As Helena is figuring out how her gesture might look as opposed to the device that Dedusmuln would have conjured up, Wayne sits, a fork in hand. He looks down at the back of his hand, then at her, then very quickly stabs the tines into the yellow flesh. It's a pretty minor wound all things considered. He only needs to be bleeding, after all.

"Here, a practical demo," he offers, holding his hand out across the table as the haemolymph wells. "It's not big, don't worry too much about getting it perfect, I've still got hotdogs for days."