This boy Lisa ran into was none other than Marcel. He had short wavy black hair, and shiny blue eyes. He wore a lavender scarf with a purple top and long jeans with stylish loafers. His passion was for style, for the finer things, for doing everything with an artistic flare.
"Oh, this isn't good, this isn't good, 'zis is non good." Lisa jabbered as the hefty notes of the french dialect took over her voice and her blonde hair took on a rich dark black hue and shortened itself out.
Her nails became polished and manicured, her nose reshaped itself into a more pronouced shape, a mole appeared on her cheek. Her waist shrunk down while her thighs thickened up and her lips softened.
"Ohhh... 'Zis... 'Zis fells... magnifique." Lisa purred as her chest began to puff up to a nice set of C cups.
Lisa was a frenchwoman by blood, leaving her home of Paris for this quaint little town for her father's job. It was... not great for her. There were few boutiques, the cafe's coffee was sub par, and no one seemed to understand.
"Oh how I long for ze understanding..." Lisa said as she ran her hands down her grey sweater and around the hem of her soft, grey skirt.
The french girl sighed whistfully right before bumping into the french boy in question.
"Oh sorry, I did not see you zere." Marcel pleaded.
"Non, non, it vwas my fault, I was a bit careless there." Lisa said back.
Right then and there, their eyes locked.