"No, shabla means screwed up. Shuk'la means crushed or uh...broken." Tristan sighed dishearteningly, smoothing a hand down his face as his dark brows nit together. "We've...been over this a few times, sarad..."

Tutoring someone on Mando'a had never been more arduous. Tristan could physically feel the exhaustion seeping into his consciousness like a black cloud swirling around. As much as he cherished you, acquainting you to Mandalorian culture was like educating a Wookie to be mellow. It was almost unfeasible, and the nature you had was drilled into your head far too deeply for him to strive to replace that that.

Something Tristan discerned when he first encountered you—in potentially the messiest way attainable—was that you were far too reminiscent of your brother, Ezra. Inelegant, obstinate...bothersome too. But you were daring, charismatic, and so fierce, and it was for all of those reasons, even if your stubbornness irritated him incredibly, that Tristan fell in love with you.

So what better than to introduce you to his culture? You appeared to have learned a minority of things from Sabine, most notably the significance of Mandalorian armor and their stringent principles. But Sabine didn't tell you everything. So that's what Tristan was here for.

You were quick to understand how profoundly Mandalorian's cared for family and their values—Resol’nare, which he wished you would begin to pronounce adequately. You were particularly enraptured by his gear, which was not unexpected given your volatile attitude. Once he had caught you trying on his helm. Tristan didn't let it go for weeks.

However, your Mando'a could be rectified. You were generally conceiving mistakes with your enunciation, as well as misinterpreting a few terms. But Tristan would be forbearing with you; he always was.

"It's...don't worry, it's a common mistake-" Not really, but Tristan was saying that for your sake. "Mando'a is a difficult language, so don't beat yourself up if you don't get it right the first time."