Terrence was laughing again at the mention of the blonde. The fake girlfriend he'd created to complain about to Barlow was the last thing he'd expected to come up in conversation tonight. "She's about as blonde as I am," he said, amused by that turn of phrase, though even he wasn't entirely sure what it meant - except that Emil had been blonde, and he definitely wasn't. He grinned at Ella, briefly. "And I've got no complaints about this one."
No, Emil's lady friend had been the complete antithesis of Ella. He'd made shite up off the top of his head that would have been dealbreakers for him in a real relationship, shaped it into the idea of a woman, and put that woman in Emil's head. He really didn't envy his alter ego at all.
"Yes, viva la revolucion," he agreed, and then tilted his head as he looked at Weasley. "But what I want to know is, why you keep calling us 'you lot'. I sold you that gun, among other things; she stole information from the Ministry about your whereabouts; we came here and diffused your bomb. Who do you think we are, anyway?"