Regulus frowned, unimpressed with how cool and calm the other remained. Well, mostly, he was insulted and felt a need to compete, prove that he was better still. "I will quiet down if I want to," he snapped, falling into his bratty pureblood tendencies. "You wont tell me what I should be doing." But, in the end, Regulus did lower his voice; it wasn't late enough for the streets to be empty, but late enough for people to be worried by shouting. It really would be the worst addition to the situation to have a nosy muggle peeking around into the alleyway and meddling in matters that they hadn't any right to.
Feeling his frustrations and impatience rise, boiling in the pit of his stomach, he pressed his elbow into his thigh and dropped his head down into his hand. How had this happened? How had he started his day so well, encountered a faux dead body and worry for hours only to be met with such annoyance. All for what? Discarded scraps and a dirty blanket.
"I wasn't going to steal anything!" He was no thief. Though, he had stolen. But that was neither here nor there.
Rubbing between his brows, Regulus slowly began to raise his head and glare at the man again. "It was just there--trash. That's all it was. I went for the crate, but there it was, underneath the trash. You weren't there!" The entire scene began to replay over again in his mind, apparent by the glazed look in his eyes and how horrified he began to look. There it was all over again. The bags, the blanket and the body. "I picked it up--and you--you were, you were so cold." He frowned, bringing his hand to his mouth.
"You didn't even move. And I shoved you! No one can sleep that soundly!" And that, of course, was the man's fault. "And, furthermore, what sort of moron sleeps under garbage? How is that--no. Its just idiotic."