The French delegation had somehow managed to worm their way into the Arena of Victory, now watching from afar in a VIP booth where delegates of each major nation sat, admiring the processions following the opening ceremony.
But during this time, they had been isolated. Everyone knew they held no legitimacy. No authority. They flew the banner of a dead republic while hiding in its more stable colonies—masquerading as the governing body of a nation in total anarchy. Existing in name only, and as an ideal. That was all.
So when they found no one approached them—no respect given, no deference paid—they turned to the bountiful free food and wine, engorging themselves beyond the point of intoxication. And as the wine flowed, so too did the complaints. They began to whine, sneer, and speak loudly of their supposed superiority over Germany.
