It's an amazing thing, how quickly Lance's expression can transform from one of docile interest to one of absolute nervous paralysis. He actually stops chewing, remembering to continue after several seconds, in which he looks quickly away from Detlef and out at the town again so he can swallow without choking himself to death.
He has to clear his throat a few times anyway.

"Well-- um," he stammers, "well I think-- t-to be honest, I think more people have the Vice than anyone really knows." He folds his hands and looks down at them thoughtfully. "But as I understand it, what... what makes a person Profane is how they use it." Spoken like a true foreigner, who's had several decades to assimilate but still never actually grew up under the spiritual system to which he now adheres.

After a moment, he rises, his knees popping uncomfortably as he shifts his weight to straighten them out. "I'm not going to arrest you for comforting a colicking horse," he murmurs, a bit grimly, possibly because he just woke up and he's sore. "Just..."
He turns to look over his shoulder at Detlef, certain only in his personal morality, in what he has time to deal with and care about in the grand scheme of things.
"Just... stop... telling people about it." It comes almost like a plea.