There was some things in life that Dionysus was very good at.
He was good at listening, and more than that he was good at hearing. As he'd told Urania, he was always keeping his ear to the right keyholes to learn the important snippets. And because of this listening, he was good at finding out the ins and outs of his pantheon, and storing it away. Not for anything dastardly. Mostly not. (And, perhaps it must be said, he was only good at listening when he had a hold of his sanity. In the times without sanity - glorious and horrendous - Dionysus never heard a damn thing that could have been useful. It was why the madness always swallowed him so completely.)
He was good at drawing attention, something he was doing tonight in his ankle-length burgundy velvet skirt, a men's white silk shirt tucked into it. The tall stiletto heels were white as well, and his eyes were lined with deep black kohl.
A third thing thing he was good at was appearing before beautiful princesses in their time of need, and perhaps he'd done it again, because as he entered the restaurant and strode across it towards Ariadne - radiant, without equal, golden and glowing - she was making a face of veiled displeasure at her phone (Dionysus recognized that, veiled or no).
He was still halfway across the restaurant when she looked up and saw him, surely feeling him as he felt her. (For Dionysus, the other immortals didn't present so much as a feeling, but as the ghost of a taste on his tongue, a wine unique to each and every one of them. Ariadne was was a full bodied viognier, soft in the front but with hidden depth, late-ripened and with notes of apple and violet.)
As he walked, Dionysus held his arms out towards her. It was a gesture that said I am going to embrace you! just as much as look at your glorious self!
"My empress," Dionysus said, kneeling down on one knee beside her seat, his leg slipping free of the slit in the skirt. People were looking, but Dionysus only had eyes for Ariadne as he took her hand and kissed it, eyes locked on hers.