The Triumvirate tries to hold on.

"Pixies! I heard them say it was pixies, and that we'll forget!"
A heavy-set, middle-aged Asian man in a dark red sweater, sandals, and sweatpants runs towards his two friends, an older, skinny white man with tall grey curly hair and big eyebrows, who wears a lighter red sweater, and a woman whose age is a little more ambiguous, who wears shades and her long, lightly graying black hair in a big ponytail. We don't know their names as yet, but together, we understand from the title of this story that they are the Triumvirate.
"Forget?" the short woman asks.
"Never," the skinny man affirms, sternly.
Coming together into a huddle, she continues "We'll just have to remember. Keep it in our heads."
"If we can keep each other in our heads," the skinny man adds, "we can hold onto this."
"It was pixies," the first man starts repeating, "it was pixies."
"Pixies. Pixies. Pixies," the woman agrees and repeats.
"Pixies," the skinny man agrees, "it was pixies."
"Pixies," the first man affirms, "What, like the band?"
"Love their second album."
"What were we talking about?"
"Y'know, I don't recall."