"Bake," she replies with a wry twist of her mouth once she's settled herself. Not that she doesn't enjoy it - she really does - but it just sounds so incredibly ordinary next to 'superhero.' "I have a little shop in Greenwich Village. Well, it's not just mine, it's..." she flaps a hand vaguely, "family-run. But I do most of the actual baking, these days." Even if it means shooing her father out of the way with a broom (something her mother is willing to stoop to, even if Greta herself wouldn't).