[There's a threatening rumble from the edge of the crowd, and people part as a tall, rangy old man with gray skin and gray hair stalks through them, sometimes yanking viciously at an arm when someone doesn't get out of his way fast enough. One of those poor "fans" goes sprawling. When he reaches the ones who have hands on Lux, it's obvious that the rumbling is a growl, and it's-- somehow-- coming from him. It stops long enough for him to say, voice deep and rough:]

Put. Her. Down.

[At the very least, he's got a commanding presence. It might be enough. If it isn't, he has other tricks he can try.]