[ Rex feels... disappointed, for some reason. He'd been expecting it, knowing that 622 works for someone that he's vaguely aware his older self is fighting against, that they don't so much as get a name to go by, that they're mistreated, but whatever culture he and his brothers had worked up for themselves was a culture hard-earned. They'd fought and clawed their way towards it and it had manifested its way in ways that they didn't tell others about, not even their Jedi. It was theirs.

Mando'a was part of that. Proof, he supposes, that they had once belonged somewhere, that there were at least a few true Mandalorians out there who felt that they were one of them. There's a reason why Rex wears his jaig eyes with such pride.

To feel disappointed when 622 doesn't even have a name is silliness, he decides. Being here for so long's making him sentimental. ]

That's because we weren't supposed to learn it. It's not against the regs, but it certainly wasn't in our training either. Our trainers taught us Mando'a of their own volition and we passed down what we learned to the younger generations from there.

[ As tough as their trainers were, they were also the first people Rex had ever met to treat them as people, worth passing down their ideals and stories and language and culture down to. He's always been thankful for that. ]

Would you want to learn?