Zibanti

...and for some good overall tips, check out Tyandaga on YouTube. he does great OC creation videos. https://m.youtube.com/#/channel/UCCz6EcGvWIgVPN1pJjcNlMA

...well, first off, since you seem unsure of her Cutie Mark, and since it doesn't really sound like she has been able to explore who she really is (... with having to hide that she's an alicorn, and not knowing who her parents are...) you could probably just make her a Blank Flank. Second, I'd try to move away from that particular coat color. When paired with that "carefully messy" mane and tail, she just looks like a RD knockoff...

This is a great idea! I'll get on putting together a voice reel ASAP. I've been acting on stage for about 30 years, and have always wanted to get into some VA. I'm skilled at several regional American dialects, as well as several global dialects. I also have a pretty wide vocal range, and am a solid singer. Unfortunately, (since I'm a stay at.home dad with 3 girls) I haven't had time in years to practice/ prepare impersonations/impressions, so I am not ready for specific character voices.

@Pripyat Pony Thanks so much! I forgot to even mention the cutie mark, but I can edit it in myself! Love it.

If you're still doing them, I'd love to have Zibanti done:

Huzzah, and Well met, Princess!

Yes! I've been watching wrestling since I was a kid back in the pre-Hulk Hogan days. I grew up with Dusty Rhodes, Ric Flair, the 4 Horsemen, the Von Erichs,Cactus Jack, and on and on... I've also been a fan of Japanese wrestling, and guys like Tiger Mask and Hayabusa. I haven't watched much at all in the last 5 years or so, but still get out my VHS recordings of old Raw, Nitro, Smackdown, ECW, the King of the Death match tournaments, etc and enjoying them. My favorite wrestlers are Mick Foley, Undertaker, Kane, Hayabusa and Tiger Mask...

An odd looking, maneless zebra sat writing in the dark, early hours of the morning. The cave in which he took shelter was lit by the feeble illumination from a stone bowl containing a chemical concoction of his own design. His quill flew across the page,trying desperately to save his memories to paper. Exhaustion etched itself across his face in haunted patches under his lavender eyes. The weight of his despair dragged at him, made all the heavier by the abuse he inflicted upon himself. He was filthy. His white coat and light gray stripes buried under grime, his black tail knotty,and matted. He knew, on some vague unconscious level, that he was dying. Or, more accurately, that he was killing himself. So he wrote. He wrote to preserve a record of what had happened to he and his brother and maybe, just maybe, divest himself of the shame and torment. He wrote because he didn't know when the next lucid moment might come. He could smell the fungi at the back of the cave, taste the drink the he would make from it, feel the numbness it would bring. It was impossible to know how long each draught's effects might last, and if the next drink would kill him. He put words to paper not caring about a cogent narrative. He followed a stream of consciousness formed of fatigue, and the ligering aftereffects of a half dozen other natural intoxicants, down into the depths of his memories. "I am Zibanti," he quickly scrawled at the top of the page, "and this is my story."