(no subject)
Though firmly ensconced in an organic body, Perceptor is, as always, a consummate scientist. Though Perceptor would be the first to instruct one, were they to ask, that there is no such thing as an impossibility, merely probabilities which are so statistically unlikely as to render their existence effectively null. All things are, scientifically speaking, possible - for example her current state as an equine creature of myth for this universe. Some things are merely more probable than others, while other events, given the specific scientific boundaries of this particular fold of reality, are paradoxically statistical impossibilities that, despite this, do not invalidate their probability. Normally, this is a concept which Perceptor not only intimately understands, but takes great comfort in, as such principles guide and order a relatively chaotic universe, or at least lend the air of explainability to the chaos in which the scientist seeks solace.
Of course, such paradoxical concepts normally don't so intimately affect the scientist's neat and ordered life. Which is why she is now standing stock still, shocked to immobility, in the clearing beside the pool where she has been residing for the last several days while she waits for the organic transformation to wear off. Absently, the tiny corner of her mind that is still calmly observing everything notes that her eyes reflected in the still water beyond her hooves are huge, whites showing all around the edges of the brilliant blue iris in a classic sign of shock and no little fear. The rest of her mind, however, is jibbering incoherently, trying to make sense of the oddly certain knowledge she awoke that morning with. Knowledge which should be, by all scientific means, impossible to have, but which she is as certain of its veracity as she is of the fact that the specific gravity of Dihydrogen Oxide is 1.0.
It is not possible to know what she knows, at least not this soon... However, some inner sense, something seated near what she has come to think of as the focus point of this odd magical power she is learning to control, is whispering to her in a sure voice that she cannot help but trust. She has no choice but to believe.
There is new life within her.
The probability of pregnancy after her dalliance with a similarly transformed Skywarp was incredibly high. However, the ability, the probability of knowing that she is gravid, but a mere few days ofter the coital event... to contradict her normal philosophy, should simply not be possible. She should not know that there is a foal just beginning to grow within her. She should have been in blissful ignorance until the transformation wore off in a few days hence.
Of course, that would, in all likelihood, terminate the pregnancy, ending that burgeoning life. It is not scientific curiosity which fuels the swift flash of denial that burns within her now. This is pure, unadulterated and righteous maternal instinct. There is a brief spark from that place, the magic place inside her that wraps itself around that flare of maternal desire. Suddenly, Perceptor understand how she knows. The magic, spurred on by the immanent termination of new life, has warned her.
But what can she do? The other mare warned her that this transformation would be brief. That her own magic would not be able to grant more than a short sojourn in this flesh. With this improbable knowledge, Perceptor can already feel vague stirrings of fatigue in her as what little magic she possesses is being channeled into maintaining her current form for as long as possible to safeguard this new life. As she knows what she now carries, she also knows that she does not have the power or ability to maintain her form long enough to carry the foal to term. There must be a way...
Perhaps the other mare, the one who originally transformed the scientist into flesh, would know. There must be a way!
Galvanized, Perceptor lopes off, heading for the Nexus in search of the other mare.