Mordred had slipped back into the city unannounced. He knew his mother would feel him out sooner or later, but for now, he was moving in New York City's elite social circles, getting by on his looks and charm, which suited him fine. (The fact that he was moderately wealthy didn't hurt, either.)
He'd left the bar he was in and headed back outside, wondering whether or not to just call it a night. Then he heard the muffled thud of a fist hitting flesh, and turned to look. That had...pretty much come out of nowhere, and so had the fizzing at the back of his brain that meant another immortal was close by.
He found the gaze of the woman in the tattered wedding dress, and smiled back at her. Interesting. He circled around the crowd that had gathered around the punching men, stopping next to her. "Your handiwork?" he asked, amused.