By Minim Calibre
Notes: Celine Dion/Anastacia; PG-13 for Montreal vulgarity (no, I didn’t bother asking any of my friends from there for help, as I didn’t want to explain, so it’s probably badly constructed in addition to being bad language), violence, and adult situations. 225 words, so at least it’s short? No actual Divas were harmed in the making of this story. F7 was my beta.
“Mon ostie de crisse de viarge de calvaire!”
The scream moves with impressive vibrato through three octaves, threatening to shatter the crystal chandeliers of the dressing room where Celine Dion is threatening to shatter Anastacia’s spine.
“You… you…” Then there’s nothing but a torrent of furious French and a flurry of feathered hair as Celine launches herself at her co-star, tiny manicured hands clawing at the ridiculous faux fur top, long sleeves flapping like the wings of an angry goose.
The motion sends them tumbling to the plush red carpet, taking out a Chippendale reproduction chair and a couple of faux Tiffany lamps as collateral damage. Anastacia has the weight advantage, but Celine’s got speed, and Celine fights dirty.
Three more lamps go the way of the first. Anastacia’s pants are ripped half-off, flashing a neat Brazilian wax job. Celine’s broken a heel, three nails, and lost an earring. When her shirt goes too, she screams again, and the chandeliers give up the ghost.
Anastacia growls, deep and throaty, finally able to get enough leverage to get the upper hand. She flips Celine, straddles her, and the fight shifts into a completely different gear as Celine licks her lips and pulls Anastacia down by her bleached blonde hair.
Anastacia knocks her out with those American thighs.
Celine shakes her all night long.
Yes, it’s true.