Still very much wanting to go back to sleep, Finian weathers Vlad's mockery without comment or much reaction beyond a slight furrowing of his brow.
"I remember," he mumbles, "but with all due respect, sir, there's no more people here than would normally be at a service." He glances wearily around at the sleeping forms. "We're risking plague every time we come to chapel--"
He's cut off by a yawn, which he covers with his forearm, not wanting to be rude, even to the rudest person he knows.

"...did you need something?" he asks again, wistfully eyeing his pillow.