He doesn't, and even if he did, he'd much rather listen to another person explain it than act like a know-it all. "Competitive singing performances. Now there's an idea. I would love to see it, myself."

Despite the snowballs having been well packed, they are not meant for juggling and they start to break up around the fourth rotation, one catching him on the edge of a horn and the other crumbling to pieces in his hands. He seems to have no issue with this and gives a flourishing bow in order to shake the snow out of his hair. "I really am in the presence of greatness, Ms. Yohane." The Ms carries an air of insincerity, but it's harmless.

But this certainly explains her fallen angel fantasies- he's never met a bard that didn't have delusions of grandeur. "How do they judge something like that?"