelings.”
“The only feeling they have is between their legs!” I hissed angrily.
“You seem so young to be so cynical of women. Tell me, what harm have they ever caused you?”
“Do you know Francesca Fracassa?”
“Ah...Francesca Fracassa...yes, of course. I have indulged in her company many times. She costs a lot but she is worth every piece!” I rolled my eyes. Yes, that was the name of my father's high-priced Italian whore. The woman responsible for my mother's misery.
“She is my father's mistress.” I replied.
“Yes, now that you mention it, I remember seeing her with him a few weeks ago at the Ambassador's Ball.”
“So what happened after the Ball?” he asked, and I'm sure he meant it innocently, still I looked at him, trying to hide my surprise.
“What-what do you mean?” I asked, trying to carefully avoid suspicion.
“Well, as I remember, there was a ruckus and they tried to throw your father out for his behavior. He seemed fairly angry...I certainly hope he did not hurt you.” I swallowed and nodded slowly.
“Oh, he and I have an understanding. He won't be hurting us anymore.” señor Gauldera's eyes sparkled and he smiled warmly.
“Good! I'm glad you were finally able to deal with him. He is not an easy man to deal with, as you know. Miguel is a bull-headed, obstinate man. Oh but tell me, do you think your mother has learned a lot? After all, if she has learned from your father all that you have, she must truly be something spectacular by now! Perhaps you have taught her as well.”
“What?” I exclaimed and stepped forward into his face, my chest swelling. I was only moments away from unleashing my temper at his insinuations.
“I know your father and I know what he's done to her. No doubt he taught you and your mother well!”
“Are you trying to anger me, señor?” I hissed, and I could feel the veins in my neck rising.
“I only speak of what I know, Vega. I also know that the punishing cruelty you unleash on women is no match for the love and devotion you shower upon your mother.”
“Stay out of it! You know nothing of me or my mother!”
“It seems as if the mere mention of her angers you. I think I've hit a nerve, haven't I?”
“A nerve? She's my mother and you have no idea what hell she's suffered! My father wasn't teaching her anything. He beat her, horrifically. She couldn't walk for 2 months after that Ball!” I said and I could feel my chest heaving, my eyes watered but I dared not to let any tears show.
“When was this, Vega? I thought it was a few weeks ago...” he said and I realized in my anger that I let yet another detail slip.
“Never mind!” I hissed.
“You wish he couldn't hurt her anymore, don't you? You want to be able to stop him, save your precious mother from him.”
“Yes...” I muttered.
“You're angry because you couldn't stop it. You felt helpless, powerless. I'm offering you this power. You're already a skilled fighter; there's very little difference between a bull and a man. You said that bulls were dumb, filthy creatures who deserve to die. Sounds almost exactly like your father, doesn't it?” he smirked but as I looked at him, I felt good again. He was right and I hungered for more than just bulls, I wanted to fight more uncivilized creatures. I nodded at him as he said,
“Give me your address and I will pay you a visit soon,”
Reluctantly, I did as he asked, with the hopes I might find a way out of that smothering hotel room.
“Look, señor, I have to go now.”
“It's alright, Vega. I understand! Go back to your mother and I'll see you soon.” he smiled and I rolled my eyes but at least we had an understanding.
“Wait! Do you know where you're going?”
“Yes, I'll be fine,” I said sharply as I left the building and walked back into the night. I could see the pale yellow streaking across the horizon. The sun would be up soon.
I found my way back to the hotel and crept back to my room as casually as I could. I opened it carefully and it was dark but the sun was beginning to shine through the windows. I jumped as I saw Mother sitting on her bed in her dressing gown, staring at me quietly.
“Where have you been?” she said softly, I could sense the worry but she did not seem angry.
“I went out early to find some breakfast.” I lied. She nodded and blinked sleepily.
“Is that why you smell of smoke and musk?” she asked as she watched me take off my clothes and climb into my bed.
“Yes,” I replied quickly, laying on my side with my back to her. She was quiet and I could hear her climbing into her own bed.
“I hate it when you lie to me, Vega.” she said in a much louder voice. I rolled over to see she too was laying on her side, and staring at me.

Dawn broke and so did another restless day in the hotel room. Mother and I dressed in silence and I could feel her staring at me as she buttoned up a black blouse with white polka-dots and an a-line khaki skirt. She slipped into a pair of matching tan high heels and I tried not to catch the icy glare of her blue eyes as they bored through me.
Uneasily, I finished buttoning the cuffs of my white button-down shirt and tugged at the waistline of my khaki slacks. She crossed in front of me as she put on her pearl stud earrings as she walked to the Vanity. I turned away and began to quickly braid my hair.
“Vega, are you going to tell me where you were?” she said, staring at me from the mirror as she dabbed her powder rather forcefully on her face. If she had applied it any heavier, she was going to turn white!
“I went for a walk, that's all.” I replied, clearing my throat and putting a rubber band on my braid.
“Is it?” she asked and I could hear her voice rise sharply at the end.
I bit my bottom lip and tried to stifle an urge to yell at her.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Don't get smart, Vega!” she exclaimed angrily, as a small cloud of dust rose as she threw her puff down into her powder. I turned sharply as she approached me.
“You were told to stay here! I don't ask much of you, Vega. You know I don't. I am your mother but I also hope that I am your friend and I thought...thought you would respect me enough to listen.” her eyes teared up and I sighed heavily.
“I do respect you, Mama. I do! You know I do.” She laid her head on my chest and I could smell her freshly applied powder, and it tickled my nose; I sniffed and wriggled it, trying not to sneeze.
“Déu meu,Vega!” she crossed herself. “My darling Narcís, it's just that I worry about you. I worry what will happen to you...”
“Mother, you're not worried about me. You're worried about you.” I said as she looked up at me, her eyes gleaming in confusion.
“What-what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You need me and if you lost me, you wouldn't know how to live.”
“My precious, precious boy! You are right.” she cried as she kissed my cheek and as she reached up to kiss it, paused as she looked at me, and then slowly kissed the other. We were quiet a moment and she quickly wiped the kisses from my cheeks with her thumb in her very motherly way. I chuckled at her softly. Of course I'm right. I'm always right because I am your precious boy! And I know I could never live without you either... I thought bitterly.
“It's okay, Mama.” she touched my lips softly with her fingers.
“I know,” she said, in a hushed voice, nearly a whisper. I knew she was choking back tears again.
“It was self-defense.”
“Self-defense! Self-defense...what proof is there? By the time they find us--”

“If they find us, Mother!”
She glared and me and continued,
“our wounds will have healed.”
“There was nothing we could do! Nothing!” She stood and began to pace, her arms folded across her chest.
I watched her pace a moment more and then touched her arm as she went by me again.
“Mother, please!” I cried and she stopped. With a heavy sigh, she sat next to me again.
“Please, just promise me you won't leave me.”
“I promise.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
- 7
- 8
- 9
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Origins of the Spanish Ninja:Tastes Like Red Wine