Dionysus frowned as he listened to her speak. Not because of the message, but because of the words she was using. Because of her tone of voice. Because of the way she looked. It was cold. All of it was cold. Her face was like cool marble, her hair like the chill of night, her voice like a spring-fed stream, and her words were ice. So cold.
Dio didn't like cold. He liked things warm. At the moment, he was aiming for hot. He was here to burn, not to cool, and this woman claiming to be a sister didn't feel at all familial. She wasn't anything like any of the other siblings he'd met. All of them ran hot as well, in varying ways, some more obvious than others. So if she truly was his sister, if she was Zeus' daughter, she had to have come from Hera, because he could think of no one chillier than that bitch queen. It made him less than amenable to whoever this cold goddess was. She was ruining his fire.
Without a second though or a moment of hesitation, he simply reached over and gave her a hard shove, while simultaneously thrusting his calf in front of her shin, deliberately tripping her. There was a lovely mud puddle, perfectly placed for her fall. Though with as dry as things were, it wasn't water that caused the dirt to turn to mud, but rather blood. That didn't bother Dionysus in the least.
“You were too clean,” he announced blithely, not even really looking at this so-called sister. It had bothered him enormously, and now, he felt much calmer. “You look better this way.”