Had this request come to Terrence a few months ago, or even earlier, he probably would be here tonight with the full intention of taking the job. As it was, he was uncertain whether he'd have time for it: on the one hand, he didn't have a job anymore, and he would get bored with idleness, but he also didn't want to get distracted from his purpose in watching the Dark Lord's world burn.
Nevertheless, he was here. The request had intrigued him, although he didn't wish death on magical creatures; he quite liked the Acromantulas and centaurs he called neighbors, even if they didn't like him much. A chimaera, though - he did want to see one of those, now that it had been mentioned to him. If not now, then definitely later.
He was in full Emil disguise, which had served him for years without even the slightest hint at looking remotely like himself. After interacting with Ron and recognizing each other by their voices, he had worked on disguising his voice as well, just in case. It was a slightly different pitch, and he talked slower when he was truly imitating Emil. He hadn't done that with Thatcher - talking slower, that was, he had definitely disguised his voice - but since he was being specifically contacted as Emil in this case, it was Emil they were going to get.
That meant blonde hair, lighter skin, greyish eyes, even a slightly shorter jawline and nose. He also had a slight tilt to his shoulders, and he walked with less purposeful energy. He took enough care with his masterpiece of a disguise that after all these years it was pitch-perfect, and he felt completely comfortable going out in public. Emil was him and he was Emil, and Emil wasn't on the wanted posters in the wizarding world.
"Normally don't meet in places this nice," he said, sliding into the chair. He'd been pointed here by the hostess, which was an upside to working with restaurants, he supposed. "More of a grungey pub man, myself - but I'm not picky."