Large picture<div style="padding: 3px; background-color: #FFFFFF; border: 1px solid #d8d8d8; font-size: 1em;"><div style="text-transform: uppercase; border-bottom: 1px solid #CCCCCC; margin-bottom: 3px; font-size: 0.8em; font-weight: bold; display: block;"><span onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') {  this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = ''; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;hide&lt;/a&gt;'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerHTML = '&lt;b&gt;Spoiler: &lt;/b&gt;&lt;a href=\'#\' onClick=\'return false;\'&gt;show&lt;/a&gt;'; }"><b>Spoiler: </b><a href="#" onclick="return false;">show</a></span></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;"><img alt="Image" src="http://pre06.deviantart.net/6503/th/pre/f/2008/085/0/1/0172dece8f732d07.jpg"/></div></div></div><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Miss Coco Pendragon</span><br/><br/>It was a pretty low-class kind of weapon - a tool, even, the kind used by<span style="font-style: italic">workmen</span>. But I was still relieved, when I was able to pull it free of the broken wood of my little cabin, and use it to hack my way free of the ruined room. The ship’s a wreck, clearly, corpses washing in the water, shocked survivors stumbling on the beach. The water isn’t deep - for now - but it clearly will be when the tide turns, and goodness along knows when a storm will wash the remains of the wreck back out to sea.<br/><br/>Fortunately, I’m a fair swimmer, and even with the weight of the axe it isn’t<span style="font-style: italic">too</span>hard to make my way ashore. A few people seem to know what they’re doing, the sense of purpose in their movements marking out their inherent nobility. Several are quite pretty, their wet clothes sticking to their flesh, and I realise with a blush I’m no less immodest in my thin, salt-soaked nightdress. At least I’ve nothing to be ashamed of beneath - I’m more than appetising, if I do say so myself.<br/><br/>“Hello!” I call, striding up the beach, aristocratic confidence in my step.