Impulse Purchase || [Solo]

[Ivan M. Braginsky]

Ivan M. Braginsky Tired and worn from a life made of wallow and pain Of what will be made is all that remains at the core TAG  WORDS 577 NOTES     basically this is just an excuse for ivan to get a dog because i realised i wanted him to. and now he has one. this is good.

The one downfall of Russian summers was that it could often get very hot. Moscow had been the worst, climbing upwards of 30 degrees during heat waves. Luckily, today was not one of those days. The shopping district was a mild temperature, the cool breeze a welcome change to the constant icebox state of Ivan's apartment. (There must be something wrong with the AC. Ivan would have to take it apart, never mind what his landlord said, and find out what was going on himself.) If going outside was warmer than being inside, he might have to go out more often. Ivan didn't have any real purpose; he just needed something to do, and needed to know the city more. He passed by the flower shop, making a note to visit one of these days. His flower pots still stood empty in his grey apartment. He had just wandered to the end of the shops, nothing having caught his interest, when he took notice of what looked like a tiny animal shelter at the end of the block. Rather, not the shelter. But the small, brown-furred dog in a cage placed on the window. She was missing an eye, it seemed, the skin over the left socket closed up over what would have been an empty hole. The dog looked straight at Ivan with her good eyefrom out of her cage. Before he knew it, he found himself crossing the narrow street and approaching the shelter. He peered back at her through the window, feeling like a child at Christmas again, eyes landing on the price tag at the front of the dog's cage. So expensive, even just for adoption. ... he wanted her. He knew it was unrealistic. He had practically no money to take care of himself. He was having trouble with rent, for God's sake--mainly because he didn't want to draw on his savings or veterans' funds. But he absolutely could not afford to take care of another occupant. Even if the apartment rules allowed it. (Which they did.) ... he wanted that dog. She was small, fluffy. Ivan wanted to run his fingers through her fur and cuddle her to his chest for hours. He couldn't help it, he had always loved animals. Not cats (too feisty and bossy), but dogs were such a soft spot. 'Blyadj.' The woman at the desk told him that the dog was a Norfolk Terrier, and that no one had taken her for months. She was a sweet dog, with a fondness for cuddling and a tendency for occasional lethargy. There was the matter of the missing eye, and she was a mixed breed as well. That last bit didn't matter to Ivan. The dog's fur was a tangled light brown, easy to run his fingers through. She practically jumped into his hands and licked his nose when he picked her out of her cage. He took a quick glance at the name tag above her cage--Pip, they'd called her. He didn't like that at all. "Laika?" She barked happily, licking at his gloved fingers. Laika it was. Ivan was usually drawn to big dogs. Back at home in Ukraine, the other children's families had owned larger breeds that Ivan had often played with in his youth. He had never been attracted to smaller, more delicate pets. But--though there were still several hours of paperwork and validation to go through--Laika, small and light, felt just right in his arms.

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