Eliot spent long hours in his garden. Instead of sleeping, he tended his garden or used its offerings to create some delicacy.
He lived on the outskirts of the Earth Kingdom, far from the hustle and bustle of the city. So when he heard someone snooping around the side of his house, he did what any paranoid gardener with insomnia and a militant background would do.
He kicked the guy's knees out and pinned his arm behind his back.
"Hey, hey! What you think ya doin', buster?" the mailman yelled in a crotchety voice.
"What are you doin' on the side of my house, huh?" he didn't reply fast enough, so Eliot lifted him and slammed his chest back into the ground, "Answer me!"
"I, uh, got ya mail here, mister! Calm down will ya? Alright?" Eliot felt his heartbeat. It rang true. He wasn't lying. Eliot let him up.
"Sorry 'bout that, man," he said, wiping off the mailman's shoulders and patting down the front of his shirt.
"Ah, no, no. It's my fault, see? I shouldn't've been snooping the side o' ya house, now." Mailman chuckled a little. Eliot could smell alcohol from his uniform like he'd spilled some on it but couldn't or didn't wash it properly.
They stood there, just looking at each other for almost half a minute, before Eliot said, "Well? Are you gonna give me my mail?"
"Oh, right, yes, of course! Here it is, sorry. I'll be on my way now. Good day, an' all that!"
Eliot opened the letter and read, shaking his head at the strange mailman.
Eliot Spencer of the Earth Kingdom,
I and my associates are a private group of vigilantes. Now, I know vigilantes get a hard rep with the police and all, but we help any way we can. We pick up where the law leaves off. We here at my firm would like to proposition you for a, let's say, commissioned job.
Before I tell you what that objective is, hear me out on this:
I know a man with your history would not likely take this job, but a man with your talents is not one we can afford to lose, much less ignore. We implore you to at least give us a chance to convince you in person.
You know of Councilman Cheng and his young daughter, I'm sure. The Triple Threat Triad, or someone connected to or working for them, has kidnapped and ransomed her; the Councilman has hired us to retrieve her.
You will be compensated. Our firm awaits your reply.
Leverage Incorporated
Eliot set the letter down. He'd never heard of Leverage Inc. Eliot had been out of the, let's say, "business" for a while now.
But he was hard-pressed to say no. He couldn't not think of the child in need.
The inside of the envelope had had the encoded rendezvous destination inked onto it (before Eliot had burned it in the fireplace in his sitting room). He arrived there. And who does he see?
"You're the mailman!" he accuses to the man in the center of the room. He is seated with three other people. Two wear Fire Nation red, and the last Airbender yellow.
"Yes. Sit."