Here's one last teaser for it, which takes a look at what happened just before And So They Met began from the other side of the door:

        The doors opened onto a scene of what looked, at first glance,
like complete confusion, but Korra was familiar enough with job sites to
know that the situation was largely under control.  Most of the walls
weren't up yet on this floor, and those that were consisted mainly of
sealed-but-unfinished drywall; in most places the structural members
could still be seen.  There was a kind of skeletal hallway leading from
the elevator to the other end of the floor, with what would eventually
be offices and work areas branching off from it, and here too, many
things were covered either in plastic or not-very-clean white fabric.
        There didn't seem to be any work happening on this level just
now; Korra couldn't see anyone around from where she stood.  From below,
though, coming up through the unadorned subfloor sheeting, loud grinding
and hammering and power sawing noises indicated that there was a crew
going hammer-and-tongs on the 37th.
        In all this expanse of exposed studs and half-plastered drywall,
there was but one door standing in its frame, and that was the one all
the way at the end of the phantom corridor.  This had a half-window,
like office doors in old detective films, and on the window someone had
painstakingly lettered the legend: 38-401 CHIEF.
        Well, that must be the place, then, she thought.  Upon arrival,
she found that this door opened onto what was plainly meant to be an
outer office, wedge-shaped, with the frame for another door standing
open onto the room beyond.  There was a battered desk and an old-
fashioned wooden swivel chair here, the former with a telephone sitting
on it, but the rest of the room wasn't finished and there was no one in
it.  With a mental shrug, Korra proceeded through, then paused before
crossing the inner threshold.
        OK, Korra, she told herself.  Don't get your hopes up too high
here.  This guy is more than 400 years old, he's been from one end of
this galaxy to the other and seen all kinds of crazy stuff.  He might be
operating on a completely different philosophical plane by this point.
Avatar or not, you may well find that you can't even -relate- to him.
        Then she took a deep breath, steeled herself for disappointment,
and stepped into the doorway.
        The man in the inner office was sitting at a massive antique
metal desk, over near the far corner of the office from the door, such
that she had him in three-quarter profile.  Stocky, broad-shouldered,
with dark brown hair that could have used a trim if he intended to keep
it in that left-parted, businessy style and a vandyke beard with a
couple of days' growth all around it, he was dressed not in any sort of
uniform, but rather a slightly ratty dress shirt over a T-shirt with a
mysterious logo and cargo shorts.  Still, he was unmistakably the man
she'd come to see: Benjamin Hutchins, widely known as Gryphon, formerly
an admiral in the Wedge Defense Force and lately the architect of this
wild new experiment in galactic policing.
        He had clearly been hard at work in this room for some time.
His desk was heaped with stacks of paper and bulging manila file
folders, apart from a clear space to one side where a telephone stood.
The long-heralded paperless office, it appeared, was not poised to
become a reality at International Police Headquarters.  He had a stylus
in his left hand, as if he had been in the middle of processing yet
another official somethingorother, but he wasn't doing that right now.
        Instead, at first glance, Korra suspected he might be having
some kind of a fit or something.  He was sort of... -thrashing- in his
desk chair, eyes closed, his head going forward and back, while the hand
holding the stylus swung it in a choppy, rhythmic motion in front of him
and the fingers of the other twisted into various clawlike rictus
positions.  She was just starting to wonder if she should call for help,
or maybe go over there and try to get something leather in between his
teeth, when she spotted the white plastic buds of earphones and
realized, with an irrepressible grin, that he wasn't having a seizure;
he was -rockin' out.-  That wasn't muscle spasms, it was force-five air
guitar.
        Just as she had that realization, he abruptly swiveled toward
her - still with his eyes closed - and broke into song:
But IIIIIII -
Never seen nothin' like you!
Do ya, do ya want my love?
Woman!
Do ya, do ya want my face?
I need it!
Do ya, do ya want my mind?
I'm sayin'
Do ya, do ya want my love?
Well I think you know what I'm try'na say, woman -
        "Actually?" she couldn't quite stop herself from saying, her
grin turning mischievous.  "I'm completely at a loss."