He could manage manners, the teaching and scolding of his brother had never quite escaped him. Killian was not much like the man Liam had raised, not anymore, yet some pieces of him still lingered behind. In manners, however empty they could occasionally prove, and in standards that most vampires wouldn't bother to abide by. It's rather lacking attempts at good form, but he at least follows the pretense, even now.

Her hand slipping through the chair is answer enough as to what she is. He isn't sure how many ghost he's met in his lifetime, but less than a handful. Mostly because they seemed rather tied to the place they died, and he's fairy certain that is not the case for her. He's curious, yet markedly less cautious. Another vampire or a witch that had delayed her aging would have been more dangerous. A ghost he does not fear too terribly, and hopefully their connection from before will continue, despite the years.

There's actual sympathy on his face when she mentions passing. He's dead himself, he doesn't exactly favor that fact, and can relate to that feeling. "I've been this way for longer than you know," he promised her with a slight shrug. He'd been dead for longer than she'd been alive when they met, and he's only older now. "I'm afraid there's not going to be another Jones, at least of this variety. Tell me, how did you make your way here? I've not heard of someone of your kind moving around terribly much." It's carefully phrased, but he means a ghost moving from where they died. He wonders why she still lingers, if it really was a cold that did her in.