Chapter Text
New Salem, despite being one of the only towns where the human and monster worlds phased together, was surprisingly normie. Stubbornly so.
It was as if the humans who settled there, though typically unbothered by their monster neighbors, were determined to present as human as possible in contradiction. As if to say, “look at me, I’m human. Look at how normal I am.”
And, hey, that was fine. It’s not as if other towns had monsters to compare themselves to.
The problem was that every store within the city limits of New Salem, was, to put it plainly, dreadfully, woefully, painstakingly dull. Salt and pepper as your only seasonings dull. Unbuttered popcorn dull.
Which, again, wasn’t necessarily a problem. Some people like unbuttered popcorn. Some people like simple clothes. God knows Chad made it work. “As long as it was comfy,” he always said. Good luck finding anything Goth, though, or anything in the sphere of alt fashion, without either ordering online or altering it yourself or digging through bins at thrift stores.
And hey, Clair Robinson was a resourceful girl. She could deal the cards she was given. Goth culture was more about the lifestyle, anyways, her dad had always told her, more about music and ideals than the fashion or looks.
So, sure, it not like she couldn’t live with it. But the monsters looked so colorful in comparison, so sure and put together in their fashions.
Draculaura, with her pink-striped hair, clothing gothic and Lolita inspired, but with a modernized twist that was all her own. Clawdeen, always the most fashion-forward, unafraid to put patterns on patterns or statement pieces to play. Cleo, limited by her mummy wraps, yet weaving them seamlessly into every sophisticated look she turned out. Even Jackson, about as normie as a monster could get, had his own style than made him stand out from other humans. Still nerdy, still preppy, still simple at heart, but in a way that was his, streaked hair and pierced brow and and several new piercings speared up and down his ears.
Monsters were fashionable in a way New Salem kids weren’t. Unafraid to show up differently, maybe, already so ostracized by their nature. Maybe more diverse bodies led to more divots in fashion. After all, when you have one friend who’s undead and another who eats rat’s brains for fun, wearing spiked cuffs and six-inch platforms seems tame, in comparison.
All this to say that, when Frankie finally drags Clair to the mall, her little goth heart is sure it’s died and gone to heaven.
She has to pause, a minute, in the doorway, just to take it all in.
“Hey,” Frankie waves a hand in front of her, looking a little sheepish. “Um, is there any reason you’re frozen? It’s a lot of monsters, I know, but they don’t bite-“
“I mean, we do-“
“Clawdeen, not helping!”
“Chill out, bolts, it’s fine.” Clair waves a hand, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I’ve just never seen this many styles in the same place all, before! Downtown Salem’s mall is stupidly dull.”
“It’s always small towns,” Draculaura nods, chipper as ever. “But the monster side of Salem is big! We have more variety. Much more.”
“You can say that again.” Clair whistles. “How much do you think I could bribe Chad for him to let us give him a makeover in here?”
“Oh, I’d love to see that,” Clawdeen jokes. “If he’s anything like my brother, he’ll be whining and moping until he takes my advice. Clawd used to always complain about me when we were pups. And now? He comes begging for my advice! And, you know,” she said, flipping hair over her shoulder, “he’s never looked better.”
Frankie giggles. “Maybe try your hand on Heath?”
“Frankie, Heath is a boy beyond reason,” she says, wagging her finger for emphasis. “And I’ve seen him in my outfits, I know I could make him look good.”
Clair wants to ask about how the hell that happened, but before she can open her mouth, Frankie spots something across the hall that has her squealing.
“Wha- Skelita!” She cheers, as a skeleton raises her hand in greeting.
“Skelita!” Clawdeen chimes in. “You made it!”
“I couldn’t pass up a trip to the maul,” she smiles. The skeleton speaks softly, voice sloped with the slightest bit of an accent. “Jinafire sends her apologies. She has a Clawculus exam coming up.”
“Ugh,” Clawdeen rolls her eyes, “I swear, Mr. Hack’s exam schedule is always the worst of the worst.”
“Always inconvenient timing,” Draculaura agrees.
“Oh,” Skelita turns, focusing her attention on her. “And you must be the human they told me about! Clawdeen’s told me so much about you!”
Clair nods, and the skeleton extends a hand.
“I’m Skelita,” she says, smiling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Clair,” she says, nodding. “Ditto to you.” She shakes her hand. It’s…. Well. It sure is bones, all right. It sure is bones. And it’s definitely a new sensation. It… sure as hell is.
“Skelita’s one of the ghouls I studied abroad with,” Clawdeen pipes up, explaining. “I liked her so much, I brought her back to Monster High with me.”
Skelita laughs. “You make it sound like you dragged me here, lobita.”
Clawdeen grins, canines flashing. “You would’ve missed my company anyways.”
“Alright, alright,” Draculaura finally pipes up. “Not that we’re not happy to see you, but we promised Clair a shopping trip! Enough standing! Let’s shop!”
There’s a couple whoops and “yeah”s from the ghouls, and then they’re off, dragging Clair into the nearest Bootique before making a game plan to drag her to each of their favorite stores.
As expected, each ghoul’s favorite has a style that suits them perfectly. Frankie drags them to a store that leans toward academia, sifting through plaid shirts and colorful cropped sweaters. Dracula’s favorite is a goth wonderland, frilled blouses and lacy skirts and sheer shirts and big platforms galore. Skelita and Clawdeen have the most variety, picking from modern high fashion just as much as sorting through clearance racks from old trends.
By the time they make a stop at the food court, Clair has bagged three new pairs of platforms, some sheer tops and, most importantly, jeans that actually suit her style: black and red stitched skinny jeans, split-dye joggers, and a pair of arm warmers that aren’t fraying at the ends for once.
She’s a little appalled when she sees the boba bar has “blood poppers” as a topping option, but she manages to order her food without incident, and manages to keep from raising an eyebrow when Skelita sits down with a plate of greens in front of her.
Frankie catches her inquisitive stare anyways.
“If you’re wondering about the skeleton thing,” she mock whispers across the table, “it’s just about as confusing as it sounds.”
Clair is grateful her flush isn’t visible from under her makeup.
In answer, she points her fork at Skelita. “I mean, I wasn’t gonna ask, but, if anyone wants to explain while we’re on the subject….”
Skelita just laughs, stabbing a fork into her food. “Honestly, we don’t have much of an explanation either.” She taps a finger to her lips, in thought. “Mi abuela always said it was a gift from our living ancestors. Their Day of the Dead shrines kept memories of the dead alive. She always said that love was what allowed us to live- without, ah, well, living.” She gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t know if that’s really true, but it’s a nice thing to believe in.”
Draculaura nods. “It’s sort of the same with vampires. You can be born one, or you can be bitten. And… we’re dead, but we’re not.” She shakes her head, pink pigtails swishing with the movement. “I don’t have a heartbeat anymore, but I’m still alive, obviously.” She pokes a tomato onto her fork, swirling it around in her pasta. “I always just think of it as monster powers. Some things don’t have natural laws, like normies do. That’s how my dad always described it.”
“Bottom line is: don’t think too hard about it,” Clawdeen finishes. “In the monster world, always expect the unexpected.”
“Oh,” Draculaura pipes up, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Oh. Em. Ghoul! I totally forgot!” She does a little bounce in her seat. “Clawdeen! My dad sends you his biggest thank yous!” Her fangs flashed through her smile. “He wore that tailcoat you made for him to that business party a few days ago, and boom! So many compliments!” She mimed an explosion with her free hand. “He said you’re his favorite tailor from now on!”
Clair turned to Clawdeen, wide-eyed.
“Hold up,” she said, mid-chew. “You sew?”
“A little,” Clawdeen replied, wincing.
“A little?!” Skelita balked, incredulous. “Didn’t she tell you why we studied in Scaris together?!”
Clair shook her head.
“We were seamstress apprentices for Moanatella Ghostier! Amiga,” she turned to Clawdeen, “you should show her your work, it’s incredible! You have killer looks from the runway!”
Clawdeen’s ears turned back, worriedly. “Oh, stop it,” she dismissed. “No seas mentiroso.”
“Don’t be modest, Clawdeen, I’m serious!” Draculaura’s face scrunched, determinedly. “You’ve got to give yourself more credit! It was a huge hit at the New Age Vampire Gala!”
Clawdeen’s fur spiked. “He wore it to the vampire gala?!” She hissed. As quickly as she puffed up, she shrunk back in on herself. “That coat wasn’t even my best work,” she groaned, pouting.
“Hold up,” Clair said again. “Now this I’ve gotta see!”
“Oh, absolutely,” Draculaura smiles, already reaching for her iCoffin.
“Oh my ghoul,” Clawdeen groaned.
“Oh, don’t be dramatic!” Draculaura passed the phone over, finding it. “Look, look, look,” she chirped, as Claire took in the photo. “She made the tailcoat and the cape! Don’t they look fang-tastic!? I haven’t seen him dress so dapper since his days at the vampire court!”
Clair’s eyes scanned the picture, and (lord help her, lord help her, she was not gonna call Count Dracula a DILF) but only a blind man could say he didn’t look good in the outfit that he was sporting.
The tailcoat was a deep black fabric, subtly embroidered with a baroque pattern, the details of it not done justice by the camera. The waistcoat he’d paired it with was a deep blood red, and the crimson pocket square he’d paired it with only made it pop more.
The cloak he wore looked as if it could be made for royalty alone, rick black velvet against an even richer, bloodier red lining. This, too, was subtly embroidered, with an ivory clasp that shone, bone white, against the black sea of fabric.
“Wow,” Clair said, lost for words. “Dude, they’re right,” she elbowed Clawdeen, “you are way too modest.”
Clawdeen groaned, shoving another piece of steak in her mouth. “I just wanted to practice making suits for guys! It was an experiment!- he just happened to agree to model.”
“It’s fitted incredibly well, too,” Skelita said, leaning over the table to glance at the picture. “I’ll admit, I would’ve gone with a lower waist, but a higher waist looks so much better!”
Clair slid her the phone, and the skeleton nodded her thanks, zooming in on the picture. “It’s a more feminine cut, traditionally, but with the waistcoat and his lean figure, it really looks perfecto! Brings out his long legs, too.”
Draculaura laughed. “I know, right! Even without his heels, the Baron Faustus asked him if he’d gotten taller!”
The group shared a laugh, at that joke, and even Clawdeen cracked a smile.
“You shouldn’t be so shy about this, Clawdeen,” Frankie encouraged, upon seeing her friend smile. “You know your stuff is amazing.”
“I’m not- shy about this, exactly,” the werewolf trailed off, blushing. “I like my designs, I love getting compliments on them! I just…”
“You don’t always know how to take compliments,” Skelita finishes for her, nodding.
“Well, you know what they say,” Frankie sips her milk tea. “We’re always our own worst critics.”
“No tienen ninguna idea,” Clawdeen mumbles, in Skelita’s direction.
Skelita laughs. “Tal vez deberían tener su propia desfile de moda para enseñarles.”
“Hey!” Frankie chided. “No speaking in code, you two!”
“Download a language database, Frankie,” Clawdeen shot back, sticking out her tongue playfully.
Frankie flicked a piece of rice at her in retaliation.
“In my defense,” she countered, “the last time I tried that, I blew a fuse. I’m committing to the regular way, from here on out.”
Clair blinked. “You tried to download a database?”
Frankie shrugged. “I can transfer power to and from different types of computers. I figured transferring information was at least worth a shot.”
“Last time I checked, you’re a Frankenstein, not an android,” Clawdeen teased.
Frankie shrugged. “Eh, it was worth having to jump-start. I tried, I failed. A ghoul can dream.”
By the time they finish eating, Draculaura has another four or five stores she wants to drag her to, and Skelita introduces her to a bootique that sports beautiful, handmade jewelry.
She decides to get a custom choker, and when the shopkeep asks if she’s a normie, her only reaction is a slight look of surprise.
“Not often we get normies around here,” she says in her soft, souther drawl. “But between you and me,” the arachnid says, already spinning the lace trim for the choker, “I’m glad you folks ain’t so afraid of us anymore.”
Clair offers her a small smile.
By the time they’re done shopping, Skelita has to call up Jinafire for a ride, seeing as not all their bags fit in Frankie’s hand-me-down car. Jinafire laughs as she pulls up, watching them hopelessly trying to make everything fit, in vain.
Clawdeen and Frankie drop her off at home with her arms full of goodies, and her smile so wide it’s hurting as she walks into her kitchen.
Her mother cracks a grin, and says, “ho-ly shit. I don’t think I’ve seen you ever take a trip to the mall and not complain about how you can’t find things.”
Clair dumps her bags on the counter, grunting.
Smiling wolfishly, she snatches a capri sun from the counter.
“So, mom,” she grins, eyes twinkling as her brain’s scheming, “how much do you wanna bet Chad will let himself be roped into a monster makeover?”