Sean and Crowley
Crowley considered himself a demon of the arts, because he could appreciate it. He'd taken a few souls in exchange for raw talent, and some great works had come out of the deals. Which is why he was at the festival, even if he couldn't do any deals in town, blasted dome.
He was making his way through the booths set up, when he was nearly shoved into the last performer. After glaring at the fool who couldn't even be bothered to apologize, Midwest Manners his arse, he turned a smirk to the young man.
"A bit more practice, and some demon might come along and offer you a gold fiddle."