<div class="floatright">(http://i631.photobucket.com/albums/uu35/greytrail/th_Carter_zps46a545ae.jpg)</div>Name: Carter<br/>Location: living room<br/><br/>Refraining from jumping at the unexpected impact of the luggage handle to the nearby couch, Carter swallowed a smirk and strode over on surprisingly quiet feet for a guy in heavy workboots and wearing a khaki kilt. He grinned warmly at the small, Asian woman struggling with the heavy front door and her now-damaged suitcase. But his father taught him to be polite and he willingly took her offered hand.<br/><br/>"Sunny, yeah, I recognize you from your picture. Carter Dayton, sophomore in architecture. We've got the place to ourselves so far."<br/><br/>Dad taught him another trick, a subtle twist on the ubiquitous handshake. With a small turn of his wrist, he slid his hand ever so slightly under Sunny's, cradling her small hand in his and bowed his head, just the smallest bit.<br/><br/>"May I give you a hand?"<br/><br/>Even as he ducked to grab at the luggage, a horrible racket of sound echoed in from the outside and he chuckled.<br/><br/>"Apparently, we don't have the place to ourselves any longer."