He glanced up towards the sound of the door, waving a hand to casually flicker the cigarette he'd been smoking away into nothingness. It was easy to make the smoke go with it, the smell of the room clearing up, and all signs--including the ashtray that was sculpted from some local wildlife's skull--of his habit were gone. It was an abuse of magic, but that was sort of his entire life story wasn't it? The conman paused at that, because he'd never made an effort to hide his vices for someone else's benefit before.
But Ray had been so worried when he'd been dying. And he knew that there were a lot of people here disappointed that he'd gone right back to the cancer sticks, but it was too deeply ingrained into who he was. Still, for Ray he could set it aside for a while. He set his glass aside too, various different kinds of alcohol bottles on the table waiting. He didn't know what the other man drank when he wanted to get right shitefaced, but John had a variety.
Making his way over to the door finally, he glanced at his coat nearby, then opted to leave it off. His white button up shirt was still John Constantine uniform enough he reasoned, even if the tie was a bit loose. Anxiety had made it hard to breathe for a bit there before he'd numbed it with an early drink.
Answering the door, he offered Ray a crooked smile--the same kind he always had to offer, a little sad, a little lying, but completely Constantine. "Was afraid maybe you'd decided to make me wait a bit in repayment," he teased, stepping aside to let him in. "But look at you, ever the boy scout on time. Come on in then."