Sitting at a table near the window, sipping a glass of ice water while keeping an eye on the door, Mordred appeared lost in his thoughts. Truthfully, though the expression on his face could be considered distracted, he was actually far more tuned int to his surroundings than he looked. Having mastered the art of blending in damn near seamlessly to his surroundings, he was entertaining himself by imagining the conversations of his fellow patrons while he waited for Morgause to arrive. Every so often his game would amuse him, bring a slight smirk to what could otherwise be considered his brooding face, but more often than not he found himself imagining how it would go if Galahad walked into the bar.
All things considered Mordred had been speaking truthfully when he had said he felt the btime for penance regarding his former actions had passed, but he knew that regardless of how many centuries may come and go there would always be a few who would never forgive him for his actions. He didn't regret what he did, being of a 'live by the sword then die by the sword' mentality, however he felt as though he had justification. The only ones who truly knew and understood why he had done everything he had were himself and his mother, and while certain writers seems to speculate the reasons it all boiled down to one; because he could, and would, for Morgause.
Jolting himself out his thoughts when a waitress headed towards his table, Mordred offered her a fleeting grin as she refilled his water. He caught the way she looked at him, raising his eyebrows when she 'accidentally' dropped a piece of paper near his hand. The fact that she was flirting seemed ludicrous to him, though that didn't stop Mordred from pocketing the slip of paper before casting a glance at the door as Morgause arrived. He stood to greet her, catching her attention with a slight wave.